His high and deathless themes were crowned
With glory of his genius born,
And gloom and ruin darkly frowned
Where fell his bolts of wrath and scorn.
But he is gone—the free, the bold—
The champion of his country’s right;
His burning eye is dim and cold,
And mute his voice of conscious might.
Oh no, not mute—his stirring call
Can startle tyrants on their thrones,