Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/271

CANTO III.] XXXI.

I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom each

And one as all a ghastly gap did make

In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach

Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake;

The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake

Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Fame

May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake

The fever of vain longing, and the name

So honoured but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim.

XXXII.

They mourn, but smile at length—and, smiling, mourn:

The tree will wither long before it fall;

The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;

The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall

In massy hoariness; the ruined wall

Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;