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it near,









Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a And when they smiled because he deemed

sword Such as Harmodius drew

on Athens'

His heart more truly knew that peal too tyrant lord.

well Which stretched his father on a bloody


And roused the vengeance blood alone There was a sound of revelry by night, could quell: And Belgium's capital had gathered

He rushed into the field, and, foremost then

fighting, fell. Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and

brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and when

fro, Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

And gathering tears, and tremblings of Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake

distress, again,

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour And all went merry

a marriage ago bell;

Blushed at the praise of their own loveBut hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like

liness; a rising knell !

And there were sudden partings, such as

press The life from out young hearts, and chok

ing sighs Did ye not hear it? — No; 'twas but the Which ne'er might be repeated; who

wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; If ever more should meet those mutual On with the dance! let joy be uncon


215 fined;

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn No sleep till morn, when Youth and could rise!

Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing Hours with Aying

But hark! — that heavy sound breaks in

And there was mounting in hot haste:

the steed,

195 As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

The mustering squadron, and the clatterAnd nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

ing car, Arm! Arm! it is - it is the cannon's

Went pouring forward with impetuous opening roar!

speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of


And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; Within a windowed niche of that high And near, the beat of the alarming drum hall

Roused up the soldier ere the morning Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did star; hear

While thronged the citizens with terror That sound the first amidst the festival, dumb, And caught its tone with Death's pro Or whispering, with white lips - “The phetic ear;

foe! They come! they come!” 225


could guess


once more





Which her own clay shall cover, heaped

and pent,

Rider and horse, friend, foe, - in one

red burial blent!


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Their praise is hymned 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

song ; And his was of the bravest, and when

showered The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files

along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lowered,

260 They reached no nobler breast than thine,

young, gallant Howard!




And Ardennes waves above them her

green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they

pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall

grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder

cold and low.


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I turned 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 Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake

275 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 honored but assumes a stronger, bit-

terer claim.

There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality 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 Dead Sea's

All ashes to the taste. Did man compute
Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er 305
Such hours 'gainst years of life, — say,

would he name threescore?







They mourn, but smile at length; and,

smiling, mourn: The tree will wither long before it The Psalmist numbered out the years of

fall; The hull drives on, though mast and sail They are enough, and if thy tale be true, be torn;

Thou, who didst grudge him even that The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the

fleeting span, hall

More than enough, thou fatal WaterIn massy hoariness; the ruined wall

loo! Stands when its wind-torn battlements Millions of tongues record thee, and anew are gone;

Their children's lips shall echo them, and The bars survive the captive they enthral; sayThe day drags through though storms “Here, where the sword united nations keep out the sun;

drew, And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly Our countrymen were warring on that live on:

day!” And this is much, and all which will not

pass away. XXXIII

XXXVI Even as a broken mirror, which the glass In every fragment multiplies; and There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of makes

men, A thousand images of one that was, Whose spirit antithetically mixt The same, and still the more, the more it One moment of the mightiest, and again breaks;

On little objects with like firmness fixt: And thus the heart will do which not for Extreme in all things! hadst thou been sakes,

betwixt, Living in shattered guise; and still, and Thy throne had still been thine, or never cold,

been; And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow For daring made thy rise as fall: thou aches,


seek'st Yet withers on till all without is old, Even now to reassume the imperial mien, Showing no visible sign, for such things And shake again the world, the Thunderer are untold.

of the scene!




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Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now

Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them That thou art nothing, save the jest of Ambition steeled thee on too far to show Fame,

That just habitual scorn, which could Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and contemn became

Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou feel, not so

To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, A god unto thyself; nor less the same And spurn the instruments thou wert to To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deemed thee for a time whate'er thou Till they were turned unto thine overdidst assert.

throw: 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose,

So hath it proved to thee and all such lot Oh, more or less than man in high or

who choose. low, Battling., with nations, Aying from the field;

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, Now making monarchs' necks thy foot- Thou hadst been made to stand or fall stool, now

alone, More than thy meanest soldier taught to Such scorn of man had helped to brave yield:

the shock; An empire thou couldst crush, command, But men's thoughts were the steps which rebuild,

paved thy throne, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, Their admiration thy best weapon However deeply in men's spirits skilled, 340 shone; Look through thine own, nor curb the The part of Philip's son was thine, not lust of war,

then Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) loftiest star.

Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;
For sceptred cynics earth were far too

wide a den. Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turn

ing tide With that untaught innate philosophy, But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep And there hath been thy bane; there is a pride,

fire Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. And motion of the soul which will not When the whole host of hatred stood dwell hard by,

In its own narrow being, but aspire To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou Beyond the fitting medium of desire; hast smiled

And, but once kindled, quenchless everWith a sedate and all-enduring eye;








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Even as


Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at And there they stand, as stands a lofty last;


415 And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, 390 Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, That should their days, surviving perils All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, past,

Or holding dark communion with the Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast cloud. With sorrow and supineness, and so die; There was a day when they were young

a fame unfed which runs to and proud: waste

Banners on high, and battles passed beWith its own flickering, or a sword laid low; by,

395 But they who fought are in a bloody Which eats into itself and rusts inglori shroud, ously.

And those which waved are shredless dust

ere now,

And the bleak battlements shall bear no He who ascends to mountain-tops shall

future blow. find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;

Beneath these battlements, within those He who surpasses or subdues mankind

walls, Must look down on the hate of those be Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud low.






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