Classic Poem

I.

From out the voiceless chambers of the Past,
 Where time has buried all life's brightest years.
Memory recalls some days, not overcast
 With care and sorrow, weariness and tears,
And I live over many a pleasant hour,
That bears the fragrance of some rare, sweet flower
Pluckt from the tree of life in summer's bower.

The interests of the Present pass away,
 And that which was, but is not, seems to be;
Dead hopes revive, old thoughts resume their sway,
 And by the soft, uncertain light I see
The genial faces I was wont to meet,
When hope was new and life was fair and sweet,
And we went down its paths with buoyant feet.

Then, once again I meet thee, O my friend!
 In all the vigor of thy manhood's prime;
Thy face, where sympathy and goodness blend,
 As I beheld it in the dear old time;
And, dreaming on in Fancy's Vision Land,
I hear thy voice in greeting kind and bland,
And feel the clasping of thy friendly hand.

II.

Methinks we speak of stirring scenes and men
 That are not found to-day upon life's stage;
Of questions and opinions, vital when
 Time told the measure of the golden age,
When mighty Webster, rare Roanoke and Clay,
Marshall, Calhoun, and lesser lights than they,
Were in the bright meridian of their day.

An age of gifted men, of deeds sublime,
 That sowed broadcast along the world's highway
A goodly harvest, for all coming time,
 That thousands, millions, reap with joy to-day;
When broad, young States from savage wilds were won,
Till Freedom, reaching to the setting sun,
Threw her strong arms around fair Oregon.

When far away beneath blue Southern skies,
 Where brave men waged a fierce, unequal war,
We saw, above the battle smoke, arise
 The blood-stained banner of the lonely Star,
And heard the voice of kith and kindred plead
For help, protection, in their hour of need.
That prayer was answered well, in word and deed.

III.

And in that self-devoted Spartan band,
 Who pledged their lives on honor's holy shrine,
To rescue from its thraldom that fair land,
 There was no braver heart, O friend, than thine.
Heaven guarded thee through dangers dark and dire,
By land and sea, and war's baptismal fire,
And brought thee home unscathed to love's desire.

Men reap in peace the harvest sown in blood,
 Corn grows and ripens on the battlefield,
And children play where once the bivouac stood,
 With bits of broken lance and battered shield;
The deeds of gallant men, love's parting tears,
Last, fond embraces, grim and ghastly fears
Are buried in the graves of long-gone years.

And in the bosom of a pleasant land,
 Where fair magnolias drop their fragrant snows,
Thy noble heart and generous, open hand,
 Have found at last the sweetness of repose.
Sleep well; thou wilt not waken till the dawn;
But while the hearts that knew thee best beat on,
Fond love will wake to weep that thou art gone.

IV.

No hand can lift the shadow from thy hearth,
 No power restore the sunshine to thy door,
Since death has written, over all the earth,
 The cruel legend, “Never, nevermore!”
But love, immortal love, will seek its own,
And those whose souls to thine, thro' years, had grown,
Will find thee somewhere in the great unknown.

It is not long to wait; our years are few.
 Time speeds along his course with flying feet.
Naught can the life of yesterday renew,
 And no to-morrow will to-day repeat.
It is not long to wait, nor far to go,
Yet to the lonely ones that loved thee so,
All time, all space is full of weary woe.

Thy pathway lay not always in the light,
 But come what would, thy great undaunted soul
Was true to its conviction of the right,
 As the magnetic needle to the pole.
Thou didst not learn the truth from seer or sage,
From cabalistic lore or sacred page;
It was thy guiding star from youth to age.

And charity was of thy life a part;
 It touched and tuned the fibers of thy brain,
Folded its snow-white pinions in thy heart,
 And sung to thee, alway, love's sweet refrain.
The homeless turned to thee in their distress,
The helpless widow and the fatherless;
The stricken aged named thee but to bless.