My good, my noble, in their prime, Who made this world the feast it was,

Who learned with me the lore of time, Who loved this dwelling-place.

They took this valley for their toy
They played with it in every mood,
A cell for prayer, a hall for joy,
They treated nature as they would.

They coloured the horizon round,
Stars flamed and faded as they bade,
All echoes hearkened for their sound,
They made the woodlands glad or mad.

I touch this flower of silken leaf

Which once our childhood knew,
Its soft leaves wound me with a grief

Whose balsam never grew.

Hearken to yon pine warbler

Singing aloft in the tree;

Hearest thou, O traveller!

What he singeth to me?

Not unless God made sharp thine ear

With sorrow such as mine,

Out of that delicate lay couldst thou

The heavy dirge divine.

Go, lonely man, it saith,

They loved thee from their birth,

Their hands were pure, and pure their faith,

There are no such hearts on earth.

Ye cannot unlock your heart,

The key is gone with them;

The silent organ loudest chants

The master's requiem.

THRENODY.

THE South-wind brings

Life, sunshine, and desire,

And on every mount and meadow
Breathes aromatic fire,

But over the dead he has no power,

The lost, the lost he cannot restore,

And, looking over the hills, I mourn

The darling who shall not return.

I see my empty house,

I see my trees repair their boughs,
And he, the wondrous child,

Whose silver warble wild

Outvalued every pulsing sound

Within the air's cerulean round,

The hyacinthine boy, for whom

Morn well might break, and April bloom,

The gracious boy, who did adorn

The world whereinto he was born,

And by his countenance repay

The favour of the loving Day,

Has disappeared from the Day's eye;
Far and wide she cannot find him,

My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him.
Returned this day the south-wind searches
And finds young pines and budding birches,
But finds not the budding man ;

Nature who lost him, cannot remake him; Fate let him fall, Fate can't retake him; Nature, Fate, men, him seek in vain.

And whither now, my truant wise and sweet,

O whither tend thy feet?

I had the right, few days ago,

Thy steps to watch, thy place to know;

How have I forfeited the right?

Hast thou forgot me in a new delight?

I hearken for thy household cheer,

O eloquent child!

Whose voice, an equal messenger,
Conveyed thy meaning mild.

What though the pains and joys

Whereof it spoke were toys

Fitting his age and ken ;—

Yet fairest dames and bearded men,

Who heard the sweet request

So gentle, wise, and grave,
Bended with joy to his behest,
And let the world's affairs go by,
Awhile to share his cordial game,
Or mend his wicker wagon frame,
Still plotting how their hungry ear
That winsome voice again might hear,
For his lips could well pronounce
Words that were persuasions.

Gentlest guardians marked serene
His early hope, his liberal mien,
Took counsel from his guiding eyes
To make this wisdom earthly wise.
Ah! vainly do these eyes recall
The school-march, each day's festival,
When every morn my bosom glowed
To watch the convoy on the road ;—
The babe in willow wagon closed,
With rolling eyes and face composed,
With children forward and behind,

Like Cupids studiously inclined,

And he, the Chieftain, paced beside,

The centre of the troop allied,