LXXVI.

Turn thou to mark (though tears may dim thy gaze) The steel-clad group before yon altar-stone: Heed not though gems and gold around it blaze; Those heads unhelm’d, those kneeling forms alone, Thus bow’d, look glorious here. The light is thrown Full from the shrine on one, a nation’s lord, A sufferer! but his task shall soon be done-- E’en now, as Faith’s mysterious cup is pour’d, See to that noble brow, peace, not of earth, restored!