The Vision of Sir Launfal - And Other Poems by James Russell Lowell; With a Biographical Sketch and Notes, a Portrait and Other Illustrations by James Russell Lowell
page 48 of 132 (36%)
page 48 of 132 (36%)
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We sit here in the Promised Land
That flows with Freedom's honey and milk; But 't was they won it, sword in hand, Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk.[7] 235 We welcome back our bravest and our best;-- Ah me! not all! some come not with the rest, Who went forth brave and bright as any here! I strive to mix some gladness with my strain, But the sad strings complain, 240 And will not please the ear: I sweep them for a pæan, but they wane Again and yet again Into a dirge, and die away in pain. In these brave ranks I only see the gaps, 245 Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps, Dark to the triumph which they died to gain: Fitlier may others greet the living, For me the past is unforgiving; I with uncovered head 250 Salute the sacred dead, Who went, and who return not.--Say not so! 'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay,[8] But the high faith that failed not by the way; Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave;[9] 255 No bar of endless night exiles the brave; And to the saner mind We rather seem the dead that stayed behind. Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow! For never shall their aureoled presence lack: 260 I see them muster in a gleaming row, |
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