A Reverie

I

The peace of this autumnal day
Allures my dreaming thoughts away
To that great world beyond the deep,
Where I so many treasures keep.
There, fond and true, one friend I find,
Whose tender heart and constant mind
Gave, while he lingered here on earth,
Comfort, and cheer, and hope, and mirth;
And still they waft a cordial breath
Across the icy waves of death.
His nature, while he dwelt below,
Was like these days: this season's glow,
The misty sky, the sleeping sea,
The browning grass, the burnished tree,
The wild-flowers, swinging o'er the brook,
Were in his heart as in his book.
Alive, he charmed away life's fret
With all the sunshine he could get,
And, when death whispered, softly crept
Into a quiet place and slept;
And Nature never saw more grace
Than hallowed then his noble face.
And so, to think upon him here,
In this sweet season of the year, —
Which he so loved, which he was like
As clouds are to the clouds they strike, —
Is winning peace, and strength to live,
Beyond what all the world can give.

II

Ah, not to me, dear heart, was said
The word that crowned thy royal head
First with the aureole's light and bloom,
And then the amaranth of the tomb.
Fate gave thee power, and calm, and poise,
And all thy days and deeds were joys.
Thine were the forest and the flood,
The sunrise sparkled in thy blood,
And thou didst hold a careless flight
Above the dells and caves of night.
But ever through thy smile shone clear
The lustre of compassion's tear,
The pity of thy gentle mind,
And tenderness, for all mankind.
I saw thee with a wistful eye,
And saddened, — and I knew not why;
Till soon, too soon, thy summons came,
And thou wert nothing but a name.
Ah, day of misery and of moan,
When grief and I were left alone!

III

Fate gave not me her smile benign, —
That pensive, playful calm of thine, —
But early from her bosom cast,
To be the sport of every blast;
To war with passion, and to know
The sting of want, the pang of woe, —
Forcing a soul, for kindness born,
To every strife it held in scorn.
So, careless whether right or wrong,
I battled through the hostile throng,
And felt, whatever doom might be,
Or life or death, the same to me.
'Twas then across my pathway lone
The holy star of friendship shone!
'Twas then thy kindness soothed my pain,
And arched the heaven of hope again!
As, sudden through the stormy dark,
Full on the tempest-battered barque,
Home's glad and golden beacons shine,
So flashed thy spirit upon mine:
And not, though hope's last star were set,
Could this true heart of mine forget!

IV

Now, of our few but happy years
Remains this flower, that bloomed in tears:
Not of the crown of life bereft
Is he who yet has patience left,
The haggard sky, the surf's dull roar,
The midnight storm, are mine no more;
But mine the gleam of setting sun,
The call of birds when day is done,
The last, sad light, so loath to pass
It weeps upon the golden grass,
The sigh of leaves, in evening air,
The distant bell that calls to prayer, —
And nothing from my spirit bars
The benediction of the stars.

V

Ah, loved so well and mourned so long,
Here in my heart as in my song,
To thy dear memory let me raise
One tender strain of other days,
One paean to the good thou wast,
One low lament for all I lost.
Yet, looking o'er life's arid track,
Kind soul, I would not wish thee back.
What sadder lot, what doom of fate,
More sterile is, more desolate,
Than here to goad our wearied powers,
And toil through times that are not ours!
Ah, no, the silence now is best,
The leaf down-fluttering o'er thy rest,
And every kind, caressing sigh
That Nature breathes o'er those that die;
While thou, in some serener sphere,
Forget'st the toils and troubles here;
Or, made a part of flowers and trees,
Art pure, and calm, and safe, like these.

VI

Slow pales the light; the day declines;
The night-wind murmurs in the pines;
The stars come out, and, far away,
Across the sweetly sleeping bay,
One snow-white sail, by sunset kist,
Fades slowly in the ocean mist,
Fades, — like all joys and griefs we know,
And like this dream of Long Ago.
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