The Hero’s Death.
Life’s parting beams were in his eye,
Life’s closing accents on his tongue,
When round him, pealing to the sky,
The shout of victory rung!
Then, ere his gallant spirit fled,
A smile so bright illumed his face—
Oh! never, of the light it shed,
Shall memory lose a trace!
His was a death whose rapture high
Transcended all that life could yield;
His warmest prayer was so to die,
On the red battle-field!
And they may feel, who loved him most,
A pride so holy and so pure:
Fate hath no power o’er those who boast
A treasure thus secure!