Even to fail 'mid that devoted band;

To labor toward the ever-flying mart, Led by the banners of triumphal Art;

Feeling the sweet winds from her pennons flow

Athwart the pallid cheek and fevered brow;

To hear the music, and the steady beat

Of his, and his advancing comrades' feet.

Though hard the fare, and difficult the load,

Yet Beauty smiled on either side the road,

Till it seemed good, in such a land of bloom,

To be at rest beneath a nameless tomb.

Approaching Rome, he climbed the Apennines,

Which round the horizon rolled their billowy lines,

Where sailed his heart of hope, while blood as fleet