William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

On Tidings of the Approaching Death of Charles James Fox

LOUD is the Vale! the voice is up

With which she speaks when storms are gone,

A mighty unison of streams!

Of all her Voices, One!

Loud is the Vale;—this inland Depth

In peace is roaring like the sea;

Yon star upon the mountain-top

Is listening quietly.

Sad was I, even to pain deprest,

Importunate and heavy load!

The Comforter hath found me here,

Upon this lonely road;

And many thousands now are sad—

Wait the fulfilment of their fear;

For he must die who is their stay,

Their glory disappear.

A Power is passing from the earth

To breathless Nature’s dark abyss;

But when the great and good depart

What is it more than this—

That Man, who is from God sent forth,

Doth yet again to God return?—

Such ebb and flow must ever be,

Then wherefore should we mourn?