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Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and
When the fog cleared away.
Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions,
The sea-coast opposite.
And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations On every citadel; Lach answering each, with morning salutations, That all was well.
And down the coast, all taking up the burden, Replied the distant forts,
As if to summon from his sleep the Warden And Lord of the Cinque Ports.
Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure,
Awaken with its call!
No more, surveying with an eye impartial
The rampart wall has scaled.
He passed into the chamber of the sleeper,
The silence and the gloom.
He did not pause to parley or dissemble,
And groan from shore to shore.
Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited,
That a great man was dead.
ALL houses wherein men have lived and died
We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table, than the hosts
As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
All that has been is visible and clear.
We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
The spirit-world around this world of sense Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.