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O Friend! O Teacher! God's great Gift to me!Into my Heart have I received that LayMore than historic, that prophetic LayWherein (high theme by thee first sung aright)Of the foundations and the building upOf thine own spirit thou hast loved to tellWhat may be told, by words revealable:With heavenly breathings, like the secret soulOf vernal growth, oft quickening in the heartThoughts, that obey no mastery of words,Pure Self-beholdings! Theme as hard as high,Of Smiles spontaneous and mysterious Fear!The first born they of Reason and twin birth!Of tides obedient to external force,And currents self-determin'd, as might seem,Or by some inner power! Of moments awful,Now in thy hidden life, and now abroad,When power stream'd from thee, and thy soul receiv'dThe light reflected, as a light bestow'd!Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth,Hybloean murmurs of poetic thoughtIndustrious in its joy, in vales and glensNative or outland, Lakes and famous Hills;Or on the lonely high-road, when the starsWere rising; or by secret mountain streams,The guides and the companions of thy way!Of more than Fancy--of the SOCIAL SENSEDistending, and of Man belov'd as Man,Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating,Even as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seasQuivers beneath the voice from Heaven, the burstOf Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloudIs visible, or shadow on the main!For thou wert there, thy own brows garlanded,Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow!Amid a mighty nation jubilant!When from the general Heart of Human KindHope sprang forth, like an armed Deity!Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down,So summon'd homeward; thenceforth calm and sure,As from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute Self,With light unwaning on her eyes, to lookFar on--herself a Glory to behold,The Angel of the Vision! Then (last strain)Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice,Action and Joy!--an Orphic Tale indeed,A Tale divine of high and passionate Thoughts,To their own Music chaunted!--

A great Bard!Ere yet the last strain dying awed the air,With steadfast eyes I saw thee in the choirOf ever-enduring men. The truly GreatHave all one age, and from one visible spaceShed influence: for they, both power and act,Are permanent, and Time is not with them,Save as it worketh for them, they in it.Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old,And to be plac'd, as they, with gradual fameAmong the Archives of Mankind, thy WorkMakes audible a linked Song of Truth,Of Truth profound a sweet continuous SongNot learnt, but native, her own natural notes!Dear shall it be to every human heart,To me how more than dearest! Me, on whomComfort from thee, and utterance of thy Love,Come with such Heights and Depths of HarmonySuch sense of Wings uplifting, that its mightScatter'd and quell'd me, till my Thoughts becameA bodily Tumult; and thy faithful Hopes,Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt!Were troublous to me, almost as a VoiceFamiliar once and more than musical;As a dear Woman's Voice to one cast forth,A Wanderer with a worn-out heart forlorn,Mid Strangers pining with untended wounds.

O Friend! too well thou know'st, of what sad yearsThe long suppression had benumbed my soul,That, even as Life returns upon the Drown'd,The unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains--Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe,Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart!And Fears self-will'd, that shunn'd the eye of Hope,And Hope, that scarce would know itself from Fear;Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,And Genius given and Knowledge won in vain;And all, which I had cull'd in wood-walks wild,And all, which patient Toil had rear'd, and all,Commune with THEE had open'd out--but FlowersStrew'd on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier,In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave!

That way no more! and ill beseems it me,Who came a Welcomer, in Herald's Guise,Singing of Glory and Futurity,To wander back on such unhealthful roadPlucking the Poisons of Self-harm! And illSuch intertwine beseems triumphal wreathsStrew'd before thy advancing! Thou too, Friend!Impair thou not the memory of that hourOf thy Communion with my nobler mindBy pity or grief, already felt too long!Nor let my words import more blame than needs.The tumult rose and ceas'd: for Peace is nighWhere Wisdom's voice has found a list'ning Heart.Amid the howl of more than wintry stormsThe Halcyon hears the Voice of vernal Hours,Already on the wing!

Eve following EveDear tranquil Time, when the sweet sense of HomeIs sweetest! Moments, for their own sake hail'd,And more desired, more precious for thy Song!In silence listening, like a devout child,My soul lay passive, by the various strainDriven as in surges now, beneath the starsWith momentary stars of her own birth,Fair constellated Foam, still darting offInto the Darkness; now a tranquil Sea,Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon.

And when--O Friend! my Comforter! my Guide!Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength!--Thy long sustained Song finally clos'd,And thy deep voice had ceas'd--yet thou thyselfWert still before mine eyes, and round us bothThat happy Vision of beloved Faces--(All whom, I deepliest love--in one room all!)Scarce conscious and yet conscious of its closeI sate, my Being blended in one Thought,(Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve?)Absorb'd; yet hanging still upon the Sound--And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer.