That gave him to his grave! hail lovely lamps,
In honor of that hour a grateful land
Hath hung aloft! and sure he well deserves
The tributary splendor—for he fought
Their battles well—ah! he was valor's self—
Fierce was the look with which he faced the foe
But on his Harriet, when my hero bent it,
'Twas so benign! and beautiful he was—
And he was young; too young in years, to die!
'Twas but a little while his wing had thrown