I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away.--Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon, as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; 5 The Form remains, the Function never dies, While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish;--be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have power 10 To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know. "SUCH AGE, HOW BEAUTIFUL!" Such age, how beautiful! O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind To something purer and more exquisite Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'est my sight, 5 When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white, And head that droops because the soul is meek, Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare; That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb 10 From desolation toward the genial prime; Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air, And filling more and more with crystal light As pensive Evening deepens into night. TENNYSON OENONE There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 5 The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea. Behind the valley topmost Gargarus 10 Stands up and takes the morning: but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn 15 Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 20 Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: The grasshopper is silent in the grass: 25 The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead The purple flower droops: the golden bee Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 30 My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, And I am all aweary of my life.