Valedictory

I feel that some tribute should be paid to Mr. Hardy, and for that reason I send you the accompanying lines. I know they are inadequate, but at least they are well intentioned.

Mr. Hardy in Memoriam
His sun, which lately through the city sky
Held his great course like a triumphal march
In noonday glory, while the burnished sky
Arched like a royal trapping o'er his head,
Too soon is set; [unclear: alas] not in due time
When regal pace withdrew him from men's sight.
But on a sudden, by an Alien cloud
Blown from the wrack on yon Victorian height.
Hidden from view—and in a brief despair
His great light [unclear: snuffed] with suicidal hand.
No more the proud streets echo that great name.
The stately trams, which only yesterday
Like the proud coursers of a Tambourine
Pawed their steel way till Hardy bade them gone.
Now prance no more, but with pedestrian gall
Straggle like chargers when their knight unhorsed.
No longer guides them with a master's hand.
Comes he no more? Is that voice really still?
O citizens! Weep for that fatal day
When thy grave fathers with dissenting voice
Gave this proud city to the rabble throng,
And mockery put on the robes of state.
And wit usurped grave wisdom's honoured place.
Were they not dumb this cities' stones would weep.
And earthquakes shake the reeling firmament.
At least a thousand pot-holes would give tongue.
And mourn him foot by foot or tortured street.

—William.