Classic Poem

( A TRIBUTE TO MARSTON WATSON, WRITTEN IN 1899 )

Friend of my early years! friend of my hours
Fast fading from these shores, from Time's dim bowers!
The same to-day, — e'er living in my mind, —
Sweet, thoughtful, tender, patient to thy kind —
Marston, I would not weep that thou art gone,
Leaving me hapless on these shores alone;
Dear Heart, I will not grieve, since God allowed
So vast a tribute and a soul so proud;
Since thou wert sent to teach me to forget,
By these low shores where my poor voyage was set,
These steep obliquities that shade my path,
While thy far-reaching view o'ergoes their wrath.

Marston! I see thee still — that far-off look
Away, across the skies, the ever-rolling brook,
Or that dark, troubled Sea among the isles;
The breeze blows up; the flowers, the heavens, all smiles.
Smiling we take our way across the tombs,
Stand on the hilltop, hear the rushing looms
In the long valley nestling at our feet;
Scan the vast basin where the heavens meet
Their own blue pageant, sent from skies to greet;
Marston delights in all — or sandy reach,
Or sparkling billows on the Gurnet beach;
The poorest weed, the smallest fly that waves,
To him the same as the great Heroes' graves.

" I am not gone; I live — I'm with thee still!
I stand off-looking from the windy hill
With thee; 't is just the same; weep not for me!
I murmur in the breeze, I sail upon the sea;
I see with far-off look the westering sun
Play o'er the oak-groves when the day is done.
No, not a tear! let us be cheerful now!
I am not dead — why, what a thought! my vow
Was always sped to life; in Death's lone camp
I do not walk alone; I have my lamp,
My steadfast light, burning from ancient shades,
Eternal remnants from prophetic glades.

" The breezes fan my cheek; I am not dead;
My soul has only waved its wings and fled
From these low-hanging equinoctial storms;
Hail, Heaven and life! hail, gods and sempiternal forms! "