Stood one that seem’d a monarch of the soil,
Serene and stately in his manhood’s pride—
Werner,[231] the brave and true! If men have died
Their hearths and shrines inviolate to keep,
He was a mate for such. The voice that cried
Within his breast, “Arise!” came still and deep
From his far home, that smiled e’en then in moonlight sleep.
XVII.
It was a home to die for! As it rose
Through its vine foliage, sending forth a sound