Not like the men of the crowd Bluster or cringe, and make life Servants of God !-or sons See in the rocks of the world Where are they tending ?—A God Marshall'd them, gave them their goal. Ah, but the way is so long! Years they have been in the wild! Factions divide them-their host Threatens to break, to dissolve.— Ah, keep, keep them combined! Die one by one in the waste. Then, in such hour of need Beacons of hope, ye appear! Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word, Weariness not on your brow. Ye alight in our van! at your voice, Ye move through the ranks, recall Eyes rekindling, and prayers, MATTHEW ARNOLD. XLIII. ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. BURY the Great Duke I. With an empire's lamentation, To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation, Mourning when their leaders fall, Warriors carry the warrior's pall, And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall. II. Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore ? Let the sound of those he wrought for, Echo round his bones for evermore. III. Lead out the pageant: sad and slow, As fits an universal woe, Let the long long procession go, And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow, IV. Mourn, for to us he seems the last, O good gray head which all men knew, O voice from which their omens all men drew, O iron nerve to true occasion true, O fall'n at length that tower of strength. Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew. Such was he whom we deplore, The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er. The great World-victor's victor will be seen no more. All is over and done : V. Render thanks to the Giver, Let the bell be toll'd. Render thanks to the Giver, And render him to the mould. That shines over city and river, And a reverent people behold The towering car, the sable steeds: Bright let it be with its blazon'd deeds, Dark in its funeral fold. Let the bell be toll'd: And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd; And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll'd Thro' the dome of the golden cross; And the volleying cannon thunder his loss; He knew their voices of old. For many a time in many a clime His captain's-ear has heard them boom, |