Classic Poem

O that thy own son, thy noblest born
Should rise that tranquil vision to dispel
& fresh and sparkling in his glorious morn
should thunder forth to crush, destroy & quell
that he should cause the trumpet strain to swell
and wring so many bosoms with its wail
& light the battle fire unquenchable
Whose bloody glow the star of war might pale
& Sirius' burning beams with shrouding halo's veil

Gods of our land withhold the radiant scourge
Chain the young lion in his darkling den
Hush the proud storm, & soothe the wild white surge
& call us back to peace & rest again
Let the sweet sunlight shine in each green glen
& light each shadowy mount with beams of peace
& still the voice that stirs the breasts of men
cause the dread Glory of our land to cease
& from the strong, bright chain our fettered hearts release

Now hush for evermore the minstrels shell
Lay by the flashing sword, lay by its sheath
Let many lands moan to a burial knell
& skies grow dark above & seas beneath
And lay the noble poet's withering wreath
with the young conqueror's o'er a regal tomb
& let all flower's from rose to moorland heath
Scattered around the house of mourning bloom
While thousands, millions weep the hero's early doom

That were a glorious death so bright, so young
No spot in all the lustrous orb grown dull
The battle fought & gained, the rich strain sung
the cup of honour to o'erflowing full
the ship in harbour, not a shattered hull
but strong & swift & bounding as when first
with scarce a breeze to break the ocean's lull
She from her moorings with wild plunge burst
& as she walked the waves dared storms to do their worst

Think not upon the grave! the silent grave
think not upon the cold concealing earth
When there are lands & lives & souls to save
What is a single transient mortal's worth
Though he be noble even of kingly birth
A very God for majesty & might
In time of war & peace of woe & mirth
the battle's guiding star the banquets light
the worshipped of the fair the idol of their sight

Yet crush remorse, & quell the starting tear
Grasp the sharp brand, look! Yonder towers his crest
Now Patriot rise o'er mercy, softness fear
Plunge to the red hilt in his noble breast
send the young Despot, to his last high rest
the hearts-blood spouts, he heaves no moan, no sigh
Now earth is by his blasted beauty prest
Behold the radiant victor silent die
Look on his fading brow, look on his closing eye

He's with the Dead that hand can lock no chain
that head can wear no diadem, that tongue
can give no mandate to his awe-struck brain
No all the chords of life are slacked unstrung
the flower is plucked the tree to earth is flung
Afric may triumph, let her drop no tear
a hundred deaths would from his life have sprung
He that lies powerless voiceless bleeding there
Held no man's life or good when classed with glory dear

Bless him & leave him, seal his Royal tomb
One kiss on the cold stone, one bursting sigh
& then let darkness fold him in its gloom
then let corruption brood triumphantly
o'er what was once so proud, so bright so high
so like the imperial splendour of the sun
That men were dazzled as they passed him by
But now his beauty's past, his glory gone
He slumbers in his shroud still desolate [al]one