_In_ Oxford, evermore the same
Unto the uttermost verge of time,
Though grave-dust choke the sons of men,
And silence wait upon the rime,
At evening now the skies set forth
Last glories of the dying year:
The wind gives chase to relict leaves:
And we, we may not linger here.
A little while, and we are gone:
God knows if it be ours to see
Again the earliest hoar-frost white
On the long lawns of Trinity.
In Merton, of the many courts
And doorways good to wander through,
Gable and spire shall glitter white
Or tawny gold against the blue:
And still the winter sun shall smile
At noonday, or at sunset hour
On Magdalen, girt with ancient trees,
Beneath her bright immortal tower.
Though nevermore we tread the ways
That our returning feet have known
Past Oriel, and Christ Church gate
Unto those dearer walls, our own.
----
Oxford is evermore the same,
Unto the uttermost verge of time,
Though grave-dust choke the sons of men,
And silence wait upon the rime.
"O, one came down from Seven Hills"
_O, one_ came down from seven hills
And crossed seven streams:
All in his hands were thyme and grass
And in his eyes were dreams:
He passed by a seven fields
With early dews all grey
And entered in the stricken town
About the break of day.
"O you old men that stand and talk
About the market-place,
There is much trouble in your eyes
And anguish in your face:
O woman in a silent room
Within a silent house,
There is no pleasure in your voice
Or peace upon your brows."
"O how should such as we rejoice
Who weep that others die,
Who quake, and curse ourselves, and watch
The vengeful hours go by?
O better far to fly the grief
That wounds, and never kills;
O better far to fly the town
And seek the seven hills----"
"I will go pray the seven gods
Who keep the seven hills
That they do grant your city peace,
And easement of her ills."
"Nay, rather pray the seven gods
To launch the latest pain;
For there be many things to do
Ere we see peace again."
"Then I'll go praise the seven gods
With hymns and chauntings seven,
Such as shall split the mountain-tops
And shrivel up blue heaven:
That there be men who mock at threats
And wag their heads at strife,
Love home above their own hearts' blood
And honour more than life."