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Rh Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night’s repose,
 * Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal-chamber, Death!
 * Come to the mother’s, when she feels,

For the first time, her first-born’s breath;
 * Come when the blessed seals

That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke;
 * Come in consumption’s ghastly form,

The earthquake shock, the ocean-storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm
 * With banquet-song, and dance and wine;

And thou art terrible—the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier; And all we know, or dream, or fear
 * Of agony, are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword
 * Has won the battle for the free,

Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word; And in its hollow tones are heard
 * The thanks of millions yet to be.

Come, when his task of fame is wrought— Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood bought—
 * Come in her crowning hour—and then

Thy sunken eye’s unearthly light To him is welcome as the sight