I heard great Hector sounding war's alarms, Where thro' the listless ghosts chiding he strode, As tho' the Greeks besieged his last abode, And he his Troy's hope still, her king-at-arms. But on those gentle meads, which Lethe charms With weary oblivion, his passion glow'd Like the cold night-worm's candle, and only show'd Such mimic flame as neither heats nor harms. 'Twas plain to read, even by those shadows quaint, How rude catastrophe had dim'd his day, And blighted all his cheer with stern complaint: _To arms! to arms!_ what more the voice would say Was swallow'd in the valleys, and grew faint Upon the thin air, as he pass'd away. 54 Since not the enamour'd sun with glance more fond Kisses the foliage of his sacred tree, Than doth my waking thought arise on thee, Loving none near thee, like thee nor beyond; Nay, since I am sworn thy slave, and in the bond Is writ my promise of eternity; Since to such high hope thou'st encouraged me, That if thou look but from me I despond; Since thou'rt my all in all, O think of this: Think of the dedication of my youth: Think of my loyalty, my joy, my bliss: Think of my sorrow, my despair and ruth, My sheer annihilation if I miss: Think--if thou shouldst be false--think of thy truth. 55 These meagre rhymes, which a returning mood Sometimes o'errateth, I as oft despise; And knowing them illnatured, stiff and rude, See them as others with contemptuous eyes. Nay, and I wonder less at God's respect For man, a minim jot in time and space, Than at the soaring faith of His elect, That gift of gifts, the comfort of His grace. O truth unsearchable, O heavenly love, Most infinitely tender, so to touch The work that we can meanly reckon of: Surely--I say--we are favour'd overmuch. But of this wonder, what doth most amaze Is that we know our love is held for praise. 56 Beauty sat with me all the summer day, Awaiting the sure triumph of her eye; Nor mark'd I till we parted, how, hard by, Love in her train stood ready for his prey. She, as too proud to join herself the fray, Trusting too much to her divine ally, When she saw victory tarry, chid him--'Why Dost thou not at one stroke this rebel slay?' Then generous Love, who holds my heart in fee, Told of our ancient truce: so from the fight We straight withdrew our forces, all the three. Baffled but not dishearten'd she took flight Scheming new tactics: Love came home with me, And prompts my measured verses as I write. 57