Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine;

Yet one I would select from that proud throng,

Partly because they blend me with his line,

And partly that I did his Sire some wrong,[292]

And partly that bright names will hallow song;[ho]

And his was of the bravest, and when showered

The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along,

Even where the thickest of War's tempest lowered,

They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard![293]