That watched it waver when the fight was hot,
And blazed with newer courage to its aid,
Regardless of the shower of shell and shot
Through which the charge was made;—
And when, at last, they saw it plume its wings,
Like some proud bird in stormy element,
And soar untrammelled on its wanderings,
They closed in death, content.
III
O mother, you who miss the smiling face