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The stirring memory of a thousand years, And (4) Evan's, (5) Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!


And Ardennes (6) 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 valour, rolling on the foe

[and low. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold


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 morn the marshalling in arms,—the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array!

[rent The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial



Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than


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 low


They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard!


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

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 bring. (7)


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
Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of

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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.


They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling,


The tree will wither long before it fall;
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be


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:


Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,

The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,

Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.


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 (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?


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


More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo !

Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say--"Here, where the sword united nations drew, "Our countymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away.


There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, Whose spirit antithetically mixt

One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fixt, Extreme in all things! had'st thou been betwixt, Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Even now to reassume the imperial mien, And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene!


Conqueror 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 woo'd 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 whate'er thou didst assert.


Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,

However deeply in men's spirits skill'd,

Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest



Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide
With that untaught innate philosophy,
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

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.


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Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show That just habitual scorn which could contemn Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use. Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow: 'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.


If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,
Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone,
Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock;
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved
thy throne,

Their admiration thy best weapons shone;
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then

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