One hero dies, a thousand new ones rise,
As flowers are sown where perfect blossomsfall,
Then quite unknown, the name of Halenow cries.
Where duty sounds her silent call;
With head erect he moves, and stately pace,
To meet an awful doom, no ribald jest
Brings scorn or hate to that exalted face,
His thoughts are far away, poised and atrest;
Now on the scaffold see him turn and bid.
Farewell to home and all his heart holdsdear,
Majestic presence, all men's weakness hid,
And all his strength in that one hour madeclear,
"I have one last regret, that is to give
But one poor life, that my own land maylive!" |
