SM OISELET

qA FUC^EIIqAL sov^g

FO^ THÊOTHILE GoâUTIE^

hat shall our song be for the mighty dead, For this our master that is ours no more> Lo ! for thé dead was none of those that wore

The laurel lightly on a heedless head,

Chanting a song of idle lustihead,

Among the sun-kissed roses on the shore! This our beloved, that is gone before,

Was of the race of heroes battle-bred,

That from the dawn-white to the sunset-red Fought in the front of war !

Lo ! this was he that in the weary time, In many a devious and darkling way, Through dusk of doubt and thunder of dismay

Held our hearts hopeful with his résonant rhyme ,

Lifting our lives above the smoke and slime Into some splendid summer for away , oj Where the sun brimmed the chalice of the day

With gold of heaven and the accordant chime

Of woods and waters to the calm sublime Sent up their roundelay!

This was our poet in the front of faith ! Our singer gone to his most sweet repose, Sped to his summer from the time of snows

And winter winding ail the world with death; —

Who shall make moan or utter mournful breath That this our noblest one no longer knows Our evil place of toil and many woes,

Lying at the last where no voice entereth?

Who shall weave for him other than a wreath Of laurel and of rose?

Hence with the cypress and the funeral song! Let not the shrill sound of our mourning mar His triumph, that upon the Immortals' car

Passes, star-crowned ; but from the laurelled throng,

That stand await, let every voice prolong A noise of jubilance, that from afar Shall hail in heaven the new majestic star

That rises, with a radiance calm and strong,

To burn for ever, unobscured, among The courts where the Gods are!

Ay, let the trumpets and the clarions blow, The air rain roses and the sky resound With harpings of his peers that stand around,

The while the splendours of the triumph go

Along the streets and through the portico!

I loo, who loved the dead, as from the ground The glowworm loves the star, will stand, brow-bound With winter-roses, in the sunset-glow, And make thin music, fluting soft and low Above his funeral mound!

I too, who loved him, from beyond the sea Add my weak note to that sublime acclaim, That, soaring with the silver of his name, Shall shake ihe heavens with splendid harmony, Till ail who listen bend in awe the knee, Seeing a gianfs spirit, like a flame, Returning to that heaven from whence it came, And many weep for very shame, to see The majesty they knew not, till 'twas free From earthly praise or blâme!

Hail, O our master ! From the hastening hours This one we set above its grey-veiled peers, Armed with thy name against the night that nears !

We crown it with the glory of the flowers,

We wind it with ail magie that is ours

Of song and hope and jewel-coloured tears; We charm it with our love from taint of fears;

We set it high against the sky that lowers,

To burn, a love-sign, from the topmost towers, Through glad and sorry years.