It was the last death-shriek.

- A few (my soul oft sees that sight)
Survive upon the tall mast's height;
But one dear remnant of the night, -
For him in vain I seek.

Six weeks beneath the moving sea
He lay in slumber quietly;
Unforced by wind or wave

To quit the ship for which he died,
(All claims of duty satisfied;)

And there they found him at her side,
And bore him to the grave.

Vain service! yet not vainly done
For this, if other end were none,
That he, who had been cast
Upon a way of life unmeet

For such a gentle Soul and sweet,
Should find an undisturbed retreat
Near what he loved, at last

The neighborhood of grove and field
To him a resting-place should yield,
A meek man and a brave!

The birds shall sing and ocean make
A mournful murmur for his sake;

And thou, sweet flower, shalt sleep and wake
Upon his senseless grave.

VIII.

ELEGIAC VERSES,

IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH,

Commander of the E. I. Company's ship, the Earl of Abergavenny, in which he perished by a calamitous shipwreck, Feb. 6th, 1805. Composed near the mountain track, that leads from Grasmere through Grisdale Hawes, where it descends towards Patterdale.

1805.

I.

THE Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo!
That instant, startled by the shock,
The Buzzard mounted from the rock
Deliberate and slow:

Lord of the air, he took his flight;
O, could he on that woful night
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,
For one poor moment's space, to thee,
And all who struggled with the Sea,
When safety was so near!

II.

Thus in the weakness of my heart
I spoke, (but let that pang be still,)
When, rising from the rock at will,
I saw the bird depart.

And let me calmly bless the Power

That meets me in this unknown flower,
Affecting type of him I mourn!

With calmness suffer and believe,

And grieve, and know that I must grieve,
Not cheerless, though forlorn.

Here did we stop; and here looked round
While each into himself descends,

For that last thought of parting Friends
That is not to be found.

Hidden was Grasmere Vale from sight,
Our home and his, his heart's delight,
His quiet heart's selected home.
But time before him melts away,

And he hath feeling of a day

Of blessedness to come.

IV.

Full soon in sorrow did I weep,

Taught that the mutual hope was dust,

In sorrow, but for higher trust,

How miserably deep!

All vanished in a single word,

A breath, a sound, and scarcely heard.

Sea,

ship,-drowned,-shipwreck, so it came,

The meek, the brave, the good, was gone;
He who had been our living John

Vas nothing but a name.

V.

That was indeed a parting! O.

Glad am I, glad that it is past!
For there were some on whom it cast
Unutterable woe.

But they as well as I have gains ;-
From many a humble source, to pains
Like these, there comes a mild release;
Even here I feel it, even this Plant
Is in its beauty ministrant

To comfort and to peace.

VI.

He would have loved thy modest grace,

Meek Flower! To him I would have said,

"It grows upon its native bed

Beside our Parting-place;

There, cleaving to the ground, it lies,

With multitude of purple eyes,

Spangling a cushion green like moss;

But we will see it, joyful tide!
Some day, to see it in its pride,

The mountain we will cross."

VII.

- Brother and friend, if verse of mine Have power to make thy virtues known,

Here let a monumental Stone

Stand, sacred as a Shrine;

And to the few who pass this way,

Traveller or Shepherd, let it

say,

Long as these mighty rocks endure, -
O, do not thou too fondly brood,
Although deserving of all good,

On any earthly hope, however pure! *

IX.

SONNET.

WHY should we weep or mourn, Angelic Boy, For such thou wert ere from our sight removed, Holy, and ever dutiful, - beloved

From day to day with never-ceasing joy,

And hopes as dear as could the heart employ
In aught to earth pertaining? Death has proved
His might, nor less his mercy, as behoved,
Death, conscious that he only could destroy
The bodily frame. That beauty is laid low
To moulder in a far-off field of Rome;

But Heaven is now, blest Child, thy Spirit's home:
When such divine communion, which we know,
Is felt, thy Roman burial-place will be

Surely a sweet remembrancer of thee.

1846.

The plant alluded to is the Moss Campion (Silene acaulis of Linnæus). See note at the end of the volume. See, among the Poems on the "Naming of Places," No. VI.