Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/106

 And stops their way with his hew'd flesh, when death Hath quite deprived him of his strength and breath; So have they spent themselves; and here they lie, A famous mark of our Discovery. We that survive, perchance may end our days In some employment meriting no praise, And in a dunghill rot, when no man names The memory of us but to our shames. They have outlived this fear, and their brave ends Will ever be an honor to their friends.— Why drop you so mine eyes? Nay rather pour My sad departure in a solemn shower. The winter"'s cold that lately froze our blood. Now, were it so extreme, might do this good, As make these tears bright pearls, which I would lay Tombed safely with you till doom's fatal day: That in this solitary place, where none Will ever come to breathe a sigh or groan, Rh