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Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings,
from the way
Earth's mightiest men, in arm'd array,
Are thither gone before.
The warrior kings, whose banner
They are gone where swords avail them not,
And the seers who sat of yore
By orient palm or wave,
They have pass'd with all their starry lore-
We fear! we fear !-the sunshine
And we reck not the buried kings,
Ye shrink!-the bards whose lays
Have made your deep hearts burn,
For the land whence none return.
And the beautiful, whose record
Is the verse that cannot die,
They too are gone, with their glorious bloom,
From the love of human eye.
Would ye not join that throng
Of the earth's departed flowers,
And the masters of the mighty song
In their far and fadeless bowers?
Those songs are high and holy,
But they vanquish not our fear;
Linger then yet awhile,
As the last leaves on the bough!Ye have lov'd the light of many a smile, That is taken from you now.
There have been sweet singing voices
Soft eyes are seen no more,
That made spring-time in your heart; Kindred and friends are gone beforeAnd ye still fear to part?
We fear not now, we fear not!
Though the way thro' darkness bends;
Our souls are strong to follow them,
IT wav'd not thro' an Eastern sky,
It was not fann'd by southern breeze
But fair the exil'd Palm-tree grew
*This incident is, I think, recorded by De Lille, in his poem of "Les Jardins."