They named him — ah ! yet Do I start at that name ; - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Oh, nothing has the memory of love!

There's feasting spread in gorgeous halls,
The lamps flash round the city walls,
And many a flood of lustre falls
O'er many an honoured name.
Turn thou from this, and enter where
Some mother weeps o'er her despair,
Some desolate bride rends her rich hair,
Some orphan joins the cry !
Then back again to the death plain,
Where lie those whom they weep in vain,
And ask, in gazing on the slain,
What art thou, Victory ?

Upon the sunny grass-plot stood the dial,
Whose measured time strange contrast with ours made :
Ah ! was it omen of life's after trial,
That even then the hours were told in shade,
In the old, old times,
The dear old times ?