Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/85

CANTO I.] By myriads, when they dare to pave their way

With human hearts—to what?—a dream alone.

Can Despots compass aught that hails their sway?

Or call with truth one span of earth their own,

Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone?

XLIII.

Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief!

As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim pricked his steed,

Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief,

A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!

Peace to the perished! may the warrior's meed

And tears of triumph their reward prolong!

Till others fall where other chieftains lead

Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,

And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song.