I that have been so loved, go hence alone;
And ye, now gathering round my own hearth’s glow,
Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone,
Ev’n in this moment, with your laughing glee,
Mingles its cadence while you speak of me—
Of me, your soldier, midst the mountains lying,
On the red banner of his battles dying,
Far, far away! And oh! your parting prayer—
Will not his name be fondly murmur’d there?
It will!—A blessing on that holy hearth!