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Who has not proudly dwelt on those memories of light,
And felt them, like something that glorified earth?
Who has not exclaim'd, with a burst of delight—
‘Tis my own native land which has given them birth!
Yes, warrior! 'tis only high spirits like thine,
That teach man the generous path he may tread;
The steps of the mighty are nature's best shrine,
Where the hopes of the young and aspiring are fed.
Yes, warrior! when young hearts shall pant for the praise,
Such praise as the praise of the valiant will be,
He will think of the splendour that brighten'd thy days;—
He will think of that splendour, and imitate thee.
