And pomp and pageant crown the deathless brave;—
Loud salvos sing the soldier's lullaby,
And weeping millions bathe with tears his honored grave.
Then bright the bonfires blaze on Albion's hills,—
And rends the very sky a people's joy;—
And even when grief broods o'er the vacant chair,
The mother's heart still nobly gives her gallant boy.
And while broad England gleams with glorious light,
And merry peals from every belfry ring;—
One little village lies all dark and still,