'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead
°[2]Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,°
And the pale weaver, through his windows seen
°[4]In Spitalfields,° look'd thrice dispirited.
5I met a preacher there I knew, and said:
"Ill and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?"—
"Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been,
Much cheer'd with thoughts of Christ, the living bread."
O human soul! as long as thou canst so
10Set up a mark of everlasting light,
Above the howling senses' ebb and flow,
To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam—
Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night!
Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.
[p.119]
[WEST LONDON][°]
°[1]Crouch'd on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square,°
A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied.
A babe was in her arms, and at her side
A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare.
5Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there,
Pass'd opposite; she touch'd her girl, who hied
Across and begg'd, and came back satisfied.
The rich she had let pass with frozen stare.
Thought I: "Above her state this spirit towers;
10She will not ask of aliens but of friends,
Of sharers in a common human fate.
"She turns from that cold succour, which attends
The unknown little from the unknowing great,
And points us to a better time than ours."
[p.121]
ELEGIAC POEMS
[MEMORIAL VERSES][°]
April, 1850
°[1]Goethe in Weimar sleeps,° and Greece,
°[2]Long since, saw Byron's° struggle cease.
But one such death remain'd to come;
The last poetic voice is dumb—
5We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb.
When Byron's eyes were shut in death,
We bow'd our head and held our breath.
He taught us little; but our soul
Had felt him like the thunder's roll.
10With shivering heart the strife we saw
Of passion with eternal law;
And yet with reverential awe
We watch'd the fount of fiery life
Which served for that Titanic strife.
15When Goethe's death was told, we said:
Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head.
°[17]Physician of the iron age,°
Goethe has done his pilgrimage.
He took the suffering human race,
[p.122] 20He read each wound, each weakness clear;
And struck his finger on the place,
And said: Thou ailest here, and here!
He look'd on Europe's dying hour
Of fitful dream and feverish power;
25His eye plunged down the weltering strife,
The turmoil of expiring life—
He said: The end is everywhere,
Art still has truth, take refuge there!
And he was happy, if to know
30Causes of things, and far below
His feet to see the lurid flow
Of terror, and insane distress,
And headlong fate, be happiness.
And Wordsworth!—Ah, pale ghosts, rejoice!
35For never has such soothing voice
Been to your shadowy world convey'd,
Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade
°[38]Heard the clear song of Orpheus° come
Through Hades, and the mournful gloom.
40Wordsworth has gone from us—and ye,
Ah, may ye feel his voice as we!
He too upon a wintry clime
Had fallen—on this iron time
Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears.
45He found us when the age had bound
Our souls in its benumbing round;
He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears.
He laid us as we lay at birth
On the cool flowery lap of earth,
50Smiles broke from us and we had ease;
The hills were round us, and the breeze
[p.123] Went o'er the sun-lit fields again;
Our foreheads felt the wind and rain.
Our youth returned; for there was shed
55On spirits that had long been dead,
Spirits dried up and closely furl'd,
The freshness of the early world.
Ah! since dark days still bring to light
Man's prudence and man's fiery might,
60Time may restore us in his course
Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force;
But where will Europe's latter hour
Again find Wordsworth's healing power?
Others will teach us how to dare,
65And against fear our breast to steel;
Others will strengthen us to bear—
But who, ah! who, will make us feel
The cloud of mortal destiny?
Others will front it fearlessly—
70But who, like him, will put it by?
Keep fresh the grass upon his grave
°[72]O Rotha,° with thy living wave!
Sing him thy best! for few or none
Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.