XXIX.

Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng,

## Partly because they blend me with his line,

And partly that I did his Sire some wrong,[292] And partly that bright names will hallow song;[ho] And his was of the bravest, and when showered The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along, Even where the thickest of War's tempest lowered, They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard![293]