Thomas Hardy

The Souls of the Slain.

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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