| |
| LIE still, old Dane, below thy heap! | |
| A sturdy-back and sturdy-limb, | |
| Whoe’er he was, I warrant him | |
| Upon whose mound the single sheep | |
| browses and tinkles in the sun, | 5 |
| Within the narrow vale alone. | |
| |
| Lie still, old Dane! This restful scene | |
| Suits well thy centuries of sleep: | |
| The soft brown roots above thee creep, | |
| The lotus flaunts his ruddy sheen, | 10 |
| And,—vain memento of the spot,— | |
| And turquoise-eyed forget-me-not. | |
| |
| Lie still! Thy mother-land herself | |
| Would know thee not again: no more | |
| The Raven from the northern shore | 15 |
| Hails the bold crew to push for pelf, | |
| Though fire and blood and slaughter’d kings | |
| ’Neath the black terror of his wings. | |
| |
| And thou,—thy very name is lost! | |
| The peasant only knows that here | 20 |
| Bold Alfred scoop’d thy flinty bier, | |
| And pray’d a foeman’s prayer, and tost | |
| His auburn head, and said, “One more | |
| Of England’s foes guards England’s shore,” | |
| |
| And turn’d and pass’d to other feats, | 25 |
| And left thee in thine iron robe, | |
| To circle with the circling globe, | |
| While Time’s corrosive dewdrop eats | |
| The giant warrior to a crust | |
| Of earth in earth, and rust in rust. | 30 |
| |
| So lie: and let the children play | |
| And sit like flowers upon thy grave | |
| And crown with flowers,—that hardly have | |
| A briefer blooming-tide than they;— | |
| By hurrying years urged on to rest, | 35 |
| As thou, within the Mother’s breast. | |
| |
