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  On this day I complete my
        thirty-sixth year

'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
     Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
     Still let me love!

My days arc in the yellow leaf;
     The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
     Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys
     Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled as its blaze -
     A funeral pile.

The hope, the fear, the Jealous care,
     The extalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
     But wear the chain.

But 'Tis not thus - and 'tis not here -
     Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where glory decks the hero's bier,
     Or binds his brow.

The sword, the banner, and the field,
     Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan; borne upon his shield,


    Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece - she is awake!)
     Awake, my spirit; Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
     And then strike home!

Tread those reviving passions down,
     Unworthy manhood; - unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
     Of Beauty be.

If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
     The land of honourable death
Is here: - up to the field, and give
     Away thy breath!

Seek out - less often sought than found -
     A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
     And take thy rest. 

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