The tutor’d sigh, the vain parade of woe,
No real anguish to the soul impart;
And oft, alas! the tear that friends bestow,
Belies the latent feelings of the heart:
What though no sculptured pile your name displays,
Like those who perish in their country’s cause;
What though no Epic Muse in living lays
Records your dreadful daring with applause,—
Full oft the flattering marble bids renown
With blazoned trophies deck the spotted name;