62 THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH. And bountiful, and cruel, and devout, And quick to draw the sword in private feud. As ever shaven cenobite. He loved As fiercely as he fought. He would have borne The maid that pleased him from her bower by night, To his hill-castle, as the eagle bears His victim from the fold, and rolled the rocks On his pursuers. He aspired to see "He lived, the impersonation of an age SEVENTY-SIX. WHAT heroes from the woodland sprung, The thrilling cry of freedom rung, Hills flung the cry to hills around, And ocean-mart replied to mart, And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, Pealed far away the startling sound Into the forest's heart. Then marched the brave from rocky steep, From mountain river swift and cold; The borders of the stormy deep, The vales where gathered waters sleep, As if the very earth again Grew quick with God's creating breath And, from the sods of grove and glen, Rose ranks of lion-hearted men To battle to the death. 64 SEVENTY-SIX. The wife, whose babe first smiled that day Already had the strife begun; Already blood on Concord's plain That death-stain on the vernal sward Hallowed to freedom all the shore; THE LIVING LOST. MATRON! the children of whose love, Each to his grave, in youth have passed, And now the mould is heaped above The dearest and the last! Bride! who dost wear the widow's veil Yet there are pangs of keener wo, The tears that scald the cheek, Wrung from their eyelids by the shame And guilt of those they shrink to name, Whom once they loved, with cheerful will, And love, though fallen and branded, still. Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead, Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve; And graceful are the tears ye shed, And honoured ye who grieve. 66 THE LIVING LOST. The praise of those who sleep in earth, But ye, who for the living lost Who shall with soothing words accost |