Poems (Acton)/A Tribute to Campbell, the Poet

by Harriet Acton and Rose Acton

A TRIBUTE TO CAMPBELL, THE POET.

 

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  [As the remains of Campbell were being lowered into the grave, a Polish nobleman who attended the funeral took a handful of earth which had been brought from the tomb of Kosciusko, and scattered it over the coffin of him who had so warmly pourtrayed the wrongs and woes of Poland].  

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There sweepeth through the abbey proud
 A low and solemn sound;
A mourning train in sorrow bowed,
 The dead are gathered round;
And sadly on the listening ear
The parting words come o'er the bier,
      A mighty mind hath gone!

The high and learned of the land,
 In honour to the dead,
Are mingled with the kindred band,
 Who mourn the spirit fled.
For he who cold in death doth lie,
Hath left a name that shall not die,
      But still live proudly on.

And some are there whose hearts beat high
 To feel how wide his fame;
Compelled their native land to fly,
 They venerate the name
Of him, the gifted son of song,
Who nobly felt their country's wrong,
      And dared its friend to be!

And forth stands one amidst the band,
 A tribute of the brave,
To scatter, with a trembling hand,
 Dust from a patriot's grave;
The relics of a spirit bold,
Whose deeds the sons of Poland hold,
      In hallowed memory.

And o'er the cold and senseless clay
 The honoured shower fell,
And hearts beat warm as there it lay
 Beneath a gushing spell;
A passing gleam, a vision bright
Of courage high and deeds of might,
      Swept on with magic breath.

And who could seek a prouder spot,
 On which that dust to shed,
O'er him, whose verse that dieth not,
 Hath sung the mighty dead?
The gifted poet sleepeth here,
The patriot's spirit hovers near,
      A union still in death!
H. A.