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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
he! As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage, What worthier knight was found To grace in Arthur's golden age The fabled Table Round? A voice, the battle's trumpet-note, To welcome and restore; A hand, that all unwilling smote, To heal and build once more! A soul of fire, a tender heart Too warm for hate, he knew The generous victor's graceful part To sheathe the sword he drew. When Earth, as if on evil dreams, Looks back upon her wars, And the white light of Christ outstreams From the red disk of Mars, His fame who led the stormy van Of battle well may cease, But never that which crowns the man Whose victory was Peace. Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore Thy beautiful and brave, Whose failing hand the olive bore, Whose dying lips forgave! Let age lament the youthful chief, And tender eyes be dim; The tears are more of joy than grief That fall for one like him! 1878. Bayard Taylor. I ‘and where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend?’ My sister asked our guest one winter's day