Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/236

226 I harken unto deathless voices rolled

From the great deep, and silent lyres of old;

And with the sound thereof my lips grow bold.

Man's is another world

Wherein the spirit flies;

Truth at his heart impearled,

A thousand deaths he dies.

O wake again, Tyrtæan lyre

That flung the world's first tyrants low!

Heap up thy urn with holy fire

That now doth in all peoples glow!

Once more the dreadful trumpet sound

Of freedom, Macedonian mound!

Thou, gray Thermopylæ, arise!

Who lifted first on human eyes

Victorious shields of sacrifice,—

And old Simonides thy glory crowned,

Leading the poets' bright, immortal choir.

Still rolls aloft the heroic hymn

Of men, when light and life grow dim.

O sacred bands, dear to the lyre's blest breath

That, ever resonant with noble death,

Sweeps eagle-borne round glory's cloudy wreath,

A thousand dawns we sang you to the fight,

A thousand victories sang you home at night!