(In which he is remembered in similitude, by reference to Yorick, the king's jester, who died when Hamlet and Ophelia were children.) Yorick is dead. Boy Hamlet walks forlorn Beneath the battlements of Elsinore. Where are those oddities and capers now That used to "set the table on a roar"? And do his bauble-bells beyond the clouds Ring out, and shake with mirth the planets bright? No doubt he brings the blessed dead good cheer, But silence broods on Elsinore tonight. That little elf, Ophelia, eight years old, Upon her battered doll's staunch bosom weeps. ("O best of men, that wove glad fairy-tales.") With tear-burned face, at last the darling sleeps. Hamlet himself could not give cheer or help, Though firm and brave, with his boy-face controlled. For every game they started out to play Yorick invented, in the days of old. The times are out of joint! O cursed spite! The noble jester Yorick comes no more. And Hamlet hides his tears in boyish pride By some lone turret-stair of Elsinore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APRIL, 1885 by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE CHILTERNS by RUPERT BROOKE THE MORNING-GLORY by MARIA WHITE LOWELL IDLENESS by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 131 by PETRARCH ON A PIECE OF TAPESTRY by GEORGE SANTAYANA AN EPITAPH UPON THE DEATH OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY by RICHARD BARNFIELD |