Each loftier aim, each nobler thought enshrined,
And taught my steps the line of light to trace
Left by the glorious fathers of my race,
Hear thou my voice!—for thine is with me still,
In every dream its tones my bosom thrill,
In the deep calm of midnight they are near,
Midst busy throngs they vibrate on my ear,
Still murmuring ‘vengeance!’—nor in vain the call,
Few, few shall triumph in a hero’s fall!
Cold as thine own to glory and to fame,