Than those, their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin, wheresoe'er they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy?"[217]
This interesting testimony finds echo in another of England's remarkable characters, Edmund Waller,—himself poet, orator, statesman, man of the world,—who has left on record his judgment of True Glory, in a valedictory poem, written at the age of eighty, when the passions of this world no longer obscured the clear perception of duty. At an earlier period of life he had sung of war. Mark the change in this swan-like note, which might disenchant even the eloquence of Cicero, covetous of Fame:—
"Earth praises conquerors for shedding blood;
Heaven, those that love their foes and do 'em good.
It is terrestrial honor to be crowned
For strewing men, like rushes, on the ground:
True Glory 'tis to rise above them all,