But Peace was priestess o’er the virgin clay,
When Nature’s arms embrac’d thee in decay,
While duteous there a remnant of the brave,
Bent o’er thy dust, and form’d thy humble grave,
And ’neath the pine-tree’s unfrequented shade,
Lone and compos’d thy blood-stain’d relics laid,
Where from the boughs the wild-bird chim’d its song,
And gurgling leap’d the fountain’s stream along—
In earth’s green breast by warrior hands enshrin’d,—
Beauty in earth by Valor’s side reclined!