Classic Poem

For me terrestrial mountains rise;
For thee celestial rivers run;
My steps are 'neath familiar skies,
But thine in realms beyond the sun.

This peaceful scene, that does not change,
This smiling vale, so fair to see,
Those lonely plains, that mountain range,
So glorious,—all were known to thee.

For many a year, in shade or shine,
When life was gay, when life was drear,
Thy friendly hand was clasped in mine,
Thy form was oft beside me here.

Now, though I sought through ev'ry land,
I should not feel, in any place,
The pressure of thy loving hand,
Nor hear thy voice, nor see thy face.

So friendship fades, so love departs,
So living joy becomes a name
Shrin'd in the depth of breaking hearts,—
And yet the world remains the same.

The roses bloom, the fields are green,
The branches wave, the streamlets flow,—
For Nature, ruffled or serene,
Is deaf and blind to human woe.

Thy mind to Beauty was subdued,
In Beauty's service thou wert blest,—
Stern warrior in the bitter feud
That would not let thy spirit rest:

The feud that wakes angelic rage,
The strife in which so many tire,
The deadly war that Art must wage
With mean intent and low desire.

Sleep sweetly, noble heart and true!
The tempest of thy life is o'er;
Nor baffled hope, nor pang of rue,
Nor any grief can wound thee more!

Sleep sweetly, in that hallow'd dell,
Far off, beside the solemn sea,
Where tears and prayers will, constant, tell
The love that lives to mourn for thee.

There wild-flowers, emblems of thy soul,
Around thy tomb will bud and blow,
While Ocean's melancholy roll
Will chaunt thy requiem, soft and low.

There oft the pilgrim's musing gaze
Will linger on the votive stone
That mutely tells to future days
Thy power and charm, forever flown.

And there, in golden time to come,
When all the clamor of our day
Has sunk to silence, and the hum
Of vain detraction died away,

Fame's Angel, hov'ring o'er thy rest,
His amaranthine bough will wave,
Proclaiming—Here lies Glory's guest,
Here Genius sleeps in M ANSFIELD'S grave!