While those scarred deep on many a battle-ground
Sing to the throbbing of the drum and fife.
They laugh who know the open, fearless breast,
The thrust, the steel-point, and the spreading stain;
Whose flesh is hardened to the searing test,
Whose souls are tempered to a high disdain.
Theirs is the lifted brow, the gallant jest,
The long last breath, that holds a victor-strain.