BANCROFT 
 LIBRARY 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
(K e q u i e m 
 
 3n (tttetnorg of 
 
 &eonfe ****** 3[ u fg 6, 1901 
 
(Requiem 
 
 (In Memory of Professor Joseph LeConte) 
 July 6, 1901 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR ^"S^- 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE MEMBERS OF THE SIERRA CLUB 
 BY THE STANLEY-TAYLOR COMPANY AT SAN FRAN 
 CISCO IN THE MONTH OF SEPTEMBER AND YEAR 
 NINETEEN HUNDRED AND ONE ::::::::: 
 
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 TO THE 
 
 SIE RRA CLUB 
 
 
 
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Qftecjuiem 
 
 of 
 EeConte, 3uf g 6, 1901. 
 
 Noiseless as fall of lightest thistle-down 
 
 Upon the grass, Death's vast-winged messenger, 
 
 Unseen of mortal eye, alighted where 
 
 Yosemite uprears her matchless walls, 
 
 And pours her cataracts from many an urn 
 
 In thunderous chorus of triumphant song. 
 
 II 
 
 Long have I waited, Death had said to him, 
 For one resplendent head that long has lain 
 In peace of love within the hearts of men, 
 But until now I dared not strike the blow ; 
 For I am not all evil, as thou know'st, 
 And when I saw this man of noble soul, 
 In lovability beyond all words, 
 Give of his bounty each recurring year, 
 Enriching every place whereon he trod, 
 
And making brighter all the air he breathed 
 A very sun that conquered darkest cloud 
 I shrank from sending my resistless dart, 
 That waits for all, against a head so crowned. 
 But now, as lies he in the arms of her 
 He long has loved the great Yosemite ; 
 As on his ear the thunder of her fails 
 Beats, and he lists with new-awakened joy; 
 As his observant eye once more beholds 
 Her streams, her trees, her towers and domes, 
 With all the myriad beauties of her floor ; 
 And as he hears and gazes, his great heart 
 Bursts into raptures he can not conceal ; 
 As now his powers are ripened to their best, 
 And may begin to wane in sight of men ; 
 'Tis good I do, not ill, to strike him down. 
 But do thine office gently on this man, 
 And let thy blow be quick and merciful. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The messenger obeyed ; and he that was 
 
 So nobly crowned with life's supremest gems ; 
 
 Who but a few short hours before had been 
 
 A very fountain whence outgushed a stream 
 
 Of most abounding and exalted good, 
 
 Lay like a clod, no light within that eye 
 
 Which once had challenged all the paths of space, 
 
 No speech upon that tongue which once had drawn 
 
 The hearts of thousands with its lightsome charm. 
 
IV 
 
 The mourning Valley could not keep his clay, 
 But round it twined her garlands wet with tears 
 Of eyes that looked their lingering last on that 
 Which coffin-housed upon the wain was lashed. 
 As sank the sun behind the soaring domes, 
 And all the Valley's length in shadow lay 
 Sombrous and deep, she gave his body up 
 Her walls in saddened gaze as ne'er before, 
 Her falls in muffled tones as ne' er before, 
 Her river sounding dirge as ne'er before. 
 
 The day's last breath was drawn, and brooding 
 
 night, 
 
 With her procession of innumerous stars, 
 In new-born mystery spread her sable wings, 
 As now the dead and living, silent all 
 Save for the grinding of the wheels that toiled 
 Full slowly up the long, steep mountain-side, 
 Passed through the endless ranks of firs and pines. 
 The gloom of solitude was in their depths, 
 The gloom of solitude was in our hearts ; 
 And what strange spectacle for them to see ! 
 The coffined form of one who had in life 
 Held genial fellowship with all their kind, 
 To pauseless pass in quiet of the night, 
 And he to them forever blind and mute ; 
 
He that but scarce three days before had joyed 
 To see their needles dancing in the sun, 
 And had, in ecstasy of pure delight, 
 His very heart's blood mingled with their own. 
 
 Still on and on the living and the dead, 
 
 As brighter and still brighter shone the stars, 
 
 Passed through the darkness of the trees which 
 
 seemed 
 
 As still as he that lay forever dumb. 
 The winds were sleeping in their distant caves 
 With folded wing ; nor bird nor insect chirped, 
 Nor whispered any leaf. It was as though 
 The mountain and her brood in reverent hush 
 Were bowed before the loved, illustrious dead. 
 
 Then swam the moon with more than splendor 
 
 bright 
 
 Up from the far horizon's edge, and shot 
 The forest's gloom with radiant, silvery threads ; 
 And in that gloom all fairy forms were built, 
 And quick as built dissolved, and then rebuilt, 
 Of palaces and domes and dim arcades, 
 While thickening shadows threw fantastic shapes 
 Across the road where toiled the mournful wain. 
 
 Still on and on the living and the dead, 
 As higher and still higher soared the moon, 
 Passed through the forest silent still as he 
 That in his coffin all unheeding lay. 
 
Yet we were near him, and his soul and ours 
 Communed through all the watches of the night : 
 We thought of what his work had been to man ; 
 What seeds of inspiration he had sown ; 
 What love for each created thing was his ; 
 What meeds of glory he had justly won ; 
 How bathed his soul in all the seas divine ; 
 How quick his eye to find the fair and good, 
 How slow to see the ugly and the bad ; 
 And then we thought of that poor fool who asked, 
 "' Is life worth living?" 
 
 r> 1 ^ 
 
 Paler grew the moon 
 As on and on the living and the dead 
 Still passed, the grieving forest left behind 
 Forevermore by him that voiceless lay. 
 And now the Dawn, the sweet, mysterious Dawn, 
 Showed her face dimly o'er the distant peaks, 
 Then with a clearer glow and brighter smile, 
 Till drowned and lost in the absorbent beams 
 Of that almighty Sun which rules us all.