IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD by Algernon Charles Swinburne: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Swinburne wrote this poem in memory of his friend John William Inchbold, a Victorian landscape painter who also cherished the sea and the English coast.
The poem
Farewell: how should not such as thou fare well, Though we fare ill that love thee, and that live, And know, whate'er the days wherein we dwell May give us, thee again they will not give? Peace, rest, and sleep are all we know of death, And all we dream of comfort: yet for thee, Whose breath of life was bright and strenuous breath, We think the change is other than we see. The seal of sleep set on thine eyes to-day Surely can seal not up the keen swift light That lit them once for ever. Night can slay None save the children of the womb of night. The fire that burns up dawn to bring forth noon Was father of thy spirit: how shouldst thou Die as they die for whom the sun and moon Are silent? Thee the darkness holds not now: Them, while they looked upon the light, and deemed That life was theirs for living in the sun, The darkness held in bondage: and they dreamed, Who knew not that such life as theirs was none. To thee the sun spake, and the morning sang Notes deep and clear as life or heaven: the sea That sounds for them but wild waste music rang Notes that were lost not when they rang for thee. The mountains clothed with light and night and change, The lakes alive with wind and cloud and sun, Made answer, by constraint sublime and strange, To the ardent hand that bade thy will be done. We may not bid the mountains mourn, the sea That lived and lightened from thine hand again Moan, as of old would men that mourned as we A man beloved, a man elect of men, A man that loved them. Vain, divine and vain, The dream that touched with thoughts or tears of ours The spirit of sense that lives in sun and rain, Sings out in birds, and breathes and fades in flowers. Not for our joy they live, and for our grief They die not. Though thine eye be closed, thine hand Powerless as mine to paint them, not a leaf In English woods or glades of Switzerland Falls earlier now, fades faster. All our love Moves not our mother's changeless heart, who gives A little light to eyes and stars above, A little life to each man's heart that lives. A little life to heaven and earth and sea, To stars and souls revealed of night and day, And change, the one thing changeless: yet shall she Cease too, perchance, and perish. Who shall say? Our mother Nature, dark and sweet as sleep, And strange as life and strong as death, holds fast, Even as she holds our hearts alive, the deep Dumb secret of her first-born births and last. But this, we know, shall cease not till the strife Of nights and days and fears and hopes find end; This, through the brief eternities of life, Endures, and calls from death a living friend; The love made strong with knowledge, whence confirmed The whole soul takes assurance, and the past (So by time's measure, not by memory's, termed) Lives present life, and mingles first with last. I, now long since thy guest of many days, Who found thy hearth a brother's, and with thee Tracked in and out the lines of rolling bays And banks and gulfs and reaches of the sea-- Deep dens wherein the wrestling water sobs And pants with restless pain of refluent breath Till all the sunless hollow sounds and throbs With ebb and flow of eddies dark as death-- I know not what more glorious world, what waves More bright with life,--if brighter aught may live Than those that filled and fled their tidal caves-- May now give back the love thou hast to give. Tintagel, and the long Trebarwith sand, Lone Camelford, and Boscastle divine With dower of southern blossom, bright and bland Above the roar of granite-baffled brine, Shall hear no more by joyous night or day From downs or causeways good to rove and ride Or feet of ours or horse-hoofs urge their way That sped us here and there by tower and tide. The headlands and the hollows and the waves, For all our love, forget us: where I am Thou art not: deeper sleeps the shadow on graves Than in the sunless gulf that once we swam. Thou hast swum too soon the sea of death: for us Too soon, but if truth bless love's blind belief Faith, born of hope and memory, says not thus: And joy for thee for me should mean not grief. And joy for thee, if ever soul of man Found joy in change and life of ampler birth Than here pens in the spirit for a span, Must be the life that doubt calls death on earth. For if, beyond the shadow and the sleep, A place there be for souls without a stain, Where peace is perfect, and delight more deep Than seas or skies that change and shine again, There none of all unsullied souls that live May hold a surer station: none may lend More light to hope's or memory's lamp, nor give More joy than thine to those that called thee friend. Yea, joy from sorrow's barren womb is born When faith begets on grief the godlike child: As midnight yearns with starry sense of morn In Arctic summers, though the sea wax wild, So love, whose name is memory, thrills at heart, Remembering and rejoicing in thee, now Alive where love may dream not what thou art But knows that higher than hope or love art thou. "Whatever heaven, if heaven at all may be, Await the sacred souls of good men dead, There, now we mourn who loved him here, is he," So, sweet and stern of speech, the Roman said, Erect in grief, in trust erect, and gave His deathless dead a deathless life even here Where day bears down on day as wave on wave And not man's smile fades faster than his tear. Albeit this gift be given not me to give, Nor power be mine to break time's silent spell, Not less shall love that dies not while I live Bid thee, beloved in life and death, farewell.
Swinburne wrote this poem in memory of his friend John William Inchbold, a Victorian landscape painter who also cherished the sea and the English coast. The poem navigates through feelings of grief, reflects on their shared moments, and ultimately arrives at a resilient hope that a spirit as vibrant as Inchbold's cannot just fade away. By the conclusion, Swinburne concludes that love and memory are the only forms of immortality he truly believes in.
Line-by-line
Farewell: how should not such as thou fare well, / Though we fare ill that love thee, and that live,
Peace, rest, and sleep are all we know of death, / And all we dream of comfort: yet for thee,
The seal of sleep set on thine eyes to-day / Surely can seal not up the keen swift light
The fire that burns up dawn to bring forth noon / Was father of thy spirit: how shouldst thou
Them, while they looked upon the light, and deemed / That life was theirs for living in the sun,
To thee the sun spake, and the morning sang / Notes deep and clear as life or heaven: the sea
The mountains clothed with light and night and change, / The lakes alive with wind and cloud and sun,
We may not bid the mountains mourn, the sea / That lived and lightened from thine hand again
A man that loved them. Vain, divine and vain, / The dream that touched with thoughts or tears of ours
Not for our joy they live, and for our grief / They die not. Though thine eye be closed, thine hand
Falls earlier now, fades faster. All our love / Moves not our mother's changeless heart, who gives
A little life to heaven and earth and sea, / To stars and souls revealed of night and day,
Our mother Nature, dark and sweet as sleep, / And strange as life and strong as death, holds fast,
But this, we know, shall cease not till the strife / Of nights and days and fears and hopes find end;
The love made strong with knowledge, whence confirmed / The whole soul takes assurance, and the past
I, now long since thy guest of many days, / Who found thy hearth a brother's, and with thee
Deep dens wherein the wrestling water sobs / And pants with restless pain of refluent breath
I know not what more glorious world, what waves / More bright with life,--if brighter aught may live
Tintagel, and the long Trebarwith sand, / Lone Camelford, and Boscastle divine
Shall hear no more by joyous night or day / From downs or causeways good to rove and ride
The headlands and the hollows and the waves, / For all our love, forget us: where I am
Thou hast swum too soon the sea of death: for us / Too soon, but if truth bless love's blind belief
And joy for thee, if ever soul of man / Found joy in change and life of ampler birth
For if, beyond the shadow and the sleep, / A place there be for souls without a stain,
There none of all unsullied souls that live / May hold a surer station: none may lend
Yea, joy from sorrow's barren womb is born / When faith begets on grief the godlike child:
So love, whose name is memory, thrills at heart, / Remembering and rejoicing in thee, now
"Whatever heaven, if heaven at all may be, / Await the sacred souls of good men dead,
Erect in grief, in trust erect, and gave / His deathless dead a deathless life even here
Albeit this gift be given not me to give, / Nor power be mine to break time's silent spell,
Tone & mood
The tone is both mournful and reflective — Swinburne is truly grappling with his emotions rather than merely expressing sorrow. There's a sense of warmth when he reminisces about their time together on the Cornish coast, a philosophical detachment when he faces nature's indifference, and a calm, almost stoic tenderness at the end. He avoids sentimentality by continuously balancing his hope with honesty. The overall impression is of a man who loved his friend profoundly and is seeking a way to embrace that love without deceiving himself about the reality of death.
Symbols & metaphors
- The sea — The sea flows throughout the poem, serving as a common landscape and a symbol of death. Swinburne and Inchbold explored the Cornish coast together, which gives the sea a personal significance. However, it also transforms into 'the sea of death'—representing the crossing Inchbold has undertaken. Its restless nature and strength reflect the energy that Swinburne associates with his friend's spirit.
- Fire and the sun — Inchbold's spirit is often associated with fire and sunlight — the burning dawn, the noon sun, the light in his eyes. As a painter focused on landscapes and light, this connection is both literal (reflecting his subject matter) and metaphorical (representing his inner vitality). Swinburne suggests that a soul so in tune with light cannot be completely snuffed out by darkness.
- The seal on the eyes — The eyes of the deceased are referred to as a seal — a formal closure, like a wax stamp that locks something away. Swinburne employs this image to ponder whether death can truly confine the 'keen swift light' that once sparkled in Inchbold's gaze. The seal exists, but he questions its ability to contain a spirit like that of his friend.
- Mother Nature — Nature is often seen as a mother — a cold and unyielding one who dispenses life in small doses and remains untouched by human sorrow. This maternal portrayal sets up an expectation of comfort that Nature ultimately does not provide. The conflict between the nurturing concept of a mother and the indifferent truth of the natural world is central to the poem's emotional message.
- The Cornish place names — Tintagel, Trebarwith, Camelford, Boscastle — these locations represent the friendship itself. They are the physical points where joy was shared. By naming them, Swinburne makes the loss feel real: these places will no longer see the two friends together.
- The Roman mourner — The classical figure referenced near the end — standing 'erect in grief, in trust erect' — embodies the ideal of dignified mourning. He reflects a tradition of honoring the dead through speech and memory instead of offering false comfort. As the poem concludes, Swinburne aligns himself with this tradition.
Historical context
John William Inchbold (1830–1888) was a Pre-Raphaelite landscape painter celebrated for his detailed and luminous portrayals of the English countryside, the Alps, and the Cornish coast. He shared a close friendship with Swinburne, and they often explored the dramatic coastline of Cornwall together, which comes alive in this poem. Inchbold passed away in January 1888, and Swinburne included this elegy in his 1889 collection *Poems and Ballads, Third Series*. Swinburne himself was a poet influenced significantly by the natural world—especially the sea—and by his connections within the Pre-Raphaelite movement. The poem belongs to a rich tradition of classical elegy (including works by Catullus, Milton's *Lycidas*, and Shelley's *Adonais*) and also mirrors Swinburne's own agnostic, nature-focused perspective. The struggle between the desire to believe in an afterlife and the inability to do so authentically is a hallmark of much Victorian elegy, particularly in the context of Darwin's theories and the rise of scientific materialism.
FAQ
Inchbold was a Victorian landscape painter linked to the Pre-Raphaelites, celebrated for his intricate, light-soaked depictions of nature. He shared a genuine friendship with Swinburne, and together they explored the beautiful Cornish coast. After Inchbold passed away in 1888, Swinburne penned this elegy as a heartfelt tribute, reflecting on their shared moments.
Swinburne presents a nuanced argument. He begins by acknowledging that death appears as nothing but sleep and silence. However, he contends that a soul as vibrant and luminous as Inchbold's cannot just be snuffed out — that darkness only truly takes those who were already dark within. Ultimately, he concludes that love and memory represent the truest form of immortality he can provide.
Not in a straightforward way. He explores the idea of an afterlife using cautious 'if' statements — 'if beyond the shadow and the sleep / A place there be.' He doesn't claim a Christian belief but entertains a conditional hope. His true faith, if it can be considered that, lies in love and memory rather than in any particular religious afterlife.
Several stanzas emphasize that the mountains, the sea, and the leaves will not alter their behavior just because Inchbold has died. Not a single leaf will fall any sooner. Nature follows its own rules and doesn’t share in our grief. Swinburne describes the notion that it does as 'vain' — beautiful yet untrue. This reflects a distinctly post-Romantic, Victorian perspective on the natural world.
Tintagel, Trebarwith, Camelford, and Boscastle are real spots on the north Cornish coast where Swinburne and Inchbold shared moments together. By mentioning these specific locations, Swinburne grounds the elegy in their genuine experiences instead of a vague landscape. This approach makes the loss tangible — these places will no longer welcome either of them.
Swinburne doesn't mention the source outright, but the passage captures the essence of Roman funeral poetry, especially that of Catullus, who expressed deep sorrow over the loss of friends and loved ones. The 'sweet and stern' Roman mourner, standing 'erect in grief,' embodies the classical ideal of dignified and sincere mourning that Swinburne is purposefully emulating.
Swinburne suggests that when someone passes away, loving and remembering them become intertwined. You can’t actively love someone who is no longer alive; all that remains is the act of remembrance. Therefore, memory isn’t merely a byproduct of love; it *is* love, in the only way it can exist for those still living. This is the poem’s most subtly powerful notion.
It follows the traditional elegy format: it laments a particular individual, navigates through grief towards a sense of solace, and concludes with a goodbye. Swinburne deliberately aligns himself with the legacy of Milton's *Lycidas* and Shelley's *Adonais*, both of which wrestle with the longing for an afterlife and the doubt about its existence. What sets Swinburne's take apart is his candid refusal to settle that uncertainty.