Now boldly Presseth on, now bendeth low, So that the good may work, wax, thrive amain, So that the day the noble may attain. Yet, though so skill'd, of such transcendent worth, This boarded scaffold doth he not despise; The fate that on its axis turns the earth From day to night, here shows he to our eyes, Raising, through many a work of glorious birth, Art and the artist's fame up tow'rd the skies. He fills with blossoms of the noblest strife, With life itself, this effigy of life. His giant-step, as ye full surely knew, Measured the circle of the will and deed, Each country's changing thoughts and morals too, The darksome book with clearness could he read; Yet how he, breathless 'midst his friends so true, Despaired in sorrow, scarce from pain was freed,-- All this have we, in sadly happy years, For he was ours, bewailed with feeling tears. When from the agonizing weight of grief He raised his eyes upon the world again, We show'd him how his thoughts might find relief From the uncertain present's heavy chain, Gave his fresh-kindled mind a respite brief, With kindly skill beguiling ev'ry pain, And e'en at eve, when setting was his sun, From his wan cheeks a gentle smile we won. Full early had he read the stern decree, Sorrow and death to him, alas, were known; Ofttimes recovering, now departed he,-- Dread tidings, that our hearts had fear'd to own! Yet his transfigured being now can see Itself, e'en here on earth, transfigured grown. What his own age reproved, and deem'd a crime, Hath been ennobled now by death and time. And many a soul that with him strove in fight, And his great merit grudged to recognise, Now feels the impress of his wondrous might, And in his magic fetters gladly lies; E'en to the highest bath he winged his flight, In close communion link'd with all we prize. Extol him then! What mortals while they live But half receive, posterity shall give. Thus is he left us, who so long ago,-- Ten years, alas, already!--turn'd from earth; We all, to our great joy, his precepts know, Oh may the world confess their priceless worth! In swelling tide tow'rd every region flow The thoughts that were his own peculiar birth; He gleams like some departing meteor bright, Combining, with his own, eternal light. ----- L'ENVOl. ----- Now, gentle reader, is our journey ended, Mute is our minstrel, silent is our song; Sweet the bard's voice whose strains our course attended, Pleasant the paths he guided us along. Now must we part,--Oh word all full of sadness, Changing to pensive retrospect our gladness! Reader, farewell! we part perchance for ever, Scarce may I hope to meet with thee again; But e'en though fate our fellowship may sever, Reader, will aught to mark that tie remain? Yes! there is left one sad sweet bond of union,-- Sorrow at parting links us in communion. But of the twain, the greater is my sorrow,-- Reader, and why?--Bethink thee of the sun, How, when he sets, he waiteth for the morrow,