Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 27 1830.pdf/2



By thy birth, so oft renew'd From the embers long subdued; By the life-gift in thy chain, Broken links to weave again; By thine Infinite of woe, All we know not, all we know; If there be what dieth not, Thine, Affection is its lot!

ones, Love and Death! Ye are the strong in this world of ours, Ye meet at the banquets, ye strive midst the flow'r—    —Which hath the Conqueror's wreath?

Thou art the victor, Love! Thou art the peerless, the crown'd, the free— The strength of the battle is given to thee, The spirit from above.

Thou hast look'd on death and smiled! Thou hast buoy'd up the fragile and reed-like form Through the tide of the fight, through the rush of the storm, On field, and flood, and wild.

Thou hast stood on the scaffold alone: Thou hast watch'd by the wheel through the torturer's hour, And girt thy soul with a martyr's power, Till the conflict hath been won.