Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/136

 "Go, vexed Spirit, sleep in trust; The right ear, that is fill'd with dust, Hears little of the false or just."

"Hard task, to pluck resolve," I cried, "From emptiness and the waste wide Of that abyss, or scornful pride!

"Nay—rather yet that I could raise One hope that warm'd me in the days While still I yearn'd for human praise.

"When, wide in soul and bold of tongue, Among the tents I paused and sung, The distant battle flash'd and rung.

"I sung the joyful Pæan clear, And, sitting, burnish'd without fear The brand, the buckler, and the spear—