| |
| SILENCE was envious of the only voice | |
| That mightier seemed than she. So, cloaked as Death, | |
| With potion borrowed from Oblivion, | |
| Yet with slow step and tear-averted look, | |
| She sealed his lips, closed his extinguished eyes, | 5 |
| And, veiling him with darkness, deemed him dead. | |
| But no!—There ’s something vital in the great | |
| That blunts the edge of Death, and sages say | |
| You should stab deep if you would kill a king. | |
| In vain! The conqueror’s conqueror he remains, | 10 |
| Surviving his survivors. And as when, | |
| The prophet gone, his least disciple stands | |
| Newly invested with a twilight awe, | |
| So linger men beside his listeners | |
| While they recount that miracle of speech | 15 |
| And the hushed wonder over which it fell. | |
| |
| What do they tell us of that storied voice, | |
| Breathing an upper air, wherein he dwelt | |
| Mid shifting clouds a mountain of resolve, | |
| And falling like Sierra’s April flood | 20 |
| That pours in ponderous cadence from the cliff, | |
| Waking Yosemite from its sleep of snow, | |
| And less by warmth than by its massive power | |
| Thawing a thousand torrents into one? | |
| Such was his speech, and, were his fame to die, | 25 |
| Such for its requiem alone were fit: | |
| Some kindred voice of Nature, as the Sea | |
| When autumn tides redouble their lament | |
| On Marshfield shore; some elemental force | |
| Kindred to Nature in the mind of man— | 30 |
| A far-felt, rhythmic, and resounding wave | |
| Of Homer, or a freedom-breathing wind | |
| Sweeping the height of Milton’s loftiest mood. | |
| Most fit of all, could his own words pronounce | |
| His eulogy, eclipsing old with new, | 35 |
| As though a dying star should burst in light. | |
| |
| And yet he spoke not only with his voice. | |
| His full brow, buttressing a dome of thought, | |
| Moved the imagination like the rise | |
| Of some vast temple covering nothing mean. | 40 |
| His eyes were sibyls’ caves, wherein the wise | |
| Read sibyls’ secrets; and the iron clasp | |
| Of those broad lips, serene or saturnine, | |
| Made proclamation of majestic will. | |
| His glance could silence like a frowning Fate. | 45 |
| His mighty frame was refuge, while his mien | |
| Did make dispute of stature with the gods. | |
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