The silver clouds move lazily,
Beneath a sky so high and blue,
And seem to touch the distant view
Of our mid-summer scenery.
They are like dreams of other days,
Of life that was and is no more,
Except upon another shore,
Beyond the sun’s prismatic rays.
They hang above the peaceful town,
They brood above the courthouse tower,
Like blessings on the morning hour,
And on the judgments there set down.
Beneath the lawyer’s able brief,
Beneath the arguments set forth,
Beneath the rulings of the court,
There is a silent, manly grief.
The thoughts of him, who for so long
Did hold the chair within this hall,
Leap from his portrait on the wall,
To men whose hearts are true and strong.
It seems so strange, he is not there,
To guide them with his light of law,
Who seldom failed the right to know,
Whose judgments were both just and fair.
Whose mind cut keenly through the maze
Of subtlest labyrinth of guilt,
Who undeceived by lawyer’s tilt,
Pursued serenely logic’s ways.
Was justice clear,—his heart was more,
He pitied, where the law was plain,
And but for duty, he had fain,
Forgiv’n where sorrow did implore.
X
A year is gone, again the spring
Returns in tender verdure clad,
The little children’s hearts are glad,
And robins in the maple sing.