Thou humbled warrior! time has quell’d the strong:
Thy name and history to oblivion thrown,
The world forgets that there thou standst, Munion.
To me thou art a spectre, shade of grief!
With black remembrances my soul’s o’ercast;
To me thou art a palm with wither’d leaf,
Burnt by the lightning, bow’d beneath the blast.
I, wandering bard, proscribed perchance my doom
In the bier’s dust nor name, nor glory know;
With useless toil my brow’s consumed in gloom;