National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Victor
THE VICTOR.
"De tout ce qui t'aimoit n'est-il plus rien qui t'aime?"
Lamartine.
Mighty ones, Love and Death!
Ye are the strong in this world of ours,
Ye meet at the banquets, ye dwell midst the flowers,
—Which hath the conqueror's wreath?
Thou art the victor, Love!
Thou art the fearless, the crowned, the free,
The strength of the battle is given to thee,
The spirit from above!
Thou hast looked on Death, and smiled!
Thou hast borne up the reed-like and fragile form,
Thro' the waves of the fight, thro' the rush of the storm,
On field, and flood, and wild!
No!—Thou art the victor, Death!
Thou comest, and where is that which spoke,
From the depths of the eye, when the spirit woke?
—Gone with the fleeting breath!
Thou comest—and what is left
Of all that loved us, to say if aught
Yet loves—yet answers the burning thought
Of the spirit lone and reft?
Silence is where thou art!
Silently there must kindred meet,
No smile to cheer, and no voice to greet,
No bounding of heart to heart!
Boast not thy victory, Death!
It is but as the cloud's o'er the sunbeam's power,
It is but as the winter's o'er leaf and flower,
That slumber, the snow beneath.
It is but as a Tyrant's reign
O'er the voice and the lip which he bids be still:
But the fiery thought, and the lofty will,
Are not for him to chain!
They shall soar his might above!
And thus with the root whence affection springs,
Tho' buried, it is not of mortal things—
Thou art the victor, Love!
THE END.