<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341388" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Henry Bartle Edward Frere</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bend down and read-the birth, the death, the name.<br>Born in the year that Waterloo was won,<br>And died in this, whose days are not yet run,<br>But which, because a year conceived in shame,<br>No noble need will christen or will claim.<br>And yet this dead man, England, was Thy son,<br>And at his grave we ask what had he done,<br>Bred to be famous, to be foiled of Fame.<br>Be the reply his epitaph: That he,<br>In years as youth, the unyielding spirit bore<br>He got from Thee, but Thou hast got no more;<br>And that it is a bane and bar to be<br>A child of Thine, now the adventurous sea<br>All vainly beckons to a shrinking shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Therefore, great soul, within your marble bed<br>Sleep sound, nor hear the useless tears we weep.<br>Why should you wake, when England is asleep,<br>Or care to live, since England now is dead?<br>Forbidden are the steeps where Glory led;<br>No more from furrowed danger of the deep<br>We harvest greatness; to our hearths we creep,<br>Count and recount our coin, and nurse our dread.<br>The sophist's craft hath grown a prosperous trade,<br>And womanish Tribunes hush the manly drum:<br>The very fear of Empire strikes us numb,<br>Fumbling with pens, who brandished once the blade.<br>Therefore, great soul, sleep sound where you are laid,<br>Blest in being deaf when Honour now is dumb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341388" data-title="Henry Bartle Edward Frere de Alfred Austin" data-description="Bend down and read-the birth, the death, the name. Born in the year that Waterloo was won, And died in this, whose days are not yet run, But which, because a year conceived in shame, No noble need will christen or will claim. And yet this dead man..."></div> </div> </div>

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