Oh, shade of the mighty, where now are the legions,
That rush’d but to conquer when thou led’st them on?
Alas! they have perish’d in far hilly regions,
And all save the fame of their triumph is gone.
The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle,
They heed not, they hear not, they’re free from all pain;
They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle,
No sound can awake them to glory again,
No sound can awake them to glory again.