He wishes “the widow’d hour” when he lost his friend, could be forgotten, or rather recalled like an occasion when the bride leaves her first home for “other realms of love.” There are tears then, but April tears—rain and sunshine mixed; and as the bride’s future office may be to rear and teach another generation—uniting grandparents with grand-children—so he has no doubt that to Hallam
“is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In such great offices as suit
The full-grown energies of heaven.”
But then comes this difference. The bride will return in course of time with her baby, and all at her old home will be happier for her absence—whereas
“thou and I have shaken hands,
Till growing winters lay me low;
My paths are in the fields I know,
But thine in undiscover’d lands.”
XLI.
Whilst together upon earth they could advance in company, though Hallam’s spirit and intellect were ever soaring upwards. Now, the links which united them are lost, and he can no longer partake in his friend’s transformations. So, (folly though it be,) he wishes that, by an effort of will, he could
“leap the grades of life and light,
And flash at once, my friend, to thee.”
See P. xcv., 9.
For, though he has no vague dread of death and “the gulfs beneath,” yet the chilling thought comes over him, that in death he may not be able to overtake his friend, but evermore remain “a life behind” him,
“Through all the secular to be”—