And life, like incense, hath been shed,
An offering unto heaven.
For o’er the snows, and round the pines,
Hath swept a noble flood;
The nurture of the peasant’s vines
Hath been the martyr’s blood!
A spirit, stronger than the sword,
And loftier than despair,
Through all the heroic region pour’d,
Breathes in the generous air.