Part 44 (2/2)

August, 1906.

ROBERT BROWNING

How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, In winding graveyard pathways underground, For Browning's lineage! What if men have found Poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll Of his forbears? Did they beget his soul?

Nay, for he came of ancestry renowned Through all the world,--the poets laurel-crowned With wreaths from which the autumn takes no toll.

The blazons on his coat-of-arms are these: The flaming sign of Sh.e.l.ley's heart on fire, The golden globe of Shakespeare's human stage, The staff and scrip of Chaucer's pilgrimage, The rose of Dante's deep, divine desire, The tragic mask of wise Euripides.

November, 1906.

TENNYSON

In Lucem Transitus, October, 1892

From the misty sh.o.r.es of midnight, touched with splendours of the moon, To the singing tides of heaven, and the light more clear than noon, Pa.s.sed a soul that grew to music till it was with G.o.d in tune.

Brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, true to art; Lover of Immortal Love, uplifter of the human heart; Who shall cheer us with high music, who shall sing, if thou depart?

Silence here--for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail; Silence here--for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail; Silence here--but far beyond us, many voices crying, Hail!

”IN MEMORIAM”

The record of a faith sublime, And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned; The incense of a love that burned Through pain and doubt defying Time:

The story of a soul at strife That learned at last to kiss the rod, And pa.s.sed through sorrow up to G.o.d, From living to a higher life:

A light that gleams across the wave Of darkness, down the rolling years, Piercing the heavy mist of tears-- A rainbow s.h.i.+ning o'er a grave.

VICTOR HUGO

1802-1902

Heart of France for a hundred years, Pa.s.sionate, sensitive, proud, and strong, Quick to throb with her hopes and fears, Fierce to flame with her sense of wrong!

You, who hailed with a morning song Dream-light gilding a throne of old: You, who turned when the dream grew cold, Singing still, to the light that shone Pure from Liberty's ancient throne, Over the human throng!

You, who dared in the dark eclipse,-- When the pygmy heir of a giant name Dimmed the face of the land with shame,-- Speak the truth with indignant lips, Call him little whom men called great, Scoff at him, scorn him, deny him, Point to the blood on his robe of state, Fling back his bribes and defy him!

You, who fronted the waves of fate As you faced the sea from your island home, Exiled, yet with a soul elate, Sending songs o'er the rolling foam, Bidding the heart of man to wait For the day when all should see Floods of wrath from the frowning skies Fall on an Empire founded in lies, And France again be free!

You, who came in the Terrible Year Swiftly back to your broken land, Now to your heart a thousand times more dear,-- Prayed for her, sung to her, fought for her, Patiently, fervently wrought for her, Till once again, After the storm of fear and pain, High in the heavens the star of France stood clear!

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