funeral pile.
Aye, let them slumber--peaceful be their dreams!
Morn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams 320
As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)
To warm these slow avengers of the seas.
Now to Medora--Oh! my sinking heart,[hs]
Long may her own be lighter than thou art!
Yet was I brave--mean boast where all are brave!
Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save.
This common courage which with brutes we share,
That owes its deadliest efforts to Despair,
Small merit claims--but 'twas my nobler hope
To teach my few with numbers still to cope; 330
Long have I led them--not to vainly bleed:
No medium now--we perish or succeed!
So let it be--it irks not me to die;
But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.
My lot hath long had little of my care,
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:
Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last
Hope, Power and Life upon a single cast?
Oh, Fate!--accuse thy folly--not thy fate;
She may redeem thee still--nor yet too late." 340

XIV.

Thus with himself communion held he, till
He reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill:
There at the portal paused--for wild and soft
He heard those accents never heard too oft!
Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung,
And these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung:

1.

"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before. 350

2.

"There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp
Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen;
Which not the darkness of Despair can damp,
Though vain its ray as it had never been.

3.

"Remember me--Oh! pass not thou my grave
Without one thought whose relics there recline:
The only pang my bosom dare not brave
Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.

4.

"My fondest--faintest--latest accents hear--[ht]
Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; 360
Then give me all I ever asked--a tear,[203]
The first--last--sole reward of so much love!"

He passed the portal, crossed the corridor,