Page:Underwoods, Stevenson, 1887.djvu/61

Rh His flock come bleating home; the seaman hears

Once more the cordage rattle. Airs of home!

Youth, love and roses blossom; the gaunt ward

Dislimns and disappears, and, opening out,

Shows brooks and forests, and the blue beyond

Of mountains.

Small the pipe; but O! do thou,

Peak-faced and suffering piper, blow therein

The dirge of heroes dead; and to these sick,

These dying, sound the triumph over death.

Behold! each greatly breathes; each tastes a joy

Unknown before, in dying; for each knows

A hero dies with him—though unfulfilled,

Yet conquering truly—and not dies in vain.

So is pain cheered, death comforted; the house

Of sorrow smiles to listen. Once again—

O thou, Orpheus and Heracles, the bard

And the deliverer, touch the stops again!