No more will he cheer the brave columns he led,
Where the lightnings of battle were flashing,
And over the heaps of the dying and dead,
Its volleying thunders were crashing;
But his clarion voice from his grave we will hear,
Through the conflict in melody flowing,
And the fire of his eye will beam radiant and clear,
In the pictures of memory glowing.
“Oh, come maidens, come, and together we’ll strew,
O’er his resting place, Spring’s sweetest flowers,