Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 32 1832.pdf/14



Oh! blest are they who live and die like "him," Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourn'd!

hung drooping from on high In a dim Cathedral's nave, Making a gorgeous canopy O'er a noble, noble grave!

And a marble warrior's form beneath, With helm and crest array'd, As on his battle bed of death, Lay in their crimson shade.

Triumph yet linger'd in his eye, Ere by the dark night seal'd, And his head was pillow'd haughtily On standard and on shield.

And shadowing that proud trophy-pile With the glory of his wing, An eagle sat;—yet seem'd the while Panting through Heaven to spring.

He sat upon a shiver'd lance, There by the sculptor bound; But in the light of his lifted glance Was that which scorn'd the ground,