And orphan children and widowed wives,
Whereat, though greatly our glory thrives,
Our conscience sometimes rages.
But such little wars may need great hearts,
And the wandering heroes who play their parts
For England, the wide world over;
Fight as well though they fight—and fall—
In a leagured hut, by a shattered wall,
As though the purple of Wellington's pall
Each death-cold breast should cover.