LXXIX.

For thick ye girt me round, ye long departed![296] Dust--imaged forms--with cross, and shield, and crest; It seem’d as if your ashes would have started Had a wild voice burst forth above your rest! Yet ne’er, perchance, did worshipper of yore Bear to your thrilling presence what _I_ bore Of wrath, doubt, anguish, battling in the breast! I could have pour’d out words, on that pale air, To make your proud tombs ring. No, no! I could not _there_!