Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/133

Rh Here mingling view the names of Sire and Son,

The one long grav'd, the other just begun:

These shall survive alike when Son and Sire,

Beneath one common stroke of fate expire;

Perhaps, their last memorial these alone,

Denied, in death, a monumental stone,

Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave

The sighing weeds, that hide their nameless grave.

And, here, my name, and many an early friend's,

Along the wall in lengthen'd line extends.

Though, still, our deeds amuse the youthful race,

Who tread our steps, and fill our former place,

Who young obeyed their lords in silent awe,

Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law;

And now, in turn, possess the reins of power,

To rule, the little Tyrants of an hour;

Though sometimes, with the Tales of ancient day,

They pass the dreary Winter's eve away;

"And, thus, our former rulers stemm'd the tide,

And, thus, they dealt the combat, side by side;

Just in this place, the mouldering walls they scaled,

Nor bolts, nor bars, against their strength avail'd;