Classic Poem

Busy day has hurried by, The
And hearts greet kindred hearts once more;
And swift the evening hours should fly,
But — what turns every gleaming eye
So often to the door,

And then so quick away — and why
Does sudden silence chill the room,
And laughter sink into a sigh,
And merry words to whispers die,
And gladness change to gloom?

O we are listening for a sound
We know shall ne'er be heard again;
Sweet voices in the halls resound,
Fair forms, fond faces gather round,
But all in vain — in vain!

Their feet shall never waken more*
The echoes in these galleries wide,
Nor dare the snow on the mountain's brow,*
Nor skim the river's frozen flow,
Nor wander down its side.

They who have been our life — our soul —
Through summer-youth, from childhood's spring —
Who bound us in one vigorous whole
To stand 'gainst Tyranny's control
For ever triumphing —

Who bore the brunt of battle's fray:
The first to fight, the last to fall;
Whose mighty minds, with kindred ray,
Still led the van in Glory's way;
The idol chiefs of all —

They, they are gone! Not for a while
As golden suns at night decline
And even in death our grief beguile*
Foretelling, with a rose-red smile,
How bright the morn will shine.

No; these dark towers are lone and lorn;
This very crowd is vacancy;
And we must watch and wait and mourn
And half look out for their return,
And think their forms we see;

And fancy music in our ear,
Such as their lips could only pour;
And think we feel their presence near,
And start to find they are not here,
And never shall be more!1 Palace of Instruction (see page 167).