XXV.

I call the fond wish back--for thou hast perish’d More nobly far, my Alvar!--making known The might of truth;[291] and be thy memory cherish’d With theirs, the thousands that around her throne Have pour’d their lives out smiling, in that doom Finding a triumph, if denied a tomb! Ay, with their ashes hath the wind been sown, And with the wind their spirit shall be spread, Filling man’s heart and home with records of the dead.