John Leicester Warren, Lord de Tabley.
SWEET are the ways of death to weary feet,
Calm are the shades of men.
The phantom fears
no tyrant in his seat,
The slave is master then.
Love is abolishd; well, that this is so;
We knew him best as Pain.
The gods are all cast out,
and let them go!
Who ever found them gain?
Ready to hurt and slow to succour these;
So, while thou breathest, pray.
But in the sepulchre
all flesh has peace;
Their hand is put away.
IN ruling well what guerdon? Life runs low,
As yonder lamp upon the hour-glass lies,
and wasted. We are great and wise,
But Love is gone; and Silence seems to grow
Along the misty road
where we must go.
From summits near the morning stars uprise
Death comes, a shadow from the northern
As, when all leaves are down, there comes the snow.
Brother and King, we hold our last carouse.
One loving-cup we drain and then farewell.
night is spent: the crystal morning ray
Calls us, as soldiers laurelld on our brows,
To march undaunted
while the clarions swell
Heroic hearts, upon our lonely way.
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