 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
LXXXII.
THE FALL OF WARSAW.
Thy sun has set, and yet the sun shines on,Sad City!—not a ray obscured, and bright,
As on the eve before thy hope went down
In blood, and battle, and o'erwhelming night,—
And thou wert made a ruin, shrunk in blight,—
Not by thy foes alone!—but traitors too
Were there to thwart, if not to shame, the few,
Who, to the last sad hour, maintained the fight;
And clung to the red ashes of their land,
As to a mother's grave,—nerved by a strength
Which, though defeated and subdued, at length,
Proves nobly what the soul of man may do,
Cheer'd, by a generous hope, to wield the brand,
In battling for the cause it holds more true.
| Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies | |