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He was – Himself. Two Epochus Centuries
One gainst the other raging
Bowed as by fate admonished
When he their strife assuaging
Cried "silence" & in majesty
Sat down between them like a God above
He is fled: & but what tempestuousness
Played round this broken bubble
And Envy in all its mightiness
And pity in its trouble
And hopes unextinguished
And never doubting shaken love
And round o'er the shipwrecked mariner
The surges roll & thunder
And break around, – while agonized
It's thro' the waves that sunder
Looks with a mad solicitude
For some far dream of land.
So round that soul the memories
Gather of other ages
And after shall posterity
Dwell on the eternal pages
And in the marvellous register
Let fall the weary hand
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Alas! how oft when silently
Some heavy day was dying closing
Midst summer lightning! radience
And to his heart His arms his bosom
His Must thoughts of days of estacy glories vanished
Gone Have disturbed him thence torn his bosom thus –
The moving tents – the battlements
Crowded with busy forces
The flashes of the maniples
The waves of battle passes
Commandements eager peevish selflessness
The Obedience swift as air.
In such an hour of loneliness
The weary Soul was driven
From earth – then came in gentliness
A pitying hand from heaven
And bore it on to paradise
To an unclouded sky –
Up to those flowery wreathed palaces
Hopes ever bright dominion
Eternal fields where blessedness
Soars beyond fancy's
And darkness, – silence – solitude –
Above Around earth's glories be
Identifier: | JB/110/209/002 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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209 |
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002 |
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collectanea |
4 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36199 |
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