There not around alone Watch'd sister, brother, wife, And she who gave him life, White as if wrought in stone Unheard, invisible, by the bed of death Stood eager millions by; And as the hour drew nigh, Dreading to see him die, Held their breath. Where'er in world-wide skies The Lion-Banner burns, A common impulse turns All hearts to where he lies:-- For as a babe the heir of that great throne Is weak and motionless; And they feel the deep distress On wife and mother press, As 'twere their own. O! not the thought of race From Asian Odin drawn In History's mythic dawn, Nor what we downward trace, --Plantagenet, York, Edward, Elizabeth,-- Heroic names approved,-- The blood of the people moved; But that, 'mongst those he loved, He fought with death. And if the Reason said ''Gainst Nature's law and death Prayer is but idle breath,'-- Yet Faith was undismayed, Arm'd with the deeper insight of the heart:-- Nor can the wisest say What other laws may sway The world's apparent way, Known but in part. Nor knew we on that life What burdens may be cast; What issues wide and vast Dependent on that strife:-- This only:--'Twas the son of those we loved! That in his Mother's hand Peace set her golden wand; 'Mid heaving realms, one land Law-ruled, unmoved. --He fought, and we with him! And other Powers were by, Courage, and Science high, Grappling the spectre grim On the battle-field of quiet Sandringham: And force of perfect Love, And the will of One above, Chased Death's dark squadrons off, And overcame. --O soul, to life restored And love, and wider aim Than private care can claim, --And from Death's unsheath'd sword! By suffering and by safety dearer made:-- O may the life new-found Through life be wisdom-crown'd,-- Till in the common ground Thou too art laid! A DORSET IDYL _HARCOMBE NEAR LYME_ September: 1878 Before me with one happy heave Of golden green the hillside curves, Where slowly, smoothly, rounding swerves The shadow of each perfect tree, By slanting shafts of eve Flame-fringed and bathed in pale transparency. And that long ridge that crowns the hill Stands fir-dark 'gainst the falling rays; Above, a waft of pearly haze Lies on the sapphire field of air, So radiant and so still As though a star-cloud took its station there. Up wold and wild the valley goes, 'Mid heath and mounded slopes of oak, And light ash-thicket, where the smoke Wreathes high in evening's air serene, Floating in white repose O'er the blue reek of cottage-hearths unseen.