The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

Let me tell you a tender story
     Of one who is now no more,
A tale to haunt like a spirit
     The Winnepesaukee shore,—

Of one who was brave and gentle,
     And strong for manly strife,
Riding with cheering and music
     Into the tourney of life.

Faltering and failing midway
     In the Tempter's subtle snare,
The chains of an evil habit
     He bowed himself to bear.

Over his fresh young manhood
     The bestial veil was flung,—
The curse of the wine of Circe,
     The spell her weavers sung.

Yearly did hill and lakeside
     Their summer idyls frame;
Alone in his darkened dwelling
     He hid his face for shame.

The music of life's great marches
     Sounded for him in vain;
The voices of human duty
     Smete on his ear like pain.

In vain over island and water
     The curtains of sunset swung;
In vain on the beautiful mountains
     The pictures of God were hung.

The wretched years crept onward,
     Each sadder than the last;
All the bloom of life fell from him,
     All the freshness and greenness past.

But deep in his heart forever
     And unprofaned he kept
The love of his saintly mother,
     Who in the graveyard slept.