Ere warmth of Spring had stirred the wintry lands--
Spring that for him had no renewing breath--
He went apart to wait with folded hands
The lingering feet of Death.
Long had he laid his burnished armour by,
But still we flew his banner for a sign,
Still felt his spirit like a rallying-cry
Hearten the fighting line.
But he--ah, none could know the heavy strain,
Patiently to accept the watcher's part
While yet no weakness sapped the virile brain
Nor dulled the eager heart.
He should have died with all his harness on,
As those the Valkyr bore from out the fight,
In ringing mail that still unrusted shone,
Up to Valhalla's height.
Yet solace flowed from that surcease of strife:
Love found occasion in his need of care,
And time was ours to prove how dear the life
An Empire ill could spare.
And generous foes confessed the magic spell
Of greatness gone, that left the common store
Poor by his loss who loved his party well,
But loved his country more.
And ancient rivalries seemed very small
Beside that courage constant to the end;
And even Death, last enemy of all,
Came to him like a friend.