As the arrow is stopp’d by its prize in the sky—
The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore,
Death finds them when swiftness and shankle are o’er;
But Harrison’s death fills the climax of story:
He went with his old stride from glory to glory.
Lay his sword on his breast! there’s no spot on its blade
In whose cankering breath his bright laurels will fade:
’Twas the first to lead on at humanity’s call,
It was stay’d with sweet mercy when “glory” was all;
As calm in the council as gallant in war,