Pondering God's mysteries untold, And tranquil as the glacier-snows He by those Indian mountains old Might well repose. Some grey crusading knight austere, Who bore Saint Louis company, And came home hurt to death, and here Landed to die; Some youthful troubadour, whose tongue Fill'd Europe once with his love-pain, Who here outworn had sunk, and sung His dying strain; Some girl, who here from castle-bower, With furtive step and cheek of flame, 'Twixt myrtle-hedges all in flower By moonlight came To meet her pirate-lover's ship; And from the wave-kiss'd marble stair Beckon'd him on, with quivering lip And floating hair; And lived some moons in happy trance, Then learnt his death and pined away-- Such by these waters of romance 'Twas meet to lay. But you--a grave for knight or sage, Romantic, solitary, still, O spent ones of a work-day age! Befits you ill. So sang I; but the midnight breeze, Down to the brimm'd, moon-charmed main, Comes softly through the olive-trees, And checks my strain. I think of her, whose gentle tongue All plaint in her own cause controll'd; Of thee I think, my brother! young In heart, high-soul'd-- That comely face, that cluster'd brow, That cordial hand, that bearing free, I see them still, I see them now, Shall always see! And what but gentleness untired, And what but noble feeling warm, Wherever shown, howe'er inspired, Is grace, is charm? What else is all these waters are, What else is steep'd in lucid sheen, What else is bright, what else is fair, What else serene? Mild o'er her grave, ye mountains, shine! Gently by his, ye waters, glide! To that in you which is divine They were allied. HAWORTH CHURCHYARD APRIL, 1855 Where, under Loughrigg, the stream Of Rotha sparkles through fields Vested for ever with green, Four years since, in the house Of a gentle spirit, now dead-- Wordsworth's son-in-law, friend-- I saw the meeting of two Gifted women.[22] The one, Brilliant with recent renown, Young, unpractised, had told With a master's accent her feign'd Story of passionate life; The other, maturer in fame, Earning, she too, her praise First in fiction, had since Widen'd her sweep, and survey'd History, politics, mind. The two held converse; they wrote In a book which of world-famous souls Kept the memorial;--bard, Warrior, statesman, had sign'd Their names; chief glory of all, Scott had bestow'd there his last Breathings of song, with a pen Tottering, a death-stricken hand.