Soon shall these pangs be closed, this conflict o’er,
And worlds be mine where thou canst never soar:
Be thine existence with a blighted name,
Mine the bright death which seals a warrior’s fame!”
The glow hath vanish’d from his cheek—his eye
Hath lost that beam of parting energy;
Frozen and fix’d it seems—his brow is chill;
One struggle more—that noble heart is still.
Departed warrior! were thy mortal throes,
Were thy last pangs, ere nature found repose,