Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/298

262 Yet not of these I muse

In this ancestral place,

But of a kindred face

That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.

Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star!

What hast thou to do with these

Haunting this bank's historic trees?

Thou born for noblest life,

For action's field, for victor's car,

Thou living champion of the right?

To these their penalty belonged:

I grudge not these their bed of death,

But thine to thee, who never wronged

The poorest that drew breath.

All inborn power that could

Consist with homage to the good

Flamed from his martial eye;

He who seemed a soldier born,

He should have the helmet worn,

All friends to fend, all foes defy,

Fronting foes of God and man,

Frowning down the evil-doer,

Battling for the weak and poor.

His from youth the leader's look

Gave the law which others took,

And never poor beseeching glance

Shamed that sculptured countenance.