'Tis lost in shouts of glorious victory,
'Tis lost in high, triumphal tones of gladness.
Rivers. But then to think upon the hearts that grieve.
For those who peril thus their lives in war,
The misery that sweeps along the brain,
The widows' moan, the orphans' tears of woe,
The love that watcheth at the midnight hour,
And hopeth on, but hopeth on in vain.
Evadne. And that is lost too in their country's shouts