Sounds for him a song of triumph—sounds for them a funeral dirge!
E’en the laurel wreath he bindeth on his brow, their life-blood stains—
Sighs, and tears, and blood commingling, make the glory that he gains—
And unknown, sleeps many a hero, on Ambition’s burial plains!
Or, the purple field despising—deeming war’s red glory shame—
Wouldst thou, in seclusion, gather greener laurels, purer fame?
Stately halls Ambition reareth, all along her highway side—
Halls of learning, halls of science, temples where the arts abide—
Wilt thou here secure a garland woven by scholastic pride?
Ah! within those cloisters gloomy, dimly wastes the midnight oil—