Let me again, "like an inconsiderate boy," "slip the thoughts of life and death," give free rein to a speculative imagination; for now, in a higher and better frame of mind, it will be that "every thought breaks out a rose"--a blossom of truth.

CXXIII.

The great changes on the earth's surface are bewildering, and hint that "nothing stands" and endures.

Where the tree now grows, and the long street is full of crowd and noise, there was once

"The stillness of the central sea."

The very hills and solid lands are no more than shadows, or

"Like clouds that shape themselves and go."

But our parting is not for ever,

"For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell."[85]

I am sure that we shall meet again.

CXXIV.

In this Poem we have a profound acknowledgment of the revealed G.o.dhead in its triune manifestations, though not expressed in ecclesiastical formula:

"Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; He, They, One, All; within, without; The Power in darkness whom we guess."

This Power lives in our hearts. Eye hath not seen Him, nor is He to be found "in world or sun," or by dissection of what has lived, or by process of reasoning.

If ever his own faith faltered, and a voice said, "believe no more," the reproving witness was within himself.

"A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing reason's colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answer'd, I have felt."[86]

Still he was

"as a child that cries, But, crying, knows his father near."[87]

His own heart, which is the home of faith, testified to Divine truth, which "no man understands," but he accepts it as the one solution of what exists.

CXXV.

He admits that some "bitter notes" have sounded from his harp. But though his tongue may at times have seemed to speak with contradiction, Hope was nevertheless still alive to better things.

And if Love "play'd with gracious lies," suggested difficulties, this Love had only dared to do so

"Because he felt so fixed in truth."

Love sustained him when his song was "full of care;" and Love's signet marked it whenever it was "sweet and strong;" and he implores Love to abide with him till he joins his friend "on the mystic deeps," when his own electric brain no longer "keeps a thousand pulses dancing."

CXXVI.

Here is a n.o.ble testimony to the comfort and a.s.surance which Love, when made our "Lord and King," can impart.

In the Poet's estimation, Love is the Charity of St. Paul; believing, hoping, enduring, and never failing. Love brings us tidings of the dead.

Love guards us in life, even in sleep. Through his influence we hear, as from a sentinel,

"Who moves about from place to place, And whispers to the worlds of s.p.a.ce, In the deep night, that all is well."

CXXVII.

Yes, "all is well, tho' faith and form be sunder'd" in temporary crises; that is, one must believe in ultimate good, even when the immediate circ.u.mstances are most adverse. The storm will rage below on earth, before truth and justice can be firmly established.

"The red fool-fury of the Seine"

does not specially refer to the Revolution of 1848, as it was _probably written long before_ '48.

Such convulsions will cease at last; there is calm beyond; and, even whilst they last,

"thou, dear spirit, happy star, O'erlook'st the tumult from afar, And smilest, knowing all is well."

CXXVIII.

The Love, which became stronger in himself, after encountering Death at the departure of Hallam,

"Is comrade to the lesser faith That sees the course of human things."

This "lesser faith" attends to the events of time, and is not overborne by present confusions, but reaches, sustained by Love, to a last happy consummation.

If all that the "wild Hours" of Time had to do was to repeat the past, bring about useless wars, "fool the crowd with glorious lies," cleave religion into sects, disguise language, change governments, cramp learning, patch afresh what is antique and worn--if these results were all that could be effected, then would my scorn be well deserved. But

"I see in part That all, as in some piece of art, Is toil co-operant to an end;"

that all things are working together for final good.

CXXIX.

A more touching and tender address to the dead was never uttered than this Poem expresses, a more pure and enn.o.bling affection was never described.

Sorrow is lost in the more exalted sentiment of their certain reunion, and in the strength derived from a consciousness of the worthiness of their past friendship.

"Strange friend, past, present, and to be, Loved deeplier, darklier understood; Behold, I dream a dream of good, And mingle all the world with thee."

Cx.x.x.