XVI.

But for such holy rest strong hands must toil, Strong hearts endure! By that pale elder’s side, Stood one that seem’d a monarch of the soil, Serene and stately in his manhood’s pride-- Werner,[231] the brave and true! If men have died Their hearths and shrines inviolate to keep, He was a mate for such. The voice that cried Within his breast, “Arise!” came still and deep From his far home, that smiled e’en then in moonlight sleep.