Blackwood's Magazine/Volume 1/Issue 2/Untitled

I.

Pour thy tears wild and free,

Balm best and holiest;
Fallen is the lofty tree,
Low as the lowliest!
Rent is the eaglet's plume,
Towering victorious;
Read on the hero's tomb
The end of the glorious.

2.

Lean on that shivered spear,

It threatens no longer;
Snapt like its high compeer,
The willow is stronger.
See on its dinted edge
The last day-beam flashes,
If thine be the soul to stand
And number its gashes.

3.

Press not that hallowed mould,

In darkness enshrouded,
Ashes, yet scarcely cold,
Beneath it are crowded:
Thy feet o'er some noble heart
May stumble unheeding;
O'er thy familiar friend
Perchance may be treading.

4.

Oh! ye were scattered fast,

Sons of the morning!
Triumph, but seen and past,
Your proud brows adorning,
After such mortal toil
To slumber so soundly,
Can aught to the heart of man
Speak so profoundly?
June 1815. B.