The chiselled fineness we can but surmise;
All that is delicate in form and mould
To-day has vanished under fold on fold
Of crystal whiteness that upon it lies.
But still against the storm with blinded eyes
The warriors lean, invincible and bold,
Like some stern legion, in Cimmerian cold
By Death transfigured, on a high emprise.

And so methinks heroic deeds will show,
Graved on the tablets of Eternity—
Blurred by Oblivion, but instinct with power—
Till God's rewarding light shall strongly glow
And the benign, all-seeing eye shall see
The unclouded beauty of their amplest hour.