This time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it tath ceased to move;
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief;
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcaric isle;
No torch is kindled at its blze--
A funeral pile!
The hope, the fear, the Jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And bower of love, I cannot share.
But tis not thus-and tis not here-
Such though is 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 Grace, around me see!
The Spartan, born upon his shield, Was not more free,
Awake ! ( not Greece-she is awake! )
Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
The 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 regret st thy youth, why live;
The land of honorable death
Is here: -up to the field, and give
Away thy breath! seek out-less sought than found-
A dier s grave for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy rest.
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檢舉原因
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