Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Francis Turner Palgrave 182497Pro Mortuis
PalgravFTW
A flawless work; a noble life:
Some music harmoniz’d from strife,
Some finish’d thing, ere the slack hands at eve
Drop, should be his to leave.
A hard-won fight; a well-work’d farm;
A law no guile can twist to harm;
Some tale, as our lost Thackeray’s bright, or sage
As the just Hallam’s page.
With temperate step from year to year
To move within his little sphere,
Leaving a pure name to be known, or not,—
This is a true man’s lot.
A gift forever to his land,
In trust to Friendship’s prudent hand,
Round ’gainst all adverse shocks to guard his fame,
Or to the world proclaim.
The crudities and yeast of youth,
The dubious doubt, the twilight truth,
The work that for the passing day was wrought,
The schemes that came to nought,
That mocks the finish’d picture true,
The quarry whence the statue grew,
The scaffolding ’neath which the palace rose,
The vague abortive throes
In kind oblivion let them be!
Nor has the dead worse foe than he
Who rakes these sweepings of the artist’s room,
And piles them on his tomb.
Frail children of a fleeting hour,
Can leave of perfect fruit or flower!
Ah, let all else be graciously supprest
When man lies down to rest!