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The tumult of Battle had ceased. high in air The Standard of Britain triumphantly | The tumult of Battle had ceased. high in air | ||
The Standard of Britain triumphantly wav'd; | |||
And the remnant of foes had fled in despair, | |||
Whom night intervening from slaughter had sav'd. | |||
When a Vet'ran was seen by the light of his lamp | |||
Slowpacing the bounds of the carcase strewn plain | |||
Not base his intent- for he quitted the camp | |||
To comfort the dying, not plunder the slain. | |||
Tho dauntless in war, at a story of woe | |||
Down his age furrow'd cheek the tears often ran, | |||
Alike proud to conquer or save a brave foe, | |||
He fought like a Hero, but felt like a man. | |||
As he counted the slain, "Oh conquest! he cried | |||
"Thou art glorious indeed, but dearly thou'st won! | |||
"Too dearly alas! a voice faintly replied. | |||
It thrilled thro his heart- 'twas the voice of his [Son?] | |||
He listen'd aghast - all was silent again - | |||
He search'd by the beams wch his lamp feebly shed, | |||
And found his brave Son amidst hundreds of slain, | |||
The corse of a comrade supporting his head. | |||
Revision as of 03:48, 15 July 2017
The tumult of Battle had ceased. high in air The Standard of Britain triumphantly wav'd; And the remnant of foes had fled in despair, Whom night intervening from slaughter had sav'd. When a Vet'ran was seen by the light of his lamp Slowpacing the bounds of the carcase strewn plain Not base his intent- for he quitted the camp To comfort the dying, not plunder the slain.
Tho dauntless in war, at a story of woe Down his age furrow'd cheek the tears often ran, Alike proud to conquer or save a brave foe, He fought like a Hero, but felt like a man. As he counted the slain, "Oh conquest! he cried "Thou art glorious indeed, but dearly thou'st won! "Too dearly alas! a voice faintly replied. It thrilled thro his heart- 'twas the voice of his [Son?] He listen'd aghast - all was silent again - He search'd by the beams wch his lamp feebly shed, And found his brave Son amidst hundreds of slain, The corse of a comrade supporting his head.