In the proud annals of thy lofty line;
Nor shall thy deeds be deathless in the lays
That hold communion with the after-days.
Yet, by the wreaths thou might’st have nobly won,
Hadst thou but lived till rose thy noontide sun;
By glory lost, I swear! by hope betray’d,
Thy fate shall amply, dearly, be repaid:
War with thy foes I deem a holy strife,
And to avenge thy death devote my life.
“Hear ye my vows, O spirits of the slain!