Humbled to such defeat.
Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms—
His steel the nearest magnet drew;
Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives—
’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.
His face is hidden in his beard,
But his heart peers out at eye—
And such a heart! like mountain-pool
Where no man passes by.
He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;