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Dark in its funeral fold.
Let the bell be toll’d:
And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd; And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll'd
Thro' the dome of the golden cross ;
And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;
He knew their voices of old.
For many a time in many a clime
Bellowing victory, bellowing doom;
In that dread sound to the great name,
Which he has worn so pure of blame,
A man of well-attemper'd frame.
O civic muse, to such a name,
To such a name,
Preserve a broad approach of fame,
Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest,
With banner and with music, with soldier and
with priest, With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest ? Mighty seaman, this is he Was great by land as thou by sea. Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,
The greatest sailor since our world began.
To thee the greatest soldier comes;
For this is he
Was great by land as thou by sea ;
Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
This is he that far
Against the myriads of Assaye
And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Past the Pyrenean pines,
Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
And England pouring on her foes.
Such a war had such a close.
Again their ravening eagle rose
Thro' the long-tormented air
Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,
And down we swept and charged and overthrew.
In that world's-earthquake, Waterloo !
O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,
If aught of things that here befall
In full acclaim,
A people's voice,
At civic revel and pomp
Attest their great commander's claim
Eternal honour to his name.