XL.

“Oh Death in battle! Glory thou art called, When stirred the fervent blood to seething strife; But Man prefers thee peaceful coffined, palled, And shudders unprepared to yield The Life; For, oh, with terror the dark shore is rife! Who in precipitate Death would choose to miss The pillow tended by the loving wife, The dying hand stretched forth to her to kiss, The last words whispered low, surviving Memory’s bliss!