CHAP. IX.] DEATH OF HIS FATHER. 249 



ably changed. But the change had only called out 

 his son's affection into more active exercise, and had 

 never checked the flow of communication by word or 

 letter. What depth of feeling lay beneath Maxwell's 

 quiet demeanour at this time may be inferred from 

 the poem written at Cambridge during that summer 

 term, and put into my hands when we met afterwards 

 at Glenlair. Some lines of it may be appropriately 

 inserted here: 



" Yes, I know the forms that meet me are but phantoms of the brain, 

 For they walk in mortal bodies, and they have not ceased from pain, 

 Oh those signs of human weakness, left behind for ever now, 

 Dearer far to me than glories round a fancied seraph's brow. 

 Oh the old familiar voices ; oh the patient waiting eyes ; 

 Let me live with them in dreamland while the world in slumber lies. 

 For by bonds of sacred honour will they guard my soul in sleep 

 From the spells of aimless fancies that around my senses creep. 

 They will link the past and present into one continuous life ; 

 While I feel their hope, their patience, nerve me for the daily strife. 

 For it is not all a fancy that our lives and theirs are one, 

 And we know that all we see is but an endless work begun. 

 Part is left in nature's keeping, part has entered into rest ; 

 Part remains to grow and ripen hidden in some living breast." 



Such was James Clerk Maxwell during the " years of 

 April blood/' 



LETTERS, 1856. 

 To HIS FATHER. 



Trin., 14th Feb. 1856. 



Yesterday the Eay Club met at Hort's. I took my 

 great top there and spun it with coloured discs attached to 

 it. I have been planning a form of top, which will have 

 more variety of motion, but I am working out the theory, so 

 that I will wait till I know the necessary dimensions before 

 I settle the plan. 



