I leave thy shores to which I steered With hopes that swelled my heart, Their shadowy phantoms rise again To greet me ere I part. They came not through Sleep’s Ivory Gate, As once they came, dream-born, But whence the truer shades arise From the twin Gate of Horn. They tell of many a purpose crossed, Of disconcerted plan: Of baffled aims that wisely chide The imaginings of man: Of fond desires, of fancied good, As though could power constrain All means to justest ends and bring A golden age again. They tell of angry gathering crowds: Of Faction’s hate-swayed throng: Of wild words prompting wilder deeds, Unstayed by heed of wrong; The cruel taunt, the scornful jest, The slander that belies, The coward hiss that rose unshamed Before a woman’s eyes. All save the last in other years I braved this, this, was spared; Though fiercer crowds had wreaked the worst That bigot rage had dared. I stood for what I deemed the right-- Ye women-slayers say true! Have cheeks that never paled for them, Ere blanched for such as you? To win the fickle breath of praise, No suppliant knee I bow, And what once Duty pledged to grant, No fear shall disavow. I crave not at your hands for aught But dues that fair lists owe, And bear ye as ye will, ye meet At least a gallant foe. Yet not alone of these the freight Their parting message bears, But auguries of harvest joys For a seed-time of tears. The reapers of the summer swathes Know well that winter’s rain Must spend its havoc on the soil, Ere smiles the yellow grain. So time shall its own wreck repair, And they who garner, then, Forget not that the day’s long heats Were borne by other men. Yet not in vain the labour now, Nor scant the meed unsued, The richest guerdon toil can earn-- A people’s gratitude. They bring the memories of friends Who charm on exile shed: Who lightened weary months of care, And soothed the fevered bed: Bold hearts that never failed my side, In cloud or shine the same: Still true in the fierce fight that raged Round Ilbert’s fateful name. Come hither, come hither, my trusty Aide, What turns thy cheek so pale? What latest fair thou leav’st behind, Believes thy oft-told tale? If ’tis some fond delusion paints Thy happiness at stake, A heart that holds so many loves, Fear not, will never break.