Prologue to Old Fortunatus

The golden bells of fairyland, that ring     Perpetual chime for childhood's flower-sweet spring,     Sang soft memorial music in his ear     Whose answering music shines about us here.     Soft laughter as of light that stirs the sea     With darkling sense of dawn ere dawn may be,     Kind sorrow, pity touched with gentler scorn,     Keen wit whose shafts were sunshafts of the morn,     Love winged with fancy, fancy thrilled with love,     An eagle's aim and ardour in a dove,     A man's delight and passion in a child,     Inform it as when first they wept and smiled.     Life, soiled and rent and ringed about with pain     Whose touch lent action less of spur than chain,     Left half the happiness his birth designed,     And half the power, unquenched in heart and mind.     Comrade and comforter, sublime in shame,     A poor man bound in prison whence he came     Poor, and took up the burden of his life     Smiling, and strong to strive with sorrow and strife,     He spake in England's ear the poor man's word,     Manful and mournful, deathless and unheard.     His kind great heart was fire, and love's own fire,     Compassion, strong as flesh may feel desire,     To enkindle pity and mercy toward a soul     Sunk down in shame too deep for shame's control.     His kind keen eye was light to lighten hope     Where no man else might see life's darkness ope     And pity's touch bring forth from evil good,     Sweet as forgiveness, strong as fatherhood.     Names higher than his outshine it and outsoar,     But none save one should memory cherish more:     Praise and thanksgiving crown the names above,     But him we give the gift he gave us, love.