Hotly charged--and sank at last.

Charge once more, then, and be dumb!
Let the victors, when they come,
When the forts of folly fall,
Find thy body by the wall!

But the note of battle, even for what he holds dearest and most sacred,
is not a familiar note in his poetry. He had no natural love of

the throng'd field where winning comes by strife.

His criticism of life sets a higher value on work than on fighting.
"Toil unsevered from tranquillity," "Labour, accomplish'd in repose"--is
his ideal of happiness and duty.

Even the Duke of Wellington--surely an unpromising subject for poetic
eulogy--is praised because he was a worker,

Laborious, persevering, serious, firm.

Nature, again, is called in to teach us the secret of successful labour.
Her forces are incessantly at work, and in that work they are entirely
concentrated--

Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.