Fame and Friendship 1838

Spirit of glory! tell me why

All that is dearest and best must die!

Why are the friends we love the most

Never fully known but lost?

Why is the earth like a godly bower,

Roofed and walled with fruit and flower,

Wherein we sport with careless glee

Awhile, then start and shake to see

A fleshless figure, coldly sneering,

Through the leafy woodbine peering?

They say that Joy is born a twin;

But ah! his aspect cherubin

Is strangely matched with the cypress-wreath

That binds the brow of his brother—Death!

Spirit of glory! what is fame?

What have we to do with a name,

Who toil, and toil, to plant repate,¹

But may not live to taste the fruit?

We die away, and honour’s stir

Can never pierce the sepulchre!

Child of earth! come forth with me

And upper clouds and the lower sea,

And the womb of earth, shall answer thee!

How still it is below the sea!

How still and dim it is!

How strange the nights that greeted me

In that serene abyss!

There’s many a spire, and giant stair,

And many a coral hall;

The water is as free as air,

And antic shapes are moving there,

But hushed and voiceless all!

On we went, and many a spoil,

Rusted anchor, cable-coil,

Scattered jewels, cannon old,

Boarding pikes, and bars of gold,

Lay all around us; these we passed,

And came upon a desert vast,

Whose light was hoar, and indistinct,

Resembling, rather, light extinct;

And there a host of spectres sate,

Silent all, and separate.

There was no stir, no sound, no speech,

But each looked steadfastly on each:

Ah me! The blood my heart forsook,

To see that cold and haggard look!

—And the spirit whispered in my ear,

“The newly-dead are gathered here!”

* * *

Down, down we go to central earth,

My Spirit-guide and I;

Who laughs? —A ghoul has a fit of mirth,

To see a man go by!

How long, how long the dreary way!

How dark this chasm-rent!

How solemn is this moaning fray

Of floods that roll in gloom away,

In this hot dungeon pent!

Oh, take me up to the place of day;

My strength is almost spent!

Ha! the passage widens now;

Cooler grows the air:

Cheerful light begins to glow

On a prospect fair:

I see the glorious groves, that reach

Many a mile away;

There is a murmuring sounds of speech,

—But the speakers where are they?

I see them now; and tell me, who

Are those who wander two by two,

With looks and words so softly kind,

And arms affectionately twined?

And who are these, who stand and wait

Lonely, and disconsolate,

And greet, at last, with warm embrace,

And tears, some new arriver’s face?

—Who are these, whose fondness seems

Sad and beautiful as dreams?

—These are friends of old, whose love

First began on the Earth above;

Whose strong affection would not wane,

But stood through guilt, and grief, and pain,

And now, when life and death are past,

Their love continues to the last!

* * *

The upper clouds, the upper clouds,

How beautiful they are!

How crowned with light the starry crowds

Of spirits wandering there!

Here; too, are cloud-piled palaces.

With gold and crimson domes,

And masterminds of Earth in these

Have everlasting homes.

I saw a temple huge and high,

And stamped with antique blazonry,

With stars and moons, and planet-rings

And Nature’s dim and awful springs.

In lines along the shadowy hall,

Stood a thousand columns tall;

And spirits thronged with noiseless feet

To offer adoration tacet

Before the cloud-girt throne, whereon

Sat a figure, still as stone,

Broad of brow, and mild of eye,

Yet he wore an aspect high,

Serenely proud and meekly cold;

—this was EPICURUS old!

We entered, next, a stately fane;

Where sword, and spear, and battle-vane,

And shivered brow, and buckler broken,

Trophied show, and conquest-token

Of Pontus, Spain, Œgyptus, Gaul,

Martially bedecked the wall.

High on the altar-seat of slate,

A form of generous bearing sate:

This was the Roman Conqueror,

Historian, and orator.

How envious was the ingrate blow

That laid the noble JULIUS low!

Then a mansion met my view,

Robed in clouds of lightning hue.

Dazzled by the sudden blaze,

Down, awake, I cast my gaze,

Then hastened through the porch, to see

Whose memorial this might be.

Within, a song of triumph swelled,

Never falling, still upheld—

A song that shook the vaulted hall

With its sound majestical.

Round about, a multitude

Circle within circle stood,

And every look was cast above,

And beamed with patriotic love;

I, too, looked up, and thought to see

A shape of bright supremacy,

—But lo! a peasant sat upon

The throne of adoration;

A man of meek, reflective air,

And yet his eye had a sudden glare,

As if he thought of the days of old,

When his own small band of peasants rolled,

Torrent-like, to overthrow

The Gallic and Bavarian foe.

—This was he, who led his few

Valesmen—aye, and women too!

For women joined in the holy fight,

And rolled from every mountain height,

The trunk of a tree, or a massy stone,

Crushing their foemen, flesh and bone!

—Who marshalled forth their rude attack,

And quelled, with awful rout and rack,

The proud invaders, who had come

By myriads, with trump and drum,

Thick as leaves on summer trees,

—This was the HOFER the Tyrolese!²

E.T.F.