• “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 to earth;
• 10 But what tones of solemn mirth
• In the pageant of new birth
• Rise and fall?

• For indeed,
• If our eyes were opened,
• Who shall say what escort floats
• Here, which breath nor gleam denotes,—
• Fiery horses, chariots
• Fire-footed?

• Trumpeter,
• 20 Even thy call he may not hear;
• Long-known voice for ever past,
• Till with one more trumpet-blast
• God's assuring word at last
• Reach his ear.

• Multitude,
• Hold your breath in reverent mood:
• For while earth's whole kindred stand
• Mute even thus on either hand,
• This soul's labour shall be scann'd
• 30 And found good.

• Cherubim,
• Lift ye not even now your hymn?
• Lo! once lent for human lack,
• Michael's sword is rendered back.
• Thrills not now the starry track,
• Seraphim?

• Gabriel,
• Since the Gift of thine “All hail!”
• Out of Heaven no time hath brought
• 40 Gift with fuller blessing fraught
• Than the peace which this man wrought
• Passing well.

• Be no word
• Raised of bloodshed Christ-abhorr'd.
• Say: “'Twas thus in His decrees
• Who Himself, the Prince of Peace,
• For His harvest's high increase
• Sent a sword.”

• Veterans,
• 50 He by whom the neck of France
• Then was given unto your heel,
• Timely sought, may lend as well
• To your sons his terrible
• Countenance.

• Waterloo!
• As the last grave must renew,
• Ere fresh death, the banshee-strain,—
• So methinks upon thy plain
• Falls some presage in the rain,
• 60 In the dew.

• And O thou,
• Watching still, with angry an exile's brow
• Unappeased, o'er death's dumb flood:—
• Lo! the saving strength of God
• In some new heart's English blood
• Slumbers now.

• Emperor,
• Is this all thy work was for?—
• Thus to see thy self-sought aim,
• 70 Yea thy titles, yea thy name,
• In another's shame, to shame
• Bandied o'er? *

• Wellington,
• Thy great work is but begun.
• With quick seed his end is rife
• Whose long tale of conquering strife
• Shows no triumph like his life
• Lost and won.