And the moonbeam was bright on his battlement-walls;
And nature lay sleeping in calmness and light,
Round the home of the valiant, that rose on our sight.
We enter’d that home—all was loneliness round,
The stillness, the darkness, the peace of the grave;
Not a voice, not a step, bade its echoes resound:
Ah, such was the welcome that waited the brave!
For the spoilers had pass’d, like the poison-wind’s breath,
And the loved of his bosom lay silent in death.
Oh! forget not that hour—let its image be near,