To catch high thoughts and impulses divine,
And all the glow of soul enthusiasts feel
Amidst the tombs of heroes—for the brave
Whose dust, so many an age, hath been thy soil,
Foremost in honour’s phalanx, died to save
The land redeem’d and hallow’d by their toil;
And there is language in thy lightest gale,
That o’er the plains they won seems murmuring yet their tale.
XXII.
And he, whose heart is weary of the strife