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Musings in Maoriland

George Eliot

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George Eliot.

Another leader lost! Thus speaks the wire—
  The wire that whispers softly 'neath the wave.
Another teacher gone; the golden lyre,
Whose every string was fraught with sacred fire,
  Lies silent now beside a new-made grave.

Another leader lost! the message sped
  From England's chalky cliffs to every shore
Where mind is fetterless, and men have read
The bright and tuneful thoughts of her who led
  The league of light, of letters, and of lore.

Another leader lost! the magic hand
  That shaped the offspring of the quick'ning brain
Is pulseless now, and all the perfect band
Of her sublime creations mourning stand
  Around the tomb—she's gone, but they remain.

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Another leader lost! the wealth of mind,
  And affluence of genius that illumined
Our later times have left their source behind;
The strongest, yet the sweetest, of her kind
  Is but a name—the rest has been entombed.

Another leader lost! Trust not the cry;
  The whisp'ring wire can tell us no such tale;
It speaks but of the casket,—let it lie,
That which it held within can never die,
  For Truth is clothèd in eternal mail.