Sits grim Forgetfulness. The warrior's arm
Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame,
Hushed is the stormy voice, and quenched the blaze
Of his red eye–ball.
Yesterday, his name
Was mighty on the earth; to–day,—'tis what?
The meteor of the night of distant years,
That flashed unnoticed, save by wrinkled eld,
Musing, at midnight, upon prophecies,
Who at her only lattice, saw the gleam