How o’er his soul, with passion still that gushed,
The wondrous past with all its memories rushed;
These ruins made his monument. They told
Of wisest strategy, adventure bold.
Dread fields of strife—an issue doubtful long,
That tried his genius, and approved it strong;
That left him robed in conquest, and supreme,
His country’s boast, his deeds her brightest theme;
Written in brass and marble—sung in strains
That warm the blood to dances in the veins;