Chapter_73

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O heart of fire! misjudged by wilful man,

Thou flower of Jesse’s race!

What woe was thine, when thou and Jonathan

Last greeted face to face!

He doom’d to die, thou on us to impress

The portent of a blood-stain’d holiness.

Yet it was well:⁠—for so, ’mid cares of rule

And crime’s encircling tide,

A spell was o’er thee, zealous one, to cool

Earth-joy and kingly pride;

With battle-scene and pageant, prompt to blend

The pale calm spectre of a blameless friend.

Ah! had he lived, before thy throne to stand,

Thy spirit keen and high

Sure it had snapp’d in twain love’s slender band,

So dear in memory;

Paul, of his comrade reft, the warning gives⁠—

He lives to us who dies, he is but lost who lives.