XXIX. Their praise is hymn'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 song; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard! XXX. There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, 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 In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach The archangel's trump, not glory's, must awake 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 inthral; 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; Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Vitality of poison,—a quick root Which feels these deadly branches; for it were As nothing did we die; but life will suit Itself to sorrow's most detested fruit, Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such hours'gainst years of life,-say, would he name threescore XXXV. The psalmist number'd out the years of man: Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, Millions of tongues record thee, and anew XXXVI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fixt, Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, And shake again the world, the thunderer of the scene! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! 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. XXXVIII. Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted fate will leave the loftiest star. XXXIX. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled With a sedate and all-enduring eye;— When fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them And spurn the instruments thou wert to use So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. XLI. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, The part of Philip's son was thine, not then XLII. But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; conquerors and kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule. |