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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=360830" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Wellington's Funeral</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">18th November 1852 <br>“VICTORY!” <br>So once more the cry must be. <br>Duteous mourning we fulfil <br>In God's name; but by God's will, <br>Doubt not, the last word is still <br>“Victory!” <br>Funeral, <br>In the music round this pall, <br>Solemn grief yields earth to earth; <br>But what tones of solemn mirth <br>In the pageant of new birth <br>Rise and fall? <br>For indeed, <br>If our eyes were openèd, <br>Who shall say what escort floats <br>Here, which breath nor gleam denotes,— <br>Fiery horses, chariots <br>Fire-footed? <br>Trumpeter, <br>Even thy call he may not hear; <br>Long-known voice for ever past, <br>Till with one more trumpet-blast <br>God's assuring word at last <br>Reach his ear. <br>Multitude, <br>Hold your breath in reverent mood: <br>For while earth's whole kindred stand <br>Mute even thus on either hand, <br>This soul's labour shall be scann'd <br>And found good. <br>Cherubim, <br>Lift ye not even now your hymn? <br>Lo! once lent for human lack, <br>Michael's sword is rendered back. <br>Thrills not now the starry track, <br>Seraphim? <br>Gabriel, <br>Since the gift of thine “All hail!” <br>Out of Heaven no time hath brought <br>Gift with fuller blessing fraught <br>Than the peace which this man wrought <br>Passing well. <br>Be no word <br>Raised of bloodshed Christ-abhorr'd. <br>Say: “'Twas thus in His decrees <br>Who Himself, the Prince of Peace, <br>For His harvest's high increase <br>Sent a sword.” <br>Veterans, <br>He by whom the neck of France <br>Then was given unto your heel, <br>Timely sought, may lend as well <br>To your sons his terrible <br>Countenance. <br>Waterloo! <br>As the last grave must renew, <br>Ere fresh death, the banshee-strain,— <br>So methinks upon thy plain <br>Falls some presage in the rain, <br>In the dew. <br>And O thou, <br>Watching, with an exile's brow <br>Unappeased, o'er death's dumb flood:— <br>Lo! the saving strength of God <br>In some new heart's English blood <br>Slumbers now. <br>Emperor, <br>Is this all thy work was for?— <br>Thus to see thy self-sought aim, <br>Yea thy titles, yea thy name, <br>In another's shame, to shame <br>Bandied o'er? <br>Thy great work is but begun. <br>With quick seed his end is rife <br>Whose long tale of conquering strife <br>Shows no triumph like his life <br>Lost and won.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Dante+Gabriel+Rossetti">Dante Gabriel Rossetti</a><div class=q>
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<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=360830" data-title="Wellington's Funeral de Dante Gabriel Rossetti" data-description="18th November 1852 
“VICTORY!” 
So once more the cry must be. 
Duteous mourning we fulfil 
In God's name; but by God's will, 
Doubt not, the last word is still 
“Victory!” 
Funeral, 
In the music round this pall, 
Solemn grief yields earth..."></div>
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