TO THE AfAiVES OF FIELD MARSHAL HAYNAU 393
O leave the poor Indian his land in the west ! Let the lust of dominion be quenched in thy breast ; Let thy mind in the school of reflection be taught To rule action by reason and passion by thought, And to deem well repaid all the toils of thy youth, Hast thou mastered one law in the kingdom of Truth.
Happy mortal, whose days unembittered with strife Have been spent in the peace of an innocent life. Whose spirit so tranquilly sinks to repose. Like the lingering glow of an autumn day's close ! Ah, those who so anxiously stand round your bed. And reverently gaze on your time-honored head. Can find in death's mildness relief to their fears, In your smile of content a reproof to their tears, Nor distinguish, when flies the last fluttering breath, The calmness of sleep from the quiet of death.
��TO THE MANES OF FIELD MARSHAL HAYNAU; 38
■* OF HUNGARIAN MEMORY.
" O, there is joy when hands that held the scourge Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold."
Bryant, Hymn to Death.
Escaped from shame at last, yet, though deprived Of earthly reverence, almost, proud knight,
I could have wished thou hadst awhile survived. Nor crossed with Charon in so sore a plight.
Thy stripes paid back, thy chin of beard despoiled.
Thy burly frame with noisome ordure soiled.
Yet why ? For, though thy livery might by scrubbing Soon have been cleansed, though soap had smoothed thy skin
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