 | A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems |  |
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ON SIR PHILIP SYDNEY'S BIRTH-DAY.
Whose birth-day on the Muse may call,
If thine remain unsung?
Thyself in camp, in bower, and hall,
The theme of old and young.
If thine remain unsung?
Thyself in camp, in bower, and hall,
The theme of old and young.
Two hundred years and more have fled
Since thou on earth wert seen,
Yet art thou of the honoured dead
Whose memory still is green.
Since thou on earth wert seen,
Yet art thou of the honoured dead
Whose memory still is green.
Thy life, though brief, was fair and bright,
And crowned with knightly fame;
Thy death, though early, proved thy right
To win a hero's name.
And crowned with knightly fame;
Thy death, though early, proved thy right
To win a hero's name.
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And what could chivalry desire
But so to live and die?
And to bequeath to heart and lyre
Such immortality!
But so to live and die?
And to bequeath to heart and lyre
Such immortality!
| A New Year's Eve, and Other Poems | |