He was dying for his country—like the hero that he was.
We laid him on the litter; but he neither spoke nor moved;
And tenderly we bore him to the comrades that he loved.
He was dead long ere we laid him on the mossy patch of ground—
But we hoped he did not suffer—for he died without a sound!
We have bled in many a battle, we have fought in many a fray,
But that night at Talavera is as fresh as yesterday;
And his name upon the muster-roll in fancy oft we call,
For we loved him, as the noblest and the bravest of us all.
Nannie Power O’Donoghue.