All eyes looked on the river; and my own,
Unheeding all the smiling looks around,
Saw but the river, and my ears drank in
Alone the sound of throbbing oars, and then
The deafening shout from either side the stream—
"See, see! they come, and Oxford leads!" Again
The sturdy shout goes ringing forth, and then
The long oars flashing into sight appear
Like the blue wings of some bright water-fly.
The goal is won, the weary arms relax,
And the great race is ended with a shout
And wild excitement. Turning then at length
I saw beside me, all unseen before,
A vision of dark eyes, such eyes as men
See in a lifetime once, and ne'er forget.
I read my sentence in those dancing orbs,
And for the nonce became a willing slave.
The river and its thousands faded out,
The very pride of victory was forgot,
And the two factions of the rival blues.
We left the river and its crowding throng,
The dusty road, the ribald jest, unseen,
Unheard by me, who sat as in a trance.
Then later on we rested in the shade
Of cool green pastures, where the giant trees
Hung o'er us slumbrous, and the shadows came.
Yet still we lingered, and I saw no sight,
No cloudless sky, no spring-bloom in the grass,
Save only that bright vision of dark eyes.
And then the night fell, envious of my joy,
And the wan moon looked sadly, and the stars
Gleamed cold compassion from their frigid eyes.
I knew my fate, so kindly, gently told.
me, those eyes must beam, For others, not for me, that soft voice sound.
And then I past away, and saw no more
My vision, and the dark-stoled Night, which mourns
The vanished days, wrapt round me her chill robe,
And folded me from sight.
What now remains? A recollection left
Like the faint odour of a faded flower
When all its bloom is dead, and a small knot
Of dark blue ribbon, only these remain
To whisper to me in the after time
Of that one April morn beside the Thames.
(TO M. DU PERRIER, ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER.)
SORROW like yours, dear friend, can never die :
Rather, through years of melancholy length,
Old converse, mournfully reëchoed by
A father's love, will give it strength.
Another victim of Death's common blow,
That which is in the grave, your
Has, in a tangled labyrinthine wild,
Made Reason lose himself with Woe.
I knew the charms that filled her early years,
And very far it were from me to stir,
Wronged friend, a finger to allay your tears,
With light remembrances of her.
But she belonged unto the world, where all
That shows the fairest feels the sharpest thorn;
A Rose has fallen, like the roses fall,
After its life-time of a morn.
There is no sterner, crueller thing than Death,
That hears us call to him, and call in vain ;
Lets us alone to cry away our breath,
Closing the portals of his brain.
The unknown beggar, 'neath his cottage thatch,
Cannot escape his far-extending sway:
Weak are the strong that round the palace watch,
To ward him from our kings away.
What boots it then impatiently to pine,
What boots to murmur at the high decree?
Sole rule for peace, O God, is to resign
Our human wills to thee!
'LL curse thee ere I die, I'll curse thee, cold, cold world!
I'll curse thy heartless children-yea—for they have hurled
My spirit to this end. Famine and dull despair
Were surely never meant for my boyish soul to bear.
Oh! all my dreams of glory-all my dreams of fame
Will e'er be blotted out by this one deed of shame.
I know 'tis very wicked-but then-what can I do?
Is there a God in Heaven? for if so He knew
All my longings for fame, my struggles for renown, Crushed by the cruel world-crushed, and low trampled down.
Why didst Thou give me talents? Why, dread Father, why?
Only to make me suffer-suffer-sink and die.
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