Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/452

418 2.

For them is Sorrow's purest sigh

O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:

In vain their bones unburied lie,

All earth becomes their monument!

3.

A tomb is theirs on every page,

An epitaph on every tongue:

The present hours, the future age,

For them bewail, to them belong.

4.

For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hushed, their name the only sound;

While deep Remembrance pours to Worth

The goblet's tributary round.

5.

A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by admiring foes,

Who would not share their glorious lot?

Who would not die the death they chose?

6.

And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;

And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory.

7.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;

And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.