And if ye marvel that mine eye doth glow Now every pulse of fervid youth is lost, Ye never heard the kingly trumpets blow - Nor felt the fieldward stirring of a host; Nor how the bayonet assures the hand That it can never fail - while Death doth stand Amid the thunders of the reckless drum, And the loud scorn of fifes, ashamed and dumb - Nor, when the noble revel dies away, How proud they lie upon the stained mould, A presence too majestic to gainsay, Of lordly martial bearing, mute and cold, Which honour knows o' th' instant! such as lay On Morat late, or Marathon of old! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HAPPY WIND by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE DRUM: THE NARRATIVE OF THE DEMON OF TEDWORTH by EDITH SITWELL SONNET by ETIENNE DE LA BOETIE SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE TARBOLTON LASSES by ROBERT BURNS |