'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.