TO A FRIEND (1849) Who prop, thou ask'st, in these bad days, my mind? He much, the old man, who, clearestsouled of men, Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen, Didst tread on earth unguessed at. Better so! All pains the immortal spirit must endure, All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow, Find their sole speech in that victorious brow. And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though TO A REPUBLICAN FRIEND, 1848 Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base Nor will that day dawn at a human nod, Self-schooled, self-scanned, self-honored, When, bursting through the network self-secure, 10 superposed 10 45 Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. 55 STANZAS IN MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR OF “OBERMANN” Spirits dried up and closely furled, Ah! since dark days still bring to light Keep fresh the grass upon his grave, 60 65 70 ·STANZAS IN MEMORY OF THE In front the awful Alpine track The autumn storm-winds drive the rack, Behind are the abandoned baths The leaves are on the valley-paths, A fever in these pages burns Beneath the calm they feign; A wounded human spirit turr Here, on its bed of pain. 501 The mists are on the Rhone — I know but two, who have attained Save thee, to see their way. |