Call'st thou me reckless, when I place my hand
Upon the earliest buddings of the spring?
Had I allowed those sweet buds to expand,
What would the skies of gloomy autumn bring?
Darkness, dismay: those sweet buds, leaf by leaf,
Had sadly faded, full of tears and grief.
What though I slew the victor in his pride,
'Tis meet the brave on battle field should die,
His name is echoed thro' the nations wide,
Reared is the column where his ashes lie;