As massively and firmly set
As if he had been marble or wrought gold!

Built in so brave a shape,
How could he hope escape
The blundering people's wrath?
Who, seeing him strong,
Supposed it right to cast on him their wrong,
Since he could bear it all!
Lo, now, the sombre pall
Sweeps their dull errors from the path,
And leaves it free
For him, whose hushed heart no reproaches hath,
Unto his grave to fare,
In shrouded majesty!
His triumph fills the air:
Behold, the streets are bordered with vain breath
Of those who reverent watch the train of death;
But he has done with breathing!

Wise Death, still choosing near and far,
Thou couldst not strike a higher star
From out our heaven, and yet its light
In falling glorifies the night!

Leader in life, his lips, though dumb,
Still rule us by their restfulness, their smile
Of far-off meanings; and the people come
In tributary hosts for many a mile,
Drawn by an eloquence