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18 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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On they passed, and on they passed; Townsfellows all, from first to last; Born in the moonlight of the lane, Quenched in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates, marching as when we played At soldiers once—but now more staid ; Those were the strangest sight to me Who were drowned, I knew, in the awful sea.
Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too; Some that I loved, and gasped to speak to Some but a day in their churchyard bed; Some that I had not known were dead.
A long, long crowd—where each seemed lonely, Yet of them all there was one, one only, Raised a head or looked my way. She lingered a moment,—she might not stay.
How long since I saw that fair pale face ! Ah ! Mother dear ! might I only place My head on thy breast, a moment to rest, VVhile thy hand on my tearful cheek was prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they made Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade, Young and old, women and men; Many long-forgot, but remembered then.
And first there came a bitter laughter; A sound of tears the moment after; And then a music so lofty and gay, That every morning, day by day, I strive to recall it if I may. |
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