POETRY. •
PEACE—AND HONOUR. [APRIL 197H, ISM] HUSHED are the sounds of party-strife In reverence round the quiet bed, As all the busy stream of Life Seems' stayed beside one spirit fled : And England sends the message on, To West and East,—a great man gone.
Strange power of Death Once laid on him • With gentlest touch her royal hand, Unbidden tears the eyes bedim, And manly hearts are half unmanned : Our little discords melt and cease; He lies in Honour,—and at Peace. - Strange power of Death! How small they seem, Our quarrels, grudges,—all put by, The baseless fabric of a dream, Beside the great reality : We read, ere yet the clay be cold, In deaths like this, Death's secret told.
As to her breast the generous Sea River and rivulet draws in, And all the parted streams that be In that maternity are kin, Even so the pale Magician charms All minds, all wisdoms, to his arms.
He, but a few short days ago Held in a nation's half-mistrust, Here feared, there followed, lying low, Where all may trample on his dust, Lies safe with laurels round his brow,— His party's then, his England's now.
Strong loves he conquered on his way, Strong as the enmities he woke, And the loosed passions of the day In praise and anger round him broke Anger and Enmity o'erthrown, Death has for sister, Love alone.
Men called him alien, deemed him set, On dreams of empire not of ours, And prone true empire to forget In the long clash of jarring powers :. But England's 'scutcheon blazons still The motto of his life,—I will.
In steady purpose, steady toil, He followed, and he won, the prize, Which through the Senate's fierce turmoil' Lighted, but dazzled not, his eyes.
Nor rank, nor fortune, smoothed the course; He dared, and conquered, and by force.
As patient as the great should be, As watchful as the purposed are, He marked powta.'s ebbing, flowing sea, Now sparkling near, now murmuring far, Till with strong hand he grasped the helm, Through storm and shine to steer a realm.
And when, Life's threescore years and ten In the long passage overpast, • He yielded up the helm again, He stood as steady to the last: Not Cassar's robe, when Cmaar died, Was folded with a calmer pride.
Calmly he gave the reins of State, As first he held them, self-possessed ; And undismayed, as outside,
Turned to the love once loved the best, And wooed, from strife of tongues apart, 'The Muse of Story-to his heart.
So, England's Minister, good-night !
Nor praise, nor blame, can move thee now ; Safe from the fierce and public light Which beat upon thy vessel's prow : 'Thy place is with the great alone, Not one's nor other's,—Eugland's own.
HsamAN C. Mnaivs.LE.
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