Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/437

Rh Heard the clear song of Orpheus come

Through Hades and the mournful gloom.

Wordsworth has gone from us; and ye,

Ah, may ye feel his voice as we!

He too upon a wintry clime

Had fallen,—on this iron time

Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears.

He found us when the age had bound

Our souls in its benumbing round;

He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears.

He laid us as we lay at birth

On the cool flowery lap of earth:

Smiles broke from us, and we had ease;

The hills were round us, and the breeze

Went o'er the sunlit fields again;

Our foreheads felt the wind and rain.

Our youth returned; for there was shed

On spirits that had long been dead,

Spirits dried up and closely furled,

The freshness of the early world.

Ah! since dark days still bring to light

Man's prudence and man's fiery might,

Time may restore us in his course

Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force;

But where will Europe's latter hour

Again find Wordsworth's healing power?

Others will teach us how to dare,

And against fear our breast to steel:

Others will strengthen us to bear—

But who, ah! who will make us feel?

The cloud of mortal destiny,

Others will front it fearlessly;

But who, like him, will put it by?