Our little ones shall hear the echoes ringing
With deeds embalmed in fame’s immortal story;
Then shall their bosoms with proud feelings swelling
Find consolation for their loss by telling;
“Our honored father shares this fame and glory.”
Wife.
But thou, meantime, bereft of sense and feeling,
Shalt sleep, death’s cold embrace thy limbs congealing;
Thy home, thy love, thy country, all forgot;
Unknown to thee the glory of the nation—