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Thomas Hardy - The Souls Of The Slain.
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I

   The thick lids of Night closed upon me
      Alone at the Bill
      Of the Isle by the Race -
   Many-caverned, bald, wrinkled of face -
And with darkness and silence the spirit was on me
      To brood and be still.

II

   No wind fanned the flats of the ocean,
      Or promontory sides,
      Or the ooze by the strand,
   Or the bent-bearded slope of the land,
Whose base took its rest amid everlong motion
      Of criss-crossing tides.

III

   Soon from out of the Southward seemed nearing
      A whirr, as of wings
      Waved by mighty-vanned flies,
   Or by night-moths of measureless size,
And in softness and smoothness well-nigh beyond hearing
      Of corporal things.

IV

   And they bore to the bluff, and alighted -
      A dim-discerned train
      Of sprites without mould,
   Frameless souls none might touch or might hold -
On the ledge by the turreted lantern, farsighted
      By men of the main.

V

   And I heard them say "Home!" and I knew them
      For souls of the felled
      On the earth`s nether bord
   Under Capricorn, whither they`d warred,
And I neared in my awe, and gave heedfulness to them
      With breathings inheld.

VI

   Then, it seemed, there approached from the northward
      A senior soul-flame
      Of the like filmy hue:
   And he met them and spake:  "Is it you,
O my men?"  Said they, "Aye!  We bear homeward and hearthward
      To list to our fame!"

VII

   "I`ve flown there before you," he said then:
      "Your households are well;
      But—your kin linger less
   On your glory arid war-mightiness
Than on dearer things."—"Dearer?" cried these from the dead then,
      "Of what do they tell?"

VIII

   "Some mothers muse sadly, and murmur
      Your doings as boys -
      Recall the quaint ways
   Of your babyhood`s innocent days.
Some pray that, ere dying, your faith had grown firmer,
      And higher your joys.

IX

   "A father broods:  `Would I had set him
      To some humble trade,
      And so slacked his high fire,
   And his passionate martial desire;
Had told him no stories to woo him and whet him
      To this due crusade!"

X

   "And, General, how hold out our sweethearts,
      Sworn loyal as doves?"
     —"Many mourn; many think
   It is not unattractive to prink
Them in sables for heroes.   Some fickle and fleet hearts
      Have found them new loves."

XI

   "And our wives?" quoth another resignedly,
      "Dwell they on our deeds?"
     —"Deeds of home; that live yet
   Fresh as new—deeds of fondness or fret;
Ancient words that were kindly expressed or unkindly,
      These, these have their heeds."

XII

  —"Alas! then it seems that our glory
      Weighs less in their thought
      Than our old homely acts,
   And the long-ago commonplace facts
Of our lives—held by us as scarce part of our story,
      And rated as nought!"

XIII

   Then bitterly some:  "Was it wise now
      To raise the tomb-door
      For such knowledge?  Away!"
   But the rest:  "Fame we prized till to-day;
Yet that hearts keep us green for old kindness we prize now
      A thousand times more!"

XIV

   Thus speaking, the trooped apparitions
      Began to disband
      And resolve them in two:
   Those whose record was lovely and true
Bore to northward for home:  those of bitter traditions
      Again left the land,

XV

   And, towering to seaward in legions,
      They paused at a spot
      Overbending the Race -
   That engulphing, ghast, sinister place -
Whither headlong they plunged, to the fathomless regions
      Of myriads forgot.

XVI

   And the spirits of those who were homing
      Passed on, rushingly,
      Like the Pentecost Wind;
   And the whirr of their wayfaring thinned
And surceased on the sky, and but left in the gloaming
      Sea-mutterings and me.
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