Scorning the weapons in thy path arrayed,
And dashing down one foe while others gave
The wounds which grant thee no unwelcome grave,
To thy loved friend thou held'st, unchecked, thy flight.
"Moyarra! could'st thou doubt my truth?" A light
Like the faint lightning of a quiet night
Played o'er the victor's features fierce, and fired
With momentary joy ere he expired.
Then fled the vital spirit, free from care.
The hope fulfilled which, only, made life dear.
Not unattended did he sink in death,
Koreungat, glad, resigned his equal breath;
Worthy to wear th' imperishable wreath
That blooms and decks immortal Nisus' faith;
Would that his praise were hymned by worthier tongue
To raise his name the deathless great among.
Nor, as to harp of mine, thus humbly sung.
His place was vacant in the tribe; who knew
When came not back the warriors to their view
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