On lips they loved laid parting kiss—
O, titled soldiers! answer how
A needless Death has claimed them his.
They went, one well-remembered day—
Some few brief months, and where were they?
What! silent still, and silent all?
O no, the damning charge is read—
Even now, in Chelsea’s trophied Hall,
The judges sit, the scrolls are spread,
And haughty blunderers blustering come—