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ODE ON THE DEATH
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
Bury the Great Duke
With an empire's lamentation, Let us bury the Great Duke
To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation, Mourning when their leaders fall, Warriors carry the warrior's pall, And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall.
Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore ?
Here, in streaming London's central roar.
Let the sound of those he wrought for,
And the feet of those he fought for,
Echo round his bones for evermore.
Lead out the pageant : sad and slow,
As fits an universal woe,
Let the long long procession go,
And let the mournful martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low.
Mourn, for to us he seems the last,
No more in soldier fashion will he greet
With lifted hand the gazer in the street.
O friends, our chief state-oracle is mute :
Mourn for the man of long-enduring blood,
The statesman-warrior, moderate, resolute,
Whole in himself, a common good.
Yet clearest of ambitious crime,
Our greatest yet with least pretence,
Great in council and great in war,
Foremost captain of his time,
Rich in saving common-sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
O iron nerve to true occasion true,
O fall’n at length that tower of strength