THE EXILE'S RETURN

I

WHEN from thee, weeping I removed,
And from my land for years,

I thought not to return, Beloved,
With those same parting tears.
I come again to hill and lea,
Weeping for thee.

II

I clasped thine hand, when standing last
Upon the shore in sight.

The land is green, the ship is fast,
I shall be there to-night
I shall be there-no longer we―
No more with thee!

III

Had I beheld thee dead and still,
I might more clearly know,
How heart of thine could turn as chill
As hearts by nature so;

What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,

free

brows?

He giveth His beloved, sleep.

III

What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake. He giveth His beloved, sleep.

IV

'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids

creep.

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.

V

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved, sleep.