352. The Song of Death

FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,

Now gay with the broad setting sun;

Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,

Our race of existence is run!

Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life’s gloomy foe!

Go, frighten the coward and slave;

Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know

No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik’st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark,

Nor saves e’en the wreck of a name;

Thou strik’st the young hero—a glorious mark;

He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands,

Our King and our country to save;

While victory shines on Life’s last ebbing sands,—

O! who would not die with the brave!