FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   82   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99   100   101   102   103   104   105   106  
107   108   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   129   130   131   >>   >|  
Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze-- A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain. But 'tis not thus, and 'tis not here, Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor _now_ Where glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece, around me see! The Spartan borne upon his shield Was not more free. Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake!) Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_ Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, And then strike home! Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood! unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. If thou regrett'st thy youth, _why live?_ The lad of honourable death Is here: up to the field, and give Away thy breath! Seek out--less often sought than found-- A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest. _Byron._ LXXIX AFTER CORUNNA Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we h
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   82   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99   100   101   102   103   104   105   106  
107   108   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   129   130   131   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

buried

 

spirit

 

Greece

 
soldier
 
thought
 

funeral

 
struggling
 

moonbeam

 

bayonets

 

turning


lantern
 

Briton

 

breast

 

enclosed

 

coffin

 
burning
 

retiring

 

useless

 

struck

 
rampart

hurried

 
discharged
 

farewell

 

darkly

 

smoothed

 

lonely

 

pillow

 
upbraid
 

narrow

 

morrow


hollowed

 

Lightly

 

stranger

 

CORUNNA

 

martial

 

taking

 

warrior

 

shroud

 

billow

 

steadfastly


bitterly

 

sorrow

 

prayers

 

breath

 

thoughts

 

shield

 
banner
 

Spartan

 

volcanic

 

kindled