Vii

Behind Helm Crag and Silver Howe the sheen Of the retreating day is less and less. Soon will the lordlier summits, here unseen, Gather the night about their nakedness.

The half-heard bleat of sheep comes from the hill, Faint sounds of childish play are in the air. The river murmurs past. All else is still. The very graves seem stiller than they were.

Afar though nation be on nation hurled, And life with toil and ancient pain depressed, Here one may scarce believe the whole wide world Is not at peace, and all man's heart at rest.

Rest! 'twas the gift he gave; and peace! the shade He spread, for spirits fevered with the sun. To him his bounties are come back--here laid In rest, in peace, his labour nobly done.

LACHRYMÆ MUSARUM AND OTHER POEMS

TO RICHARD HOLT HUTTON AND MEREDITH TOWNSEND