Page:Memorials of a tour on the continent, 1820 (IA memorialsoftouro00word).pdf/93

Soon to be swallowed by the briny surge;
Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown strands;
Or stifled under weight of desart sands—
An Army now, and now a living hill¹⁶
Heaving with convulsive throes,—
It quivers—and is still;
Or to forget their madness and their woes,
Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless snows!

IV.
Back flows the willing current of my Song:
If to provoke such doom the Impious dare
Why should it daunt a blameless prayer?
—Bold Goddess! range our Youth among;
Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat
In hearts no longer young;
Still may a veteran Few have pride
In thoughts whose sternness makes them śweet;