7. Separation Stop Not to me, at this bitter departing,
Speak of the sure consolations of Time.
Fresh be the wound, still-renew'd be its smarting,
8. Poems - The New Edition - Preface In two small volumes of Poems, published anonymously, one in 1849, the other in 1852, many of the Poems which compose the present volume have already appeared. The rest are now published for the first time.
I have, in the present collection, omitted the Poem from which the volume published in 1852 took its title. I have done so, not because the subject of it was a Sicilian Greek born between two and three thousand years ago, although many persons would think this a sufficient reason. Neither have I done so because I had, in my own opinion, failed in the delineation which I intended to effect. I intended to delineate the feelings of one of the last of the Greek religious philosophers, one of the family of Orpheus and Musaeus, having survived his fellows, living on into a time when the habits of Greek thought and feeling had begun fast to change, character to dwindle, the influence of the Sophists to prevail. Into the feelings of a man so situated there entered much that we are accustomed to consider as exclusively modern; how much, the fragments of Empedocles himself which remain to us are sufficient at least to indicate. What those who are familiar only with the great monuments of early Greek genius suppose to be its exclusive characteristics, have disappeared; the calm, the cheerfulness, the disinterested objectivity have disappeared: the dialogue of the mind with itself has commenced; modern problems have presented themselves; we hear already the doubts, we witness the discouragement, of Hamlet and of Faust.
9. Tristram Tristram
Is she not come? The messenger was sure.
10. Iseult Of Ireland Raise the light, my page! that I may see her.
Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen!
Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever;
11. Iseult Of Brittany A year had flown, and o'er the sea away,
In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay;
In King Marc's chapel, in Tyntagel old
12. The Castle Down the Savoy valleys sounding,
Echoing round this castle old,
'Mid the distant mountain chalets
13. The Church Upon the glistening leaden roof
Of the new Pile, the sunlight shines;
The stream goes leaping by.
14. The Tomb So rest, for ever rest, O princely Pair!
In your high church, 'mid the still mountain air,
Where horn, and hound, and vassals never come.