XXVIII.

But this I felt not yet. I could but gaze On him, my friend; while that swift moment threw A sudden freshness back on vanish’d days, Like water-drops on some dim picture’s hue; Calling the proud time up, when first I stood Where banners floated, and my heart’s quick blood Sprang to a torrent as the clarion blew, And he--his sword was like a brother’s worn, That watches through the field his mother’s youngest born.