Felt without bitterness—but full and clear,
A sweet dejection-a transparent tear
Uumix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain,
Shed without shame-and secret without pain.
Even as the tenderness that hour instils
When Summer's day declines along the hills,
So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes
When all of Genius which can perish dies.
A mighty Spirit is eclipsed-a Power
Hath pass'd from day to darkness—to whose hour
Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name,
Focus at once of all the rays of Fame !
The flash of Wit-the bright Intelligence,
The beam of Song—the blaze of Eloquence,
Set with their Sun-but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal Mind;
Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon.
But small that portion of the wondrous whole,
These sparkling segments of that circling soul,
Which all embraced—and lighten'd over all,
To cheer—to pierce-to please or to appal.
From the charm'd council to the festive board,
Of human feelings the unbounded lord;
In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, (pride.
The praised the proud-who made his praise their
When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan (1)
Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,