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Glory!—Peace, And listen!—By my side the stripling grew, Last of my line. I rear'd him to take joy I' th' blaze of arms, as eagles train their young To look upon the day-king!—His quick blood Ev'n to his boyish cheek would mantle up, When the heavens rang with trumpets, and his eye Flash with the spirit of a race whose deeds— —But this availeth not!—Yet he was brave. I've seen him clear himself a path in fight As lightning through a forest, and his plume Waved like a torch, above the battle-storm, The soldier's guide, when princely crests had sunk, And banners were struck down.—Around my steps Floated his fame, like music, and I lived But in the lofty sound. But when my heart In one frail ark had ventur'd all, when most He seem'd to stand between my soul and heaven, —Then came the thunder-stroke!

'Tis ever thus! And the unquiet and foreboding sense That thus 'twill ever be, doth link itself Darkly with all deep love!—He died?