Her. That calm was never his, no other will be! Thou knowest not, and mayst thou never know, How bitter is the tear that firy shame Scourges and tortures from the soldier’s eye. Whichever of these bad reports be true, He hides it from all hearts, to wring his own, And drags the heavy secret to the grave. p. 97Not victory, that o’ershadows him, sees he! No airy and light passion stirs abroad To ruffle or to soothe him; all are quelled Beneath a mightier, sterner, stress of mind: Wakeful he sits, and lonely, and unmoved, Beyond the arrows, views, or shouts of men; As oftentimes an eagle, when the sun Throws o’er the varying earth his early ray, Stands solitary, stands immovable Upon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye, Clear, constant, unobservant, unabased, In the cold light, above the dews of morn. He now assumes that quietness of soul Which never but in danger have I seen On his staid breast. p. 97 Tarik. Danger is past, he conquers; No enemy is left him to subdue. Her. He sank not, while there was, into himself. Now plainly see I, from his alter’d tone, He cannot live much longer—thanks to God! Tarik. What! wishest thou thy once kind master dead? p. 98Was he not kind to thee, ungrateful slave! p. 98 Her. The gentlest, as the bravest, of mankind. Therefor shall memory dwell more tranquilly With Julian, once at rest, than friendship could, Knowing him yearn for death with speechless love. For his own sake I could endure his loss, Pray for it, and thank God; yet mourn I must Him above all! so great, so bountiful, So blessed once! bitterly must I mourn. ’Tis not my solace that ’tis his desire; Of all that pass us in life’s drear descent We grieve the most for those that wished to die. A father to us all, he merited Unhappy man! all a good father’s joy In his own house, where seldom he hath been, But, ever mindful of its dear delights He formed one family around him, ever. Tarik. Yes, we have seen and known him—let his fame Refresh his friends, but let it stream afar, Nor in the twilight of home-scenes be lost. He chose the best, and cherished them; he left p. 99To self-reproof the mutinies of vice— Avarice, that imps ambition’s tone and mien, Envy, sick nursling of the court; and pride That cannot bear his semblance nor himself; And malice, with blear visage half-descried Amid the shadows of her hiding-place. p. 99
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