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Nor yet for friends alone, the victor sighs,
The noble heart may mourn a fallen foe,
And do no wrong to honour; may revere
His virtues, and lament, that cruel fate
Bade those to meet so stern, who would have joy'd
To join in friendship's pure and sacred bands.
He fought not for the vain applause of man,
To light the flame of war in distant lands,
Or carry fire, and sword, and woe, and death,
Among the innocent; but nerv'd his arm,
And steel'd his ardent heart, to meet the sword
Drawn on his native land, and urg'd to blood,
By provocation strange, and the blind wrath
Of erring man. He saw a martial host
Press, with invading step, her vallies green,
Pour o'er her placid lakes the storm of war;
Saw her smooth waters darkened with the shade
Of crowding fleets; he saw the smoke arise
In heavy volumes, from those splendid domes,
Where legislation held her awful sway.
He felt her sad disgrace, and heard a voice,
Deep ton'd and piercing, call the brave to arms;
His was the heart to answer, and he rose,
With confidence in heaven, and soul prepared.
He stood the shock, and from the furnace flame
Came forth like gold. And if this scene of woe
Is still to last, may many heroes rise,
Thus bright with rays, whose source is from within,
