Wend onward, as thou wilt in weal or woe,

[Pg 14]

Swell the rude triumph of thy battle march,

Spread thy gay banners broadly to the wind,

And let thy clarions ring among the spheres;

Laurel thy heroes and thy favourites,

And pluck the crowns again from off their brows;

Worship thy follies, and thine empty gains,

And barter life for mammon—gold for dross.

Here let me lie upon the rear of Time,

Unheeded, unremembered, and alone,

Like a quick seed dropt by a flying dove,

That groweth unto blossom and to fruit!

Scene. Night. Man.

Scene.

Man.

How still are all things now in earth and heaven!

From the green-tided woods no rippling stir

Breaks on the shore of silence; the sweet birds

That sing, like naiads from the crystal deeps,

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