ON THE DAY I COMPLITED THIRTHY SIXT BITHDAY By lord bryan I IS time the heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze-- A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share, But wear the chain. But tis not thus--and tis not here-- Such thoughts should shake my soul nor now, Where glory decks the heros bier, Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece, around me see! The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Was not more free. Awake! (not Greece--she is awake!) Awake, my spirit! Think through whom Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, And then strike home! Tread those reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood!--unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. If thou regrettst thy youth, why live? The land of honourable death Is here:--up to the field, and give Away thy breath! Seek out--less often sought than found-- A soldiers grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest.
Posted on: Wed, 12 Mar 2014 10:27:49 +0000