 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
When we again regard, in Mérlins glass:
On úpper path, withín that breach of Earth;
Our happier gaze is fixt. Beat thick our hearts;
That leap up in our throats and utterance choke;
Whilst cóvertly our éyelids gather scalding drops.
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Our happier gaze is fixt. Beat thick our hearts;
That leap up in our throats and utterance choke;
Whilst cóvertly our éyelids gather scalding drops.
Descend there singly, lion-héarted spirits!
A token beams, lo, on éach magnanimous breast!
'Tis that which Britains sovereign, (Gods true knight,
Belovéd óf his People,) wíth the applause,
Of Five free generous Nations, under arms;
Confers, for singular valour, ín war-field.
A token beams, lo, on éach magnanimous breast!
'Tis that which Britains sovereign, (Gods true knight,
Belovéd óf his People,) wíth the applause,
Of Five free generous Nations, under arms;
Confers, for singular valour, ín war-field.
How comely is their souls' stature, amongst the rest;
Where all wrought mainly, and strove in sacred arms;
To uphóld the honour óf their Nations House:
Opposing their instincted patriot breasts;
To élemental iron machínal force.
Where all wrought mainly, and strove in sacred arms;
To uphóld the honour óf their Nations House:
Opposing their instincted patriot breasts;
To élemental iron machínal force.
Are they, their grateful Countrys Praise, henceforth;
On whom we gaze, we stare, in part abasht;
That we, which elder rest, might bear no part;
In hazards, aches, death-horror of slaughter-field;
With those, (late, children!) thús before us passed.
On whom we gaze, we stare, in part abasht;
That we, which elder rest, might bear no part;
In hazards, aches, death-horror of slaughter-field;
With those, (late, children!) thús before us passed.
The supreme smile, yet blossoms on their lips:
Wherewith those gave, great-hearts, their best, lífes bréath,
In a Strange Land; with God, the World to save.
Wherewith those gave, great-hearts, their best, lífes bréath,
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| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |