"For Fame and Cymri, what is mine I give.94
Life;—and brave death prefer to ease and power;
But not for Fame or Cymri would I live
Soil'd by the stain of one dishonour'd hour;
And man's great cause was ne'er triumphant made,
By man's worst meanness—Trust for gain betray'd.
"Let then the rock the Sword for ever sheathe,95
All blades are charmèd in the Patriot's grasp!
He spoke, and lo! the Statue's thorny wreath
Bloom'd into roses—and each baffled asp
Fell down and died of its own poison-sting,
Back to the crag dull-sail'd the death-bird's wing.
And from the Statue's smile, as when the morn96
Unlocks the Eastern gates of Paradise,
Ineffable joy, in light and beauty borne,
Flow'd; and the azure of the distant skies
Stole through the crimson hues the ruby gave,
And slept, like Happiness, on Glory's wave.
"Go," said the Image, "thou hast won the Sword;97
He who thus values Honour more than Fame
Makes Fame itself his servant, not his lord;
And the man's heart achieves the hero's claim.
But by Ambition is Ambition tried,
None gain the guerdon who betray the guide!"
Wondering the Monarch heard, and hearing laid98
On the bright hilt-gem the obedient hand;
Swift at the touch, leapt forth the diamond blade,
And each long vista lighten'd with the brand;
The speaking marble bow'd its reverent head,
Rose the three Kings—the Dreamer and the Dead;
Voices far off, as in the heart of heaven,99
Hymn'd, "Hail, Fame-Conqueror in the Halls of Time;"
Deep as to hell the flaming vaults were riven;
High as to angels, space on space sublime
Open'd, and flash'd upon the mortal's eye
The Morning Land of Immortality.
Bow'd down before the intolerable light,100
Sank on his knees the King; and humbly veil'd
The Home of Seraphs from the human sight;
Then the freed soul forsook him, as it hail'd
Through Flesh, its prison-house,—the spirit-choir;
And fled as flies the music from the lyre.
And all was blank, and meaningless, and void;101
For the dull form, abandon'd thus below,
Scarcely it felt the closing waves that buoy'd
Its limbs, light-drifting down the gentle flow—
And when the conscious life return'd again,
Lo, noon lay tranquil on the ocean main.
As from a dream he woke, and look'd around,102
For the lost Lake and Ægle's distant grave;
But dark, behind, the silent headlands frown'd;
And bright, before him, smiled the murmuring wave;
His right hand rested on the falchion won;
And the Dove pruned her pinions in the sun.