Chapter LXXIV

And yet it has its honors; high of name
And pure of heart, and eloquent of tongue,
Have kindled, there, with a most holy flame,
While thousands on their glowing accents hung!
And be it mine to follow where they've led,
To praise, if not to imitate, the dead--
To hail their lustre, like the distant star
Which the sad wayworn bless, and follow from afar.