See how the small concentrate fiery force Is grappling with the glory of the main, That follows like some grave heroic corse, Dragged by a sutler from the heap of slain. Thy solemn presence brings us more than pain,-- 5 Something which Fancy moulds into remorse, That we, who of thine honour held the gain, Should from its dignity thy form divorce. Yet will we read in thy high vaunting name, How Britain _did_ what France could only _dare_, 10 And, while the sunset gilds the darkening air, We will fill up thy shadowy lines with fame; And, tomb or temple, hail thee still the same, Home of great thoughts, memorial Téméraire. _Lord Houghton._ CCLXXV _THE RHODORA_: ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook; The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 5 Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, 10 Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew; But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. _Ralph Waldo Emerson._ CCLXXVI _THE GOOD PART THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY._ She dwells by Great Kenhawa’s side, In valleys green and cool, And all her hope and all her pride Are in the village school. Her soul, like the transparent air 5 That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there All things with arms of love. And thus she walks among her girls With praise and mild rebukes; 10 Subduing e’en rude village churls By her angelic looks. She reads to them at eventide Of One who came to save; To cast the captives’ chains aside, 15 And liberate the slave. And oft the blessèd time foretells When all men shall be free; And musical as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be. 20 And following her belovèd Lord In decent poverty, She makes her life one sweet record And deed of charity. For she was rich, and gave up all 25 To break the iron bands Of those who waited in her hall, And laboured in her lands.