We rovers bold, To the land of Gold, Over the bowling billows are gliding: Eager to toil, For the golden spoil, And every hardship biding. See! See! Before our prows' resistless dashes...
Let none misgive we died amiss When here we strove in furious fight: Furious it was; nathless was this Better than tranquil plight, And tame surrender of the Cause Hallowed by hearts and by the laws....
No trophy this - a Stone unhewn, And stands where here the field immures The nameless brave whose palms are won. Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh - Pure fame of deeds, not doers;...
They said that Fame her clarion dropped Because great deeds were done no more - That even Duty knew no shining ends, And Glory - 'twas a fallen star! But battle can heroes and bards restore....
Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends-- Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he Whom here low violets veil from eyes. But all these gifts transcended be: His happier fortune in this mound you see.
The men who here in harness died Fell not in vain, though in defeat. They by their end well fortified The Cause, and built retreat (With memory of their valor tried)...