And beam a farewell to the dying!
The summer moon, on Falkirk’s field,
Streams upon eyes in slumber seal’d;
Deep slumber—not to pass away
When breaks another morning’s ray,
Nor vanish when the trumpet’s voice
Bids ardent hearts again rejoice:
What sunbeam’s glow, what clarion’s breath,
May chase the still cold sleep of death?
Shrouded in Scotland’s blood-stain’d plaid,