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Bating nor heart nor hope, whoe'er opposed;
The greatest warriors, in their turn, appearing ;
The last that came, the greatest of them all-
One scattering fear, as born but to subdue,
And, even in rout, in ruin, scattering fear ;
So long, till warred on by the elements,
Invincible ; the mightiest of the earth !
When such the service, what the recompence ?
What was not due to him if he survived ?
Yet, if I err not, a renown as fair,
And fairer still, awaited him at home;
When in his place, day after day, he stood,
The party-zeal, that round him raged, restraining;
-His not to rest, while his the strength to serve.
Man to the last is but a froward child;
for the future, come what may,
And to the present so insensible !
Oh, if he could in all things as he would,
Years would as days and hours as moments be;
He would, so restless is his spirit here,
Give wings to Time, and wish his life
The heart, they say, is wiser than the schools ;
And well they may. All that is great in thought,
That strikes at once as with electric fire,
And lifts us, as it were, from earth to heaven,
Comes from the heart; and who confesses not
Its voice as sacred, nay almost divine,
When inly it declares on what we do,
Blaming, approving ? Let an erring world
Judge as it will, we care not while we stand
Acquitted there; and oft, when clouds on clouds
Compass us round and not a track
Oft is an upright heart the surest guide,
Surer and better than the subtlest head;
Still with its silent counsels thro' the dark
Onward and onward leading.
This Child, so lovely and so cherub-like,
(No fairer spirit in the heaven of heavens)
Say, must he know remorse? must Passion come,
Passion in all or any of its shapes,
To cloud and sully what is now so pure ?
Yes, come it must. For who, alas, has lived,
Nor in the watches of the night recalled
Words he has wished unsaid and deeds undone ?
Yes, come it must. But if, as we may hope,
He learns ere long to discipline his mind,
And onward goes, humbly and cheerfully,
Assisting them that faint, weak though he be,
And in his trying hours trusting in God-
Fair as he is, he shall be fairer still;
For what was Innocence will then be Virtue.
GRENVILLE, to thee my gratitude is due
many an hour of studious musing here, For
many a day-dream, such as hovered round Hafiz or Sadi; thro' the golden East, Search where we would, no fairer bowers than these, Thine own creation ; where, called forth by thee, " Flowers worthy of Paradise, with rich inlay, Broider the ground," and every mountain-pine Elsewhere unseen (his birth-place in the clouds, His kindred sweeping with majestic march From cliff to cliff along the snowy ridge Of Caucasus, or nearer yet the Moon) Breathes heavenly music.—Yet much more I owe For what so few, alas, can hope to share, Thy converse; when, among thy books reclined, Or in thy garden-chair that wheels its course Slowly and silently thro' sun and shade, Thou speak’st, as ever thou art wont to do, In the calm temper of philosophy; -Still to delight, instruct, whate'er the theme.
GREY, thou hast served, and well, the sacred Cause
That Hampden, Sydney died for. Thou hast stood,
Scorning all thought of Self, from first to last,
Among the foremost in that glorious field;
From first to last; and, ardent as thou art,
Held on with equal step as best became
A lofty mind, loftiest when most assailed;
Never, though galled by many a barbed shaft,
By many a bitter taunt from friend and foe,
Swerving, nor shrinking. Happy in thy Youth,
Thy Youth the dawn of a long summer-day ;
But in thy Age still happier ; thine to earn
The gratitude of millions yet unborn ;
Thine to conduct, through ways how difficult,
A mighty people in their march sublime
From Good to Better. Great thy recompense,
When in their eyes thou read'st what thou hast done;