But sheds a mournful beauty o’er the fate
Of those who die in vain.
Her. Who dies in vain
Upon his country’s war-fields, and within
The shadow of her altars? Feeble heart!
I tell thee that the voice of noble blood,
Thus pour’d for faith and freedom, hath a tone
Which, from the night of ages, from the gulf
Of death, shall burst, and make its high appeal
Sound unto earth and heaven! Ay, let the land,