XXVIII. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent! XXIX. Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant XXX. There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. (7) 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 Forgetfulness 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 honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. XXXII. They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn : The tree will wither long before it fall; The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ; The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The bars survive the captive they enthral; The day drags through though storms keep out the sun; And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on: XXXIII. Even as a broken mirror, which the glass The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; Shewing no visible sign, for such things are untold. XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Vitality of poison,—a quick root Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were 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 hours 'gainst years of life,—say, would he name three score? XXXV. The Psalmist number'd out the years of man: They are enough; and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say— "Here, 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 antithetically mixt One moment of the mightiest, and again And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! 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 whate'er thou didst assert. |