Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 26 1829.pdf/6



! that didst press forward still, Where the trumpet’s note rang shrill, Where the knightly swords were crossing, And the plumes like sea-foam tossing, First where'er the brave were met, Last against each dark tide set; Leader of the charging spear! Fiery heart! And liest thou here? May this narrow spot inurn Aught that so could beat and burn?

Heart that lov'dst the clarion's blast, Silent is thy place at last: Silent—save when breeze's moan Comes through weed or fretted stone; Silent—save when early bird Sings where once the Mass was heard; And the wild-rose waves around thee, And the long dark grass hath bound thee: Sleep'st thou as the swain might sleep, In his nameless valley deep?

No! brave Heart! Though cold and lone, Kingly power is yet thine own. Feel I not thy spirit brood O'er the whispering solitude? Lo! at one high thought of thee, Fast they rise, the Bold, the Free, Sweeping past thy lowly bed With a mute, yet stately tread; Shedding their pale armour's light Forth upon the breathless night; Bending every warlike plume In the prayer o'er saintly tomb.