And that stretched on yon billows distained by their gore
Missolonghi’s assassins have gasped?
Prouder scene never hallowed war’s pomp to the mind,
Than when Christendom’s pennons wooed social the wind,
And the flower of her brave for the combat combined,
Their watch-word, humanity’s vow;—
Not a sea-boy that fought in that cause, but mankind
Owes a garland to honour his brow!
Nor grudge, by our side, that to conquer or fall,
Came the hardy rude Russ, and the high-mettled Gaul;