Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/194

154 More dear thy worth, and valour than my own,

I swear by him, who fills Olympus' throne!

So may I triumph, as I speak the truth,

And clasp again the comrade of my youth!

But should I fall,—and he, who dares advance

Through hostile legions, must abide by chance,—

If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow,

Should lay the friend, who ever lov'd thee, low,

Live thou—such beauties I would fain preserve—

Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve;

When humbled in the dust, let some one be,

Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me;

Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force,

Or wealth redeem, from foes, my captive corse;

Or, if my destiny these last deny,

If, in the spoiler's power, my ashes lie;

Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb,

To mark thy love, and signalise my doom.

Why should thy doating wretched mother weep

Her only boy, reclin'd in endless sleep?

Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dar'd,

Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shar'd;

Who brav'd what woman never brav'd before,

And left her native, for the Latian shore."

"In vain you damp the ardour of my soul,"

Replied Euryalus; "it scorns controul;

Hence, let us haste!"—their brother guards arose,