 | Poems (1857) |  |
67
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
I
Oft when the Sun thro' purple summer-cloudsSheds the noonday, but half his glory shrouds;
We mortals bask beneath his smile, we drink
The vital air he fills, yet little think
Of him, and scarcely thank him for his light.
But when he sinks behind the mountain height,
We know that he will close his bright career,
And darkness overspread our hemisphere:
Then do we look our last, and bid adieu
To his departing beams, and worship him anew.
II
Hero! The dawning of thy greatness dazedThe sight of all beholders; and we gazed
With wonder on thee, till thy glories shone
Reflected in our hearts, and seem'd our own:
68
Is near, when thou must quit this nether clime,
And darkness fall upon our English land:
Then deeply shall we feel and understand,
Whom we have lost, and mourning cry, that none
Remain to us like thee, unconquer'd Wellington!
| Poems (1857) | |