Didst meet the storm unshrinking and alone.
Oh! blest to die in freedom, though in vain—
Thine empire’s proud exchange the grave, and not the chain!
XXXVII.
Hush’d is Byzantium—’tis the dead of night—
The closing night of that imperial race![26]
And all is vigil—but the eye of light
Shall soon unfold, a wilder scene to trace:
There is a murmuring stillness on the train
Thronging the midnight streets, at morn to die;