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And breathe no dirge's plaintive moan,
A hero claims far loftier tone!
Oh! proudly should the war-song swell,
Recording how the mighty fell
In that dread hour,
When England, midst the battle-storm,
Th' avenging angel—reared her form
In tenfold power.
Yet, gallant heart! to swell thy praise,
Vain were the minstrel's noblest lays;
Since he, the soldier's guiding-star,
The Victor-chief, the lord of war,
Has owned thy fame:
And oh! like his approving word,
What trophied marble could record
A warrior's name?
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