Are pouring in amain
From many a stately market place,
From many a fruitful plain,
From many a lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle’s nest, hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine.
And the same spirit that urged the hero of old to face the foe, fires the hearts and strengthens the hand of my younger sons, for—
“How can a man die better
Than facing fearful odds,