The iron man who never quailed in war,
Where Death's conspiring darts flew fast and far—
If peering Envy marked no gushing tear—
Wept, wept to leave the land that was so dear—
And if that woe was mute—it was more deep,
As deepest floods, in silent caverns sleep.
But who are they to whose exalted name,
He turns for friendship in his fall's deep shame?
What flattered enemy may gladly prove,
A fallen Hater yet may know her love?