And theirs, thus fix’d—to die! It is our fate
To lead a hireling train, whose spirits breathe
Fury, not fortitude. With burning hearts
They rush where Victory, smiling, waves them on;
But if delay’d, if between flight and death
Pausing they stand—is there no cause to doubt
What choice were theirs? And but too well our hearts
That choice might here foresee. Oh! evil times,
When for the leader care augments, the more
Bright glory fades away! Yet once again,