CROSSING OVER.FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.Manya year is in its grave,Since I crossed this restless wave;And the evening, fair as ever,Shines on ruin, rock, and river.Then, in this same boat, beside,Sat two comrades old and tried;One with all a father’s truth,One with all the fire of youth.One on earth in silence wrought,And his grave in silence sought;But the younger, brighter formPassed in battle and in storm.So, whene’er I turn my eyeBack upon the days gone by,Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;Friends who closed their course before me.Yet, what binds us, friend to friend,But that soul with soul can blend?Soul-like were those hours of yore—Let us walk in soul once more!Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee!Take! I give it willingly;For, invisibly to thee,Spirits twain have crossed with me.* * * * *Theyare all gone into a world of light,And I alone sit lingering here!Their very memory is fair and bright,And my sad thoughts doth clear.Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!Shining nowhere but in the dark!What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,Could man outlook that mark!He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know,At first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair field or grove he sings innow,That is to him unknown.And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,Call to the soul when man doth sleep,So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,And into glory peep.Henry Vaughan.
CROSSING OVER.FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.
Manya year is in its grave,Since I crossed this restless wave;And the evening, fair as ever,Shines on ruin, rock, and river.Then, in this same boat, beside,Sat two comrades old and tried;One with all a father’s truth,One with all the fire of youth.One on earth in silence wrought,And his grave in silence sought;But the younger, brighter formPassed in battle and in storm.So, whene’er I turn my eyeBack upon the days gone by,Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;Friends who closed their course before me.Yet, what binds us, friend to friend,But that soul with soul can blend?Soul-like were those hours of yore—Let us walk in soul once more!Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee!Take! I give it willingly;For, invisibly to thee,Spirits twain have crossed with me.
Manya year is in its grave,Since I crossed this restless wave;And the evening, fair as ever,Shines on ruin, rock, and river.Then, in this same boat, beside,Sat two comrades old and tried;One with all a father’s truth,One with all the fire of youth.One on earth in silence wrought,And his grave in silence sought;But the younger, brighter formPassed in battle and in storm.So, whene’er I turn my eyeBack upon the days gone by,Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;Friends who closed their course before me.Yet, what binds us, friend to friend,But that soul with soul can blend?Soul-like were those hours of yore—Let us walk in soul once more!Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee!Take! I give it willingly;For, invisibly to thee,Spirits twain have crossed with me.
Manya year is in its grave,Since I crossed this restless wave;And the evening, fair as ever,Shines on ruin, rock, and river.
Manya year is in its grave,
Since I crossed this restless wave;
And the evening, fair as ever,
Shines on ruin, rock, and river.
Then, in this same boat, beside,Sat two comrades old and tried;One with all a father’s truth,One with all the fire of youth.
Then, in this same boat, beside,
Sat two comrades old and tried;
One with all a father’s truth,
One with all the fire of youth.
One on earth in silence wrought,And his grave in silence sought;But the younger, brighter formPassed in battle and in storm.
One on earth in silence wrought,
And his grave in silence sought;
But the younger, brighter form
Passed in battle and in storm.
So, whene’er I turn my eyeBack upon the days gone by,Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;Friends who closed their course before me.
So, whene’er I turn my eye
Back upon the days gone by,
Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;
Friends who closed their course before me.
Yet, what binds us, friend to friend,But that soul with soul can blend?Soul-like were those hours of yore—Let us walk in soul once more!
Yet, what binds us, friend to friend,
But that soul with soul can blend?
Soul-like were those hours of yore—
Let us walk in soul once more!
Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee!Take! I give it willingly;For, invisibly to thee,Spirits twain have crossed with me.
Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee!
Take! I give it willingly;
For, invisibly to thee,
Spirits twain have crossed with me.
* * * * *
Theyare all gone into a world of light,And I alone sit lingering here!Their very memory is fair and bright,And my sad thoughts doth clear.Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!Shining nowhere but in the dark!What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,Could man outlook that mark!He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know,At first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair field or grove he sings innow,That is to him unknown.And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,Call to the soul when man doth sleep,So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,And into glory peep.Henry Vaughan.
Theyare all gone into a world of light,And I alone sit lingering here!Their very memory is fair and bright,And my sad thoughts doth clear.Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!Shining nowhere but in the dark!What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,Could man outlook that mark!He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know,At first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair field or grove he sings innow,That is to him unknown.And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,Call to the soul when man doth sleep,So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,And into glory peep.Henry Vaughan.
Theyare all gone into a world of light,And I alone sit lingering here!Their very memory is fair and bright,And my sad thoughts doth clear.
Theyare all gone into a world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here!
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!Shining nowhere but in the dark!What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,Could man outlook that mark!
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just!
Shining nowhere but in the dark!
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know,At first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair field or grove he sings innow,That is to him unknown.
He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair field or grove he sings innow,
That is to him unknown.
And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,Call to the soul when man doth sleep,So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,And into glory peep.
And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
Henry Vaughan.