III.
In Greece, the brave heart’s Holy Land,
Its soldier-song the bugle sings;
And I have buckled on my brand,
And waited but the sea-wind’s wings,
To bear me where, or lost or won
Her battle, in its frown or smile,
Men live with those of Marathon,
Or die with those of Scio’s isle;
And find in Valor’s tent or tomb,
In life or death, a glorious home.
IV.
I could have left but yesterday
The scene of my boy-years behind,
And floated on my careless way
Wherever willed the breathing wind.
I could have bade adieu to aught
I’ve sought, or met, or welcomed here,
Without an hour of shaded thought,
A sigh, a murmur, or a tear.
Such was I yesterday—but then
I had not known thee, Magdalen.
V.
To-day there is a change within me,
There is a weight upon my brow,
And Fame, whose whispers once could win me
From all I loved, is powerless now.
