A few brave friends, who would have poured their blood
To stay his ebbing life. From his damp brow
The helmet was removed—too heavy now
To press those temples; while upon his cheek
The life-blood lingered in one last faint streak,
And the dim haze of death crept slowly o’er
The eye whose glances could command no more.
Around, disease’s blighting touches told
His fearful ravages on features bold
And noble in their paleness; no face there