‘Tis morning now, and dreams and fears are gone, And sleep has calmed the fever in my veins, And I am strong to drink the cup that drains The last drop through my lips, and make no moan.
Strength I have borrowed from the outward show Of spiritual puissance thou dost wear. Shall I not thy high domination share Over the shock of feeling? Shall I grow
More fearful than the soldier, when between The smoke of hostile cannon lies his way; To carry far the colours of his queen,
While her bright eyes behold him in the fray? Here do I smile between the warring hosts Of sad farewells; and reek not what it costs.