Than if with thee the roaring wells XI. CALM is the morn, without a sound; Calm and deep peace on this high wold, Calm and still light on yon great plain, To mingle with the bounding main. Calm and deep peace in this wide air, If any calm, a calm despair. Calm on the seas, and silver sleep, And waves that sway themselves in rest; And dead calm in that noble breast, Which heaves but with the heaving deep. And forward dart again, and play XVIII. 'Tis well, 'tis something, we may stand 'Tis little; but it looks in truth Come then, pure hands, and bear the head And hear the ritual of the dead. Ah! yet, even yet, if this might be, 1, falling on his faithful heart, Would, breathing through his lips, impart The life that almost dies in me, That dies not, but endures with pain, XIX. THE Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heart that beat no more: And in the hearing of the wave. There twice a day the Severn fills; The Wye is hushed, nor moved along; The tide flows down; the wave again RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, Ring out the old, ring in the new; Ring out the grief that saps the mind Ring out a slowly-dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring out the want, the care, the sin, Ring out, ring out, my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. BURY the Great Duke 1. With an empire's lamentation; Let us bury the Great Duke To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation, — Mourning when their leaders fall, Warriors carry the warrior's pall, And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall. 2. Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore? Here, in streaming London's central roar, Let the sound of those he wrought for, And the feet of those he fought for, Echo round his bones for evermore. - |