Again it flash'd the reddest in the fight—
It was a hero's still! But all too soon;
Cropt in his spring of glory, Ernest fell.
In that lone moment, when all earthly ties
More fond, more holy, twine around the heart,
He thought upon his home; and in that thought
There was a chill more terrible than death.
He gaz'd upon the chief, who knelt beside,
And cool'd his burning lips with the fresh spring,
And held his dying brow—"Orlando, we
Together sought these fatal plains, and still
Our course has been together, and our swords
Have been as one: oh! by thy love for me,
And by thy faith, let not my ashes mix
With this accursed earth; but let them rest
Their last sad sleep in my own Switzerland!
My spirit would not slumber in a grave,
On which a father's blessing was not breath'd—
That was not moisten'd by my sister's tears.
