"The evening passes fast away. 'Tis almost time to rest； What thoughts has left the vanished day, What feelings in thy breast？

    "The vanished day？ It leaves a sense Of labour hardly done； Of little gained with vast expense—— A sense of grief alone？

    "Time stands before the door of Death, Upbraiding¹ bitterly And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, Pours black reproach on me：

    "And though I've said that Conscience lies And Time should Fate condemn²； Still, sad Repentance³ clouds my eyes, And makes me yield to them！

    "Then art thou glad to seek repose⁴？ Art glad to leave the sea, And anchor all thy weary woes⁶ In calm Eternity⁷？

    "Nothing regrets to see thee go—— Not one voice sobs⁸' farewell；' And where thy heart has suffered so, Canst thou desire to dwell？"

    "Alas⁹！ the countless¹⁰ links are strong That bind¹¹ us to our clay； The loving spirit lingers long, And would not pass away！

    "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame Will crown the soldier's crest¹²； But a brave heart, with a tarnished¹³ name, Would rather fight than rest.

    "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, Hast fought thy whole life through, Hast humbled¹⁴ Falsehood, trampled¹⁵ Fear； What is there left to do？

    "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, Has dared what few would dare； Much have I done, and freely given, But little learnt to bear！

    "Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe¹⁶； It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe⁵.

    "The long war closing in defeat—— Defeat serenely¹⁷ borne,—— Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, And break in glorious morn！"