New-York tribune., 1878-11-19
THE DEATH or BRTANT.

B1 EDMUND I. SlJDMAN'
From Tie Afaatjc Bontiy-The IOem ReGd at The Century
Memorial McettnQ.
How was it then with Nature when the soul
OF Epr own poet heard n voice which came
From out the void, " Thou art no longerlcnt
10 Earth ~ when that ncamate spirit, hlent
With the abiding force of waves that roll.
Wlnd-cTadled VapOrs, CirCling stars that name,
She did rccalli How went
His antique shade, beacOncdupon its way
Through the still aises of night to universal dayi
Her voice II was her sovereign voice, which bade
The Earth resolve his elemental mould;
And once more came her summons: Long, TOO
long,
Thou lngerest and charmest with thy song
Return rct,Gu!" Tins Nature spoke, and made
Her sign; and forthwith on the minstrel old
An arrow, bright and strong,
Fell from the bent bow of the answering sun. .
Who cried, Tho song is closed, the invocation
I,nt not as for those youths dead ere their prime,
New-cntercd on their music's high domain,
Then snatchcd away. did ali things sorrow own;
No uttcrance now like that sad sweetest tone
When BOn died. and the SlCIan rhyme
Bewailed: no sobbng of the reeds that PLAIN,
RehcaIslug some last moan
OF IvcdaS strains which slvward swell
For Adonais still and still for AstTophel!
The Muses. went not for him as for those
OF whom each vanished like beauteous star
Quenched ere the shining mdwatch of the night
The greenwood Nympbs mouned not his lost de-
light;
Nor Echo, hidden in the tangled close,
Grievcd that she could not mimic him afar.
He ceased not from our sight
Like HIM who, i'll the first glad flight OF Spring.
Fell as an eagle pierced with shafts from his own
wing.
This was not Thyrsis no, the minstrel lone
And reverend, the woodland singer hoar
Who was dear Natures nursing and the priest
But for her mandate: Seek again thine own; 49,
The walks of men shall draw thy steps no more"
Softly as from feast
The guest departs that hears low recall
He went and left behind his harp and cOTOnal.
Return ~ she CRIED unto thine own returnl
Too long the pilgrimage; too long the dream
In which, lest thou shOuldst be cOmpaniOness,
Unto the oracles thou hadst access
The sacred groves that with my presence yearn."
The voice was heard by mountain, dell and stream,
Meadow and wilderness
All fair things vestuTed by the changing year.
When now awOke in Joy to welcome one most dear.
&" He comes !" declared the unseen ones that haunt
The dark recesses. the infntudo
OF whispering old oaks and soughIng pines.
"He c0mesW W the warders OF the forest shrines
Sang joyousy. " His spirit ministrant
HencefOrth with us shall walk the underwood,
Till mortal ear diylnes
It's music added to our choral hymn,
Rising and falling far through archWays ueep ana
dmW
The orchard fields, the hillside pastures green,
Put cladness on =; the ripping haryest-wave
Ran like a smile. as if moment there
His shadow poised in the midsummer air
Above the cataract took pearly sheen
Even ut leapt the winding rlVer gave
sound OF welcome where
He came, and trembed, far as to the sea
Ii moves from rock ribbed heights where its dark
fountains be.
His presence bToOded on the rolling plain,
And on the lake there fell a sudden calm
His own tranquility; the mountain bowed
Its head and felt the cOOness OF a cloud,
And murmured, He Is passing | and again
Through all its frs the wind swept like psalm !;
Its eagles, thunder-bTowed,
Tn that mist-moulded shape their kinsman knew
And circled high, and in his mantle scared from
view.
So drew he to the living veil, which hung
OF old above the deeP,s unimaged face.
And sought his own, HcncefOrward he is free
OF vassalage to that mortality
Which men have given sepulchre among
The pathways OF their kinda resting place
Where bending one great knee
Knelt the proud mother of mighty land
In tenderness, and came anon pluned band.
Come one by one the seasons meetly drest
To sentinel the relics Of their seer.
First Sprng-upon whose head n wreath was set
OF wind-hOwers and the yellow violet
Advanced. Then Summer led his lovellest
OF months, one ever 10 the minstrel dear
HIer sweet eyes dewv wet,
June and her sisters, whose brown hands entwins
The brier-rOse and the bee-haunted columbine
Next Autumn like monarch sad Of heart,
Came tended by his melancholy days,
Purple he wore, and bore golden roc,
His sccptre; and let fall upon the sod
A lone fringed-gcntian ere he would depart
Scarce had his train gone tarklmg down the ways
When Winter thihcT trOd--
Winter with beard and raiment blown before,
That was so seeming like our poet old and hoar.
What forms are these amid the pageant fair.
Harpng with hands that faltcrf What sad
thrOngf
They wait m vain n mournfnl brotherhood,
Andlisten where their laurclled elder stood
For some last music fallen through the air.
what cold, thin atmosphere now hears thy
sOngf"
They ask, and long have wooed
The woods and waves that knew him, but can learn
Naught save the hollow, haunting cry, " Return
Return :"