And yet the life blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turn,
To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance;
And when the cannon-mouthings loud,
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory sabers rise and fall,
Like shoots of flame on midnight’s pall.