through the heavens, In sheets and streaking fire and thunderous clap, With shock on shock, that crushed the ripened corn, And swept the piled up midsummer to ruin. That wrenched great timbers of a thousand years, Shaking the strong foundations of the land. And when at last the terrible tempest fell, Wide heaven was emptied of the sun and stars, And void of more than all their light to me.

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Like fretted me to hollow weariness When my sweet Dove of Paradise went off, Ascending, glory-guarded, into heaven. p. 131Then feeding on the past, and fondling death, I grew in livid horror: soon had grown, By foul self cankered, to a charnel ghoule, Had not Almighty God, gracious in love, Permitted her own presence once again, Mysterious as a vision, yet once more To come a shining warning and reveal Athwart my path unfathomable gulfs, And kindle hope wherewith I still might gain The hills that shine for ever to the blessed.

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Much striving has been mine since those events Ruled the pulsation of my daily life: And now they are a vulgar chronicle, And gossiped over by the rudest tongues. A haunting song of old felicities Lured me, scarce consciously, down here to muse Upon my shattered dreams; safe from the roar Of interests in our grim metropolis, The beating heart of England and the world. Not seen by me, since on that wondrous night p. 132Her consolation came into my soul; Yet here again I stand beside her tomb— And here I muse, more wise and not so sad.

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Hers was a gracious and a gentle house! Rich in obliging nice observances And famed ancestral hospitality. A cool repose lay grateful through the place; And pleasant duties promptly, truly done, And every service moved by hidden springs Sped with intelligence, went smoothly round.

The steward to that stately country home Looked native there as lichen to the oak. He first held station, chief in care and trust, That day which gave his baby mistress birth; And her he loved as father loves his own, Bearing her too that reverence which we feel Toward those who, born to loftier state than ours, Sit their high fortune with becoming grace. His love she ever sumptuously returned p. 133In bounteous thankfulness for service done: How brightly twinkled then his shrewd grey eyes, And shone the roundness where his honest cheeks Played to the rippling gladness of his mouth! In childhood rambles, it was mostly he She chose for partner, spite of blandishment; And to her winsome ways 

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