Such dreams are of an age that’s o’er;
And men are wiser grown—and knaves,
Choosing them quiet coward graves,
Not glorious ones, upon the land
Their fathers valor won and mann’d.
Liberty scorns with those to dwell
Who love her name but passing well—
Who hang it a boast on the lip for ever,
A lip-drop warming the soul, oh! never—
But ’mongst those, where her deep-cherished name