IN MEMORIAM: J. T. C. H.

In hours of respite from the strife

That kills the careless joy of life,

How often, friend, have you and I

Lived o'er those golden days gone by,

When eager hand and eager eye

Against the humming salt sea-breeze

Drove our light craft through breaking seas;

Or when beneath enchanted woods

We floated, where the shadow broods

On still black waters, and delayed

A little in the chequer'd shade

To watch, far down the shining stream,

The golden summer sunlight gleam

On the green banks of storied Boyne.

Ah, in those happy days how well

Did wood and field and water join

To weave the wild earth's mighty spell!

Gone, gone! and you are also gone,

On dark tides that you sailed alone;

And scarcely more for you than me

Those days are done! O, morning sea,

Where all the morning in our blood

Sang, as we faced the glittering flood!

O, bays the wild sea-murmur fills,

And hot gorse-perfume from the hills!

O, lonely places, echoing

With sound of waters, wave or stream,

Haunted by timid foot and wing,

I see you now but in a dream —

Old days, old friends, we part, we part;

Yet still your memory in my heart

Lives, till the heart be dust; and then

Beyond this realm of Where and When,

Something of you shall linger yet,

And something in me not forget,

When all the suns of earth have set.