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 172 WOLFE

Awake ! (not Greece she is awake !)

Awake, my spirit ! Think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, And then strike home !

Tread those reviving passions down,

Unworthy manhood ! unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be.

If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live?

The lad of honourable death Is here : up to the field, and give Away thy breath !

Seek out less often sought than found

A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground,

And take thy rest.

Byron,

LXXIX

AFTER CORUNNA

NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning,

By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.

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