Iii

But if the valiant of this land In reverential modesty demand, That all observance, due to them, be paid Where their serene progenitors are laid; Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saint-like sages, England's illustrious sons of long, long ages; Be it not unordained that solemn rites, Within the circuit of those Gothic walls,[BF] Shall be performed at pregnant intervals; Commemoration holy that unites The living generations with the dead; By the deep soul-moving sense Of religious eloquence,-- By visual pomp, and by the tie Of sweet and threatening harmony; Soft notes, awful as the omen Of destructive tempests coming, And escaping from that sadness Into elevated gladness; While the white-rob'd choir attendant, Under mouldering banners pendant, Provoke all potent symphonies to raise Songs of victory and praise, For them who bravely stood unhurt, or bled With medicable wounds, or found their graves Upon the battle field, or under ocean's waves; Or were conducted home in single state, And long procession--there to lie, Where their sons' sons, and all posterity, Unheard by them, their deeds shall celebrate!