XIII.

The love which maketh all things fond and fair, The youth which makes one rainbow of the air, The dangers past, that make even Man enjoy 300 The pause in which he ceases to destroy, The mutual beauty, which the sternest feel Strike to their hearts like lightning to the steel, United the half savage and the whole, The maid and boy, in one absorbing soul. No more the thundering memory of the fight Wrapped his weaned bosom in its dark delight; No more the irksome restlessness of Rest Disturbed him like the eagle in her nest, Whose whetted beak[389] and far-pervading eye 310 Darts for a victim over all the sky: His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state, At once Elysian and effeminate, Which leaves no laurels o'er the Hero's urn;-- These wither when for aught save blood they burn; Yet when their ashes in their nook are laid, Doth not the myrtle leave as sweet a shade? Had Caesar known but Cleopatra's kiss, Rome had been free, the world had not been his. And what have Caesar's deeds and Caesar's fame 320 Done for the earth? We feel them in our shame. The gory sanction of his Glory stains The rust which tyrants cherish on our chains. Though Glory--Nature--Reason--Freedom, bid Roused millions do what single Brutus did-- Sweep these mere mock-birds of the Despot's song From the tall bough where they have perched so long,-- Still are we hawked at by such mousing owls,[390] And take for falcons those ignoble fowls, When but a word of freedom would dispel 330 These bugbears, as their terrors show too well.