Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/46

Ivy and vine, and many a sculptured rose—
The tenderest image of mortality—
Binding the slender columns, whose light shafts
Cluster like stems in corn sheaves—all these things
Tell of a race that nobly, fearlessly,
On their heart's worship poured a wealth of love!
Honour he with the dead!—The people kneel
Under the helms of antique chivalry,
And in the crimson gloom from banners thrown,
And midst the forms, in pale proud slumber carved,
Of warriors on their tombs.—The people kneel
Where mail-clad chiefs have knelt; where jewelled crowns
On the flushed brows of conquerors have been set;
Where the high anthems of old victories
Have made the dust give echoes.—Hence, vain thoughts!
Memories of power and pride, which, long ago,
Like dim processions of a dream, have sunk
In twilight depths away.—Return, my soul!