“Thy name should have echoed, amidst the loud rattle!
“When I gaz’d on the field of the dead and the dying—
“O Agnes! my fancy still wander’d to Thee!
“When around, my brave Comrades in anguish were lying,
“I long’d on the death-bed of Valour to be.
“For, sever’d from Thee, my Sweet Girl, the loud thunder
“Which tore the soft fetters of fondness asunder—
“Had only one kindness, in mercy to shew me,
“To bid me die bravely, that thou, Love, may’st know me!”
His arms now are folded, he bows as in sorrow,