Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/143

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Let them die ! Let them die now, thy children! so thy heart Shall wear their beautiful image all undimm'd, Within it, to the last! Nor shalt thou learn The bitter lesson, of what worthless dust Are framed the idols, whose false glory binds Earth's fetter on our souls!—Thou think'st it much To mourn the early dead; but there are tears Heavy with deeper anguish! We endow Those whom we love, in our fond passionate blindness, With power upon our souls, too absolute To be a mortal's trust! Within their hands We lay the flaming sword, whose stroke alone Can reach our hearts, and they are merciful, As they are strong, that wield it not to pierce us! —Aye, fear them, fear the loved!—Had I but wept O'er my son's grave, as o'er a babe's, where tears Are as spring dew-drops, glittering in the sun, And brightening the young verdure, I might still Have loved and trusted!

But he fell in war! And hath not glory medicine in her cup For the brief pangs of nature?