y,
I digged about
That place where I had seen him to grow out;
And by and by
I saw the warm recluse alone to lie,
Where fresh and green
He lived of us unseen.

Many a question intricate and rare
Did I there strow;
But all I could extort was, that he now
Did there repair
Such losses as befell him in this air,
And would ere long
Come forth most fair and young.

This past, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head;
And, stung with fear
Of my own frailty, dropped down many a tear
Upon his bed;
Then sighing, whispered, _Happy are the dead!
What peace doth now
Rock him asleep below!_

And yet, how few believe such doctrine springs
From a poor root
Which all the winter sleeps here under foot,
And hath no wings
To raise it to the truth and light of things,
But is still trod
By every wandering clod!

O thou, whose spirit did at first inflame
And warm the dead!
And by a sacred incubation fed
With life this frame,
Which once had neither being, form, nor name!
Grant I may so
Thy steps track here below,

That in these masks and shadows I may see
Thy sacred way;
And by those hid ascents climb to that day
Which breaks from thee,
Who art in all things, though invisibly:
Show me thy peace,
Thy mercy, love, and ease.

And from this care, where dreams and sorrows reign,
Lead me above,
Where light, joy, leisure, and true comforts move
Without all pain:
There, hid in thee, show me his life again
At whose dumb urn
Thus all the year I mourn.

There are several amongst his poems lamenting, like this, the death of
some dear friend--perhaps his twin-brother, whom he outlived thirty
years.

According to what a man is capable of seeing in nature, he becomes either
a man of appliance, a man of science, a mystic, or a poet.

I must now give two that are simple in thought, construction, and music.
The latter ought to be popular, from the nature of its rhythmic movement,
and the holy merriment it carries. But in the former, note how the major
key of gladness changes in the third stanza to the minor key of
aspiration, which has always some sadness in it; a sadness which deepens
to grief in the next stanza at the consciousness of unfitness for
Christ's company, but is lifted by hope almost again to gladness in the
last.

CHRIS