I look on thee in fear!
Xim. Thou hast no cause
To fear for me. When the wild clash of steel,
And the deep tambour, and the heavy step
Of armèd men, break on our morning dreams—
When, hour by hour, the noble and the brave
Are falling round us, and we deem it much
To give them funeral-rites, and call them blest
If the good sword, in its own stormy hour,
Hath done its work upon them, ere disease