Works

The warrior knows how fitful is the fight, -
How sad to live, - how sweet perchance to die.
Is Fame his joy? He meets her on the height,
And when he falls he shouts his battle-cry;...

Letter VII. Hope.


I.

O tears of mine! Ye start I know not why,
Unless, indeed, to prove that I am glad,
Albeit fast wedded to a thought so sad...

Victor the King! alive to-day, not dead!
Behold, I bring thee with a subject's hand
A poor pale wreath, the best at my command,
But all unfit to deck so grand a head.
It is the outcome of a neighbour land...