Sphere all your lights around, above;
Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,
My friend, the brother of my love;

My Arthur, whom I shall not see
Till all my widow'd race be run;
Dear as the mother to the son,
More than my brothers are to me.

In Memoriam, IX.

Ignes super circumque mille tu seras
Aether benigne, dans iter

Prorae quietum; vos simul quiescite,

Venti faventes, ut meus

Frater quiescit et sodalis unicus,
Arturus, eheu! quem mihi

Vetitum est videre, donec orbatam dies

Vitam suprema clauserit,

Dilectus ut dilecta filio parens,

Ipsoque fratre carior.

A. J. C.

'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand
Where he in English earth is laid,
And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.

'Tis little; but it looks in truth

As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth.

Come then, pure hands, and bear the head Which sleeps or wears the mask of sleep,

And come, whatever loves to weep,

And hear the ritual of the dead.

XXVIII.

АH! bene sors aliquid vano concessit amori;
Stare licet nostro qua jacet ille solo,
Qua mox in violas cineres mutentur odoras,
In violas patrii munera verna soli.

Credimus, Ah! nostri solatia quantula luctus,
Credimus hoc placidum concupiisse caput,
Carpere perpetuos nota inter nomina somnos,
Quosque aetas norat prima, jacere locis.
Ferte igitur pura, seu dormit, sive soporis

Nos species fallit, tempora ferte manu;

Et quantum est usquam lacrymarum accede sepulchro, Sacra piis cultum ritibus ossa veni.

Ah yet, e'en yet, if this might be,

I, falling on his faithful heart,

Would breathing thro' his lips impart The life that almost dies in me;

That dies not, but endures with pain,
And slowly forms the firmer mind,
Measuring the look it cannot find,
The words that are not heard again.

In Memoriam, XVIII.