26.12.2007, 11:30
HUGH STUART BOYD.†
HIS BLINDNESS.
GOD would not let the spheric Lights accost
This God-loved man, and bade the earth stand off,
With all her beckoning hills, whose golden stuff
Under the feet of the royal sun is crossed.
Yet such things were, to him, not wholly lost,--
Permitted, with his wandering eyes light-proof,
To have fair visions rendered full enough
By many a ministrant accomplished ghost:
And seeing, no sounds of softly-turned book-leaves,
Sappho's crown-rose, and Meleager's spring,
And Gregory's starlight, on Greek-burnished eves:
Till Sensual and Unsensual seemed one thing
Viewed from one level; earth's reapers at the sheaves,
Not plainer than Heaven's angels marshalling!
HIS DEATH, 1848.
BELOVED friend, who, living many years
With sightless eyes raised vainly to the sun,
Didst learn to keep thy patient soul in tune
To visible nature's elemental cheers!
God has not caught thee to new hemispheres
Because thou wast aweary of this one:--
I think thine angel's patience first was done,
And that he spake out with celestial tears,
"Is it enough, dear God? then lighten so
This soul that smiles in darkness!" Stedfast friend,
Who never didst my heart or life misknow,
Nor either's faults too keenly apprehend,--
How can I wonder when I see thee go
To join the Dead, found faithful to the end?
LEGACIES.
THREE gifts the Dying left me: Æschylus,
And Gregory Nazianzen, and a clock
Chiming the gradual hours out like a flock
Of stars, whose motion is melodious.
The books were those I used to read from, thus
Assisting my dear teacher's soul to unlock
The darkness of his eyes! now, mine they mock,
Blinded in turn, by tears: now, murmurous
Sad echoes of my young voice, years agone,
Entoning, from these leaves, the Græcian phrase,
Return and choke my utterance. Books, lie down
In silence of the shelf within my gaze!
And thou, clock, striking the hour's pulses on,
Chime in the day which ends these parting days!
HIS BLINDNESS.
GOD would not let the spheric Lights accost
This God-loved man, and bade the earth stand off,
With all her beckoning hills, whose golden stuff
Under the feet of the royal sun is crossed.
Yet such things were, to him, not wholly lost,--
Permitted, with his wandering eyes light-proof,
To have fair visions rendered full enough
By many a ministrant accomplished ghost:
And seeing, no sounds of softly-turned book-leaves,
Sappho's crown-rose, and Meleager's spring,
And Gregory's starlight, on Greek-burnished eves:
Till Sensual and Unsensual seemed one thing
Viewed from one level; earth's reapers at the sheaves,
Not plainer than Heaven's angels marshalling!
HIS DEATH, 1848.
BELOVED friend, who, living many years
With sightless eyes raised vainly to the sun,
Didst learn to keep thy patient soul in tune
To visible nature's elemental cheers!
God has not caught thee to new hemispheres
Because thou wast aweary of this one:--
I think thine angel's patience first was done,
And that he spake out with celestial tears,
"Is it enough, dear God? then lighten so
This soul that smiles in darkness!" Stedfast friend,
Who never didst my heart or life misknow,
Nor either's faults too keenly apprehend,--
How can I wonder when I see thee go
To join the Dead, found faithful to the end?
LEGACIES.
THREE gifts the Dying left me: Æschylus,
And Gregory Nazianzen, and a clock
Chiming the gradual hours out like a flock
Of stars, whose motion is melodious.
The books were those I used to read from, thus
Assisting my dear teacher's soul to unlock
The darkness of his eyes! now, mine they mock,
Blinded in turn, by tears: now, murmurous
Sad echoes of my young voice, years agone,
Entoning, from these leaves, the Græcian phrase,
Return and choke my utterance. Books, lie down
In silence of the shelf within my gaze!
And thou, clock, striking the hour's pulses on,
Chime in the day which ends these parting days!