The Departure

Such is the vision our forefathers plann'd,
Pillaring strength in stones, and making these
Melodious, joining Nature's choral band ;
The brooks were vocal, calling on the trees ;
The trees made answer with the fitful breeze,
And call'd on birds, and their responsive lays
CalPd upon man : he moulding mighty seas
Of music carried on his Maker's praise,
For Angels to bear on through Heaven's eternal days.

But now, our honour'd Minster, living Rock
Of pinnacles and cornice sculptur'd high,
Loud is the strife of tongues, which seems to mock
Thy venerable shadow standing by,
And stop in thee thy music of the sky !
What though forlorn and old, thou hast a tongue,
Each shrine and tomb within thee seems to cry ; —
What though thy babes be silenc'd and thy song,
Thy stones shall plead aloud, and live to speak the wrong.

Beauty of holiness, still let me hold
Thy mantle skirts, and talk with thee awhile,
And read thy brow, which fairer seems when old ;
Time's fingers rude, which other things defile,
Make thee more lovely ; and we would beguile
Our exile gazing on thee ; come from Heaven
Thou dost to Heaven return ; and thy last smile
Is loveliest, in thy grief to parting given,
As in the distant isle the lingering ray of Even.

Beautiful Vision, let me hold thee still,

And gaze on thee, — smiling thou seem'st to fly,

And flying still to smile. If 'tis Heaven's will
Thou shouldst depart 'mong things that are gone by,
In thy hands bear me with thee to the sky,
Angelic Vision ! I no more would mourn
The goodliest things that pass from mortal eye,
But hold thee in thy flight, and with thee borne
Mount to the heavenly gate, the threshold of the morn.