Classic and Contemporary Poetry
CHALSE A KILLEY; TO CHALSE IN HEAVEN, by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN Poet's Biography First Line: So you are gone, dear chalse Last Line: Chalse, poor chalse! Alternate Author Name(s): Brown, T. E. Subject(s): Death; Gell, Charles (chalse Y Killey) (d. 1870); Dead, The | ||||||||
So you are gone, dear Chalse! Ah! well: it was enough -- The ways were cold, the ways were rough -- O heaven! O home! No more to roam -- Chalse, poor Chalse. And now it's all so plain, dear Chalse! So plain -- The wildered brain, The joy, the pain -- The phantom shapes that haunted, The half-born thoughts that daunted -- All, all is plain Dear Chalse! All is plain. Yet where you're now, dear Chalse, Have you no memory Of land and sea, Of vagrant liberty? Through all your dreams Come there no gleams Of morning sweet and cool On old Barrule? Breathes there no breath, Far o'er the hills of Death, Of a soft wind that dallies Among the Curragh sallies- Shaking the perfumed gold-dust on the streams? Chalse, poor Chalse! Or is it all forgotten, Chalse? A fever fit that vanished with the night -- Has God's great light Pierced through the veiled delusions, The errors and confusions; And pointed to the tablet, where In quaint and wayward character, As of some alien clime, His name was graven all the time? All the time! O Chalse! poor Chalse. Such music as you made, dear Chalse! With that crazed instrument That God had given you here for use -- You will not wonder now if it did loose Our childish laughter, being writhen and bent From native function -- was it not, sweet saint? But when such music ceases, 'Tis God that takes to pieces The inveterate complication, And makes a restoration Most subtle in its sweetness, Most strong in its completeness, Most constant in its meetness; And gives the absolute tone, And so appoints your station Before the throne -- Chalse, poor Chalse. And yet while you were here, dear Chalse, You surely had more joy than sorrow: Even from your weakness you did borrow A strength to mock The frowns of fortune, to decline the shock Of rigorous circumstance, To weave around your path a dance Of "airy nothings," Chalse; and while your soul, Dear Chalse! was dark As an o'erwaned moon from pole to pole, Yet had you still an arc Forlorn, a silvery rim Of the same light wherein the cherubim Bathe their glad brows, and veer On circling wings above the starry sphere -- Chalse, poor Chalse. Yes, you had joys, dear Chalse! as when forsooth, Right valiant for the truth, You crossed the Baldwin hills, And at the Union Mills, Inspired with sacred fury, You helped good Parson Drury to "put the Romans out," A champion brave and stout -- Ah! now, dear Chalse, of all the radiant host, Who loves you most? I think I know him, kneeling on his knees -- Is it Saint Francis of Assise? Chalse, poor Chalse. Great joy was yours, dear Chalse! when first I met you In that old Vicarage That shelters under Bradda: we did get you By stratagem most sage Of youthful mischief -- got you all unweeting Of mirthful toys -- A merry group of girls and boys, To hold a missionary meeting; And you did stand upon a chair, In the best parlour there; And dear old Parson Corrin was from home, And I did play a tune upon a comb; And unto us You did pronounce a speech most marvellous, Dear Chalse! and then you said And sthrooghed the head -- "If there'll be no objection, We'll now purseed to the collection" -- Chalse, poor Chalse! And do you still remember, Chalse, How at the Dhoor -- Near Ramsey, to be sure -- I got two painters painting in the chapel To make with me a congregation? And you did mount the pulpit, and did grapple With a tremendous text, and warn the nation Of drunkenness; and in your hand Did wave an empty bottle, so that we, By palpable typology, Might understand -- Dear Chalse, you never had An audience more silent or more sad! And have you met him, Chalse, Whom you did long to meet? You used to call him dear and sweet -- Good Bishop Wilson -- has he taken you In hand, dear Chalse? And is he true, And is he kind, And do you tell him all your mind, Dear Chalse -- All your mind? And have you yet set up the press; And is the type in readiness, Founded with gems Of living sapphire, dipped In blood of molten rubies, diamond-tipped? And, with the sanction of the Governor, Do you, a proud compositor, Stand forth, and prent the Hemns? -- Chalse, poor Chalse! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND A SERMON AT CLEVEDON; GOOD FRIDAY by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |
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