That fatal shaft, there rose a groan; And borne along on every breeze Came up the church-bell's solemn tone, And cries that swept o'er open graves, And equal sobs from cot and throne. Against the winds she tasks and braves, The tall ship paused, the sailors sighed, And something white slid in the waves. One lamentation, far and wide, Followed behind that flying dart. Things soulless and immortal died, As if they filled the self-same part; The flower, the girl, the oak, the man, Made the same dust from pith or heart, Then spoke I, calmly as one can Who with his purpose curbs his fear, And thus to both my question ran:-- "What two are ye who cross me here, Upon these desolated lands, Whose open fields lie waste and drear Beneath the tramplings of the bands Which two great armies send abroad, With swords and torches in their hands?" To which the bright one, as a god Who slowly speaks the words of fate, Towards his dark comrade gave a nod, And answered:--"I anticipate The thought that is your own reply. You know him, or the fear and hate Upon your pallid features lie. Therefore I need not call him Death: But answer, soldier, who am I?" Thereat, with all his gathered breath, He blew his clarion; and there came, From life above and life beneath, Pale forms of vapor and of flame, Dim likenesses of men who rose Above their fellows by a name. There curved the Roman's eagle-nose, The Greek's fair brows, the Persian's beard, The Punic plume, the Norman bows; There the Crusader's lance was reared; And there, in formal coat and vest, Stood modern chiefs; and one appeared, Whose arms were folded on his breast, And his round forehead bowed in thought, Who shone supreme above the rest. Again the bright one quickly caught His words up, as the martial line Before my eyes dissolved to nought:-- "Soldier, these heroes all are mine; And I am Glory!" As a tomb That groans on opening, "Say, were thine," Cried the dark figure. "I consume Thee and thy splendors utterly. More names have faded in my gloom Than chronicles or poesy Have kept alive for babbling earth To boast of in despite of me." The other cried, in scornful mirth, "Of all that was or is thou curse, Thou dost o'errate thy frightful worth! Between the cradle and the hearse, What one of mine has lived unknown, Whether through triumph or reverse? For them the regal jewels shone, For them the battled line was spread; Victorious or overthrown, My splendor on their path was shed. They lived their life, they ruled their day: I hold no commerce with the dead. Mistake me not, and falsely say, 'Lo, this is slow, laborious Fame,