In the red battle-field no time can destroy?
Where, oh, Kincora?
And where is that youth of majestic height,
The faith-keeping Prince of the Scots?—Even he,
As wide as his fame was, as great as was his might,
Was tributary, oh, Kincora, to me!
Me, oh, Kincora!
They are gone, those heroes of royal birth,
Who plundered no churches, and broke no trust,
’Tis weary for me to be living on the earth