A Ballad of Heroes

Because you passed, and now are not, —
Because, in some remoter day,
Your sacred dust from doubtful spot
Was blown of ancient airs away, —
Because you perished, — must men say
Your deeds were naught, and so profane
Your lives with that cold burden? Nay
The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

Though, it may be, above the plot
That hid your once imperial clay,
No greener than o'er men forgot
The unregarding grasses sway; —
Though there no sweeter is the lay
From careless bird, — though you remain
Without distinction of decay, —
The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

No. For while yet in tower or cot
Your story stirs the pulses' play;
And men forget the sordid lot —
The sordid care, of cities gray; —
While yet, beset in homelier fray,
They learn from you the lesson plain
That Life may go, so Honour stay, —
The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

Heroes of old! I humbly lay
The laurel on your graves again;
Whatever men have done, men may, —
The deeds you wrought are not in vain.