Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, 15 Find thy body by the wall!
Set where the upper streams of Simois° flow °1 Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood; And Hector° was in Ilium° far below, °3 And fought, and saw it not--but there it stood!
It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light 5 On the pure columns of its glen-built hall. Backward and forward roll'd the waves of fight Round Troy--but while this stood, Troy could not fall.
So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul. Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air; 10 Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll; We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!
We shall renew the battle in the plain To-morrow;--red with blood will Xanthus° be; °14 Hector and Ajax° will be there again, °15 Helen° will come upon the wall to see. °16
Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife, And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs, And fancy that we put forth all our life, And never know how with the soul it fares. 20
Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high, Upon our life a ruling effluence send. And when it fails, fight as we will, we die; And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.
Before man parted for this earthly strand, While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, God put a heap of letters in his hand, And bade him make with them what word he could.
And man has turn'd them many times; made Greece, 5 Rome, England, France;--yes, nor in vain essay'd Way after way, changes that never cease! The letters have combined, something was made.
But ah! an inextinguishable sense Haunts him that he has not made what he should; 10 That he has still, though old, to recommence, Since he has not yet found the word God would.
And empire after empire, at their height Of sway, have felt this boding sense come on; Have felt their huge frames not constructed right, 15 And droop'd, and slowly died upon their throne.
One day, thou say'st, there will at last appear The word, the order, which God meant should be. --Ah! we shall know _that_ well when it comes near; The band will quit man's heart, he will breathe free. 20
Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.