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XXVIII. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brouglıt the signal - sound of strise, The morn the marshalling in arms, - the day Battle's magnificently- stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, leaped and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, - in one red burial
XXIX. Their praise is hymu'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow sorg; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along. Even where the thickest of wsr's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young,
XXX. There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, With all her reckless birds, upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not
XXXI. I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each And one as all a ghastly gap did make In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach Fortgetfulness were mercy for their sake: The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of
Fame May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake The fever of vain longing, and the name So honoured but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. XXXII. They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling,
The tree will wither long before it fall;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on :
XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Vttality of poison, — a quick root Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were As nothing did we die; but Life will suit Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples on the 8 Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste: Did man compute Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such lours’gainst years of life, - say, would he name
XXXV. The Psalmist numbered out the years of man: They are enough; and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say "IIere, where the sword united nations drew, "Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away. XXXVI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, Whose spirit antithctically mixt One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fixt, Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, Tly throne had still been thine, or never been; For daring made thy rise as fall; thou'seek'st Even now so re-assuine the imperial mien, lud shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene!
XXXVII. Conqneror and captive of the earth art thou! She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert A god unto thyself; nor less the same To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deem'd thee'for a time whalc'er thou didst assert.