The days have been, when o'er thy bier
Far other strains than these had flow'd;
Now, as a home from grief and fear,
We hail thy dark abode!
We who but linger to bequeath
Our sons the choice of chains or death.
Thou art with those, the free, the brave,
The mighty of departed years;
And for the slumberers of the grave
Our fate hath left no tears.
Though loved and lost, to weep were vain
For thee, who ne'er shalt weep again.
Have we not seen, despoil'd by foes,
The land our fathers won of yore?
And is there yet a pang for those
Who gaze on this no more?
Oh, that like them 'twere ours to rest!
Daughter of heroes! thou art blest!
A few short years, and in the lonely cave
Where sleeps the Zegri maid, is Hamet's grave.
