For one, upon whose hand and heart and brain
Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.

Ours the pain, be his the gain!

More than is of man's degree
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.
Whom we see not we revere;
We revere, and we refrain

From talk of battles loud and vain,

And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility

As befits a solemn fane :

We revere, and while we hear
The tides of Music's golden sea

Setting toward eternity,

Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,

Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
And Victor he must ever be.

For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill
And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break, and work their will,

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Tho' world on world in myriad myriads roll

Round us, each with different powers,

And other forms of life than ours,

What know we greater than the soul?

On God and Godlike men we build our trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears;

The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears;

The black earth yawns; the mortal disappears;

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

He is gone who seemed so great –

Gone, but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own

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Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in State,
And that he wears a truer crown

Than any wreath that man can weave him.
Speak no more of his renown,

Lay your earthly fancies down,

And in the vast cathedral leave him,

God accept him, Christ receive him!

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

I

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.
'Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said.
Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

II

'Forward the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

III

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

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VI

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred !

MILTON

(ALCAICS)

O MIGHTY-MOUTH'D inventor of harmonies,
O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity,
God-gifted organ-voice of England,

Milton, a name to resound for ages;
Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abdiel,
Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armories,
Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean

Rings to the roar of an angel onset ! Me rather all that bowery loneliness, The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring, And bloom profuse and cedar arches

Charm as a wanderer out in ocean, Where some refulgent sunset of India Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle, And crimson-hued the stately palm-woods Whisper in odorous heights of even.

CROSSING THE BAR

SUNSET and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

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But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

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