A name all read and many rue
Chanced on the idle talk of two;
I saw the listener doubt and falter
Till came the rash reproof anew.
Then on his breath arose a sigh,
And in the flashes of reply
I saw the great indignant shower
Surcharge the azure of his eye.
Said he: “’Neath our accord intense
At mutual shrines of soul and sense,
Flows, like a subterraneous river,
This last and only difference.
“Behold, I am with anguish torn
That you should name his name in scorn,
And use it as an April flower
Plucked from his grave and falsely worn:
“Thrice better his renown were not!
And he in silence lay forgot,
Than to exhale a strife unending
Should be his gentle memory’s lot.
“How can you, freedom in your reach,
Nurse your high thought on others’ speech,
And follow after brawling critics
Reiterating blame with each?
“The world’s ill judgments roll and roll
Nor touch that shy, evasive soul,
Whose every tangled hour of living
God draws to issues fair and whole.
“It grieves me less that, purely good,
His aims are darkly understood,
Than that your spirit jars unkindly
Against its golden brotherhood.
“Et tu, Brute! Where he hath flown
On kindred wing you cross the zone,
And yet for hate, thro’ lack of knowing,
Austerely misconstrue your own.
“No closer wave and wave at sea
Than he and you for grace should be;
I would endure the chains of bondage
That you might share this truth with me!
“A leaf’s light strength should break the wind,
Ere my desire, your wilful mind;
If I should waste my lips in pleading,
Or drain my heart, you still were blind,
“Still warring on the citadels
Of Truth remotely, till her bells
Rouse me, your friend, to old defiance,—
Tho’ dear you be in all things else,—
“And tho’ my hope the day-star is
Of broadening eternities,
Wherein, the shadows cleared forever,
Your cordial hand shall rest in his.”
