"Nothing regrets to see thee go—
Not one voice sobs 'farewell,'
And where thy heart has suffered so,
Canst thou desire to dwell?"
"Alas! the countless links are strong
That bind us to our clay;
The loving spirit lingers long,
And would not pass away!
"And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame
Will crown the soldier's crest;
But, a brave heart, with a tarnished name,
Would rather fight than rest."
"Well, thou hast fought for many a year,
Hast fought thy whole life through,
Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear;
What is there left to do?"
"'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven,
Has dared what few would dare;
Much have I done, and freely given,
But little learnt to bear!"
"Look on the grave where thou must sleep,
Thy last, and strongest foe;
It is endurance not to weep,
If that repose seem woe.
