And many a week, unbroken thus
Their troops our ramparts hem;
And for each man that fights for us
A hundred fights for them!
Courage and right and spotless Truth
Were pitched 'gainst traitorous crime;
We offered all, our age, our youth,
Our brave men in their prime.
And all have failed! the fervent prayers,
The trust in heavenly aid;
Valour and Faith and sealèd tears,
That would not mourn the dead.
Lips, that did breathe no murmuring word;
Hearts, that did ne'er complain;
Though vengeance held a sheathèd sword
And martyrs bled in vain.
Alas, alas, the myrtle bowers
By blighting blasts destroyed!
Alas, the lily's withered flowers
That leave our garden void!
Unfolds o'er tower, and waves o'er height,
A sheet of crimson sheen,
Is it the setting sun's red light
That stains our standard green?