’Midst murderous ranks contending,
Thy figure ever filled my thought,
Mine arm new vigour lending.
“And then the fame of deeds of arms
Had lost all power to cheer me,
Save that, methought, its dazzling charms
To thee might yet endear me.
“And have I pluck’d these laurels green,
To deck thy dying brow, love?
Oh, lift for once those lovely een,