James B. Dollars
The Teutons reel before their charge,
Flung back dismayed amain;
The tide is turned, the foemen run,
And on a field right bravely won
Our northern banners flaunt the sun
Far o'er that crimsoned plain!}}
Long shall their glorious deeds be praised
Where Britons gathered be;
And Langemarck's lasting fame enscrolled
On stone and brass, for aye unfold
The memory of those heroes bold
Who died to keep us free!
THE PATRIOT DEAD
A LL men must die, and short the day of each.
Though miser-like, a man may hoard his hours,
Hugging his paltry pelf with all his pow'rs,
And clinging to existence like a leech.
Ignoble he, his bones shall rot and bleach
Like carrion-all his life he fears and cow'is-
Far different the soul that god-like tow'rs
On Freedom's heights, where nothing base can reach!
I sing the Patriot Dead, who, side by side,
Fall on the field of honour, laying down
The treasures of their lives in simple pride,
And meriting the martyrs' rubied crown!
Sweet comes their death—the Death that they defied—
And, through the ages, glorious their renown!
VERDUN
NAMED by the Celts of old a fortress then
That stemmed the tide of Casar's bold advance;
Full many a year of high and proud romance
Hast thou beheld. The tramp of armed men
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