Shot? So Quick, So Clean an Ending?
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
'Twas best to take it to the grave.
Oh you had forethought, you could reason,
And saw your road and where it led,
And early wise and brave in season
Put the pistol to your head.
Oh soon, and better so than later
After long disgrace and scorn,
You shot dead the household traitor,
The soul that should not have been born.
Right you guessed the rising morrow
And scorned to tread the mire you must:
Dust's your wages, son of sorrow,
But men may come to worse than dust.
Souls undone, undoing others,--
Long time since the tale began.
You would not live to wrong your brothers:
Oh lad, you died as fits a man.
Now to your grave shall friend and stranger
With ruth and some with envy come:
Undishonoured, clear of danger,
Clean of guilt, pass hence and home.
Turn safe to rest, no dreams, no waking;
And here, man, here's the wreath I've made:
'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking,
But wear it and it will not fade.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Related quotes
Scenery
Looking at the grave
At the scenery around you
Home of the brave
Sometimes they leave you like they found you
Sometimes they worship you
Sometimes they tear your houses down
Sometimes they comfort you
Sometimes they spread your life around
Nothing you can see that they wont try to give you
Land of the free where the legend will outlive you
When you earn their trust
Then you are truly in danger
Where greed and lusst have never been a stranger
Home of the brave
Thats where heroes need protection
Media image slaves live by random selection
You sell your heart, but thats not the price of freedom
Where things are useful only when you need them
Where will you go when you need to make some changes
Who will you love in a world of consstant strangers
Ill go with you if you want to take a hero home
Ill stay behind if you want to take a hero home
Looking at the grave
At the scenery around you
Home of the brave
Sometimes they leave you like they found you
Home of the brave... (6x)
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Need Fear For Survival
Of valour on the battlefield and in other ways we hear
But only the most foolhardy one would never know of fear
We need fear for survival may they rest in peace the brave
Their reward for their bravery the cold and darkness of the grave.
We need fear for survival the very brave are dead
And little use to them 'twould seem if good things of them are said
We need a bit of fear in us in order to stay alive
Few of the brave to a ripe old age have been known to survive.
I'd rather live to a ripe old age than have died young and brave
We need a bit of fear in us for to keep cheating the grave
Why would you even wish to die though your better days are long gone
Our will to live is always strong and it keeps us keeping on.
The fear of death is a healthy fear the brave seem to die young
Though of no use to the deceased if their praises are sung
In their graves they do never hear the bugler for them play
They lay in peace forever more that's life as some might say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pass The Gun Around
Sonny wakes up in the morning feeling kinda sick
Needs a little Stoli Vadka, needs it really quick
Sees a little blood run from his eyes
Feels a little hotel paralyzed
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, you gotta
Pass the gun around
And throw me in the local river, let me float away
I wake up watching cartoons... the television's on
There's a couple of party balloons and all my money's gone
She was just a reason to unwind
And actually the last thing I could find
Why don't you, pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, you better
Pass the gun around
And dump me in the local river, let me float away
Float away, ah float away
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, why don't you
Pass the gun around
Throw me in the local river, let me float away
Sonny wakes up in the morning, there's a stranger in his bed
Someone's pounding on the hotel door, he wishes he was dead
I've had so many blackout nights before
I don't think I can take this anymore
Why don't you, pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, why don't you
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, we're gonna
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, we're gonna
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, you gotta
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, you gotta
Pass the gun around
Give everyone a shot... give everyone a shot, you gotta
Pass the gun around
Da Da
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voices Of The Night : A Psalm Of Life
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! -
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Psalm 90
Man mortal, and God eternal
A mournful song at a funeral.
Through every age, eternal God,
Thou art our rest, our safe abode;
High was thy throne ere heav'n was made,
Or earth thy humble footstool laid.
Long hadst thou reigned ere time began,
Or dust was fashioned to a man;
And long thy kingdom shall endure
When earth and time shall be no more.
But man, weak man, is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity;
Thy dreadful sentence, Lord, was just,
"Return, ye sinners, to your dust."
[A thousand of our years amount
Scarce to a day in thine account;
Like yesterday's departed light,
Or the last watch of ending night.
PAUSE.
Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life's a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.]
[Our age to seventy years is set;
How short the time! how frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We rather sigh and groan than live.
But O how oft thy wrath appears,
And cuts off our expected years!
Thy wrath awakes our humble dread;
We fear the power that strikes us dead.]
Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Psalm Of Life
What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!--
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Children's Playground In The City
THIS is a place where men laid their dead,
Each with his life-tale of good or ill;
Here prayers were murmured and hot tears shed,
And passionate anguish moaned its fill.
Silent now is each voice that cried,
And the tears that were wept have all been dried
In the dust; and dust are the hearts that bled
With hopeless longing for hearts grown still.
Dead and forgotten! for Death, requiter
Of love, taught Memory how to forget!
The love that remembered them died. Grow brighter,
Oh, dim grave-garden, with dead hearts set!
Room for the small flying feet to pass,
The feet of the children over the grass!
The dead, if they knew it, would feel them lighter
Than the weight of a stone that no tears make wet.
We must die too, and the grief that will live
Must die as surely--death comes to all;
But you who come after--let Nature give
To our graves her tears, to our dust her pall:
Let her hide us away in her cold broad breast,
Let us be forgotten, and be at rest,
And over our heads let the great world strive,
And the children's voices carol and call.
If your heart on the flower of remembrance is set,
There is one way to pluck it--and only one:
Dare you ask your country not to forget
A name that needs to be graved on stone?
By grief, strife, sacrifice, scorn of fame,
You may grave on the people's hearts your name,
Or your name may die, and your soul live yet
In the cause you died for--the work you have done.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Psalm 49 part 1
v.6-14
C. M.
Pride and death; or, The vanity of life and riches.
Why doth the man of riches grow
To insolence and pride,
To see his wealth and honors flow
With every rising tide?
[Why doth he treat the poor with scorn,
Made of the self-same clay,
And boast as though his flesh was born
Of better dust than they?]
Not all his treasures can procure
His soul a short reprieve,
Redeem from death one guilty hour,
Or make his brother live.
[Life is a blessing can't be sold,
The ransom is too high;
Justice will ne'er be bribed with gold,
That man may never die.]
He sees the brutish and the wise,
The tim'rous and the brave,
Quit their possessions, close their eyes,
And hasten to the grave.
Yet 'tis his inward thought and pride,-
My house shall ever stand
And that my name may long abide,
I'll give it to my land."
Vain are his thoughts, his hopes are lost,
How soon his memory dies!
His name is written in the dust
Where his own carcass lies.
PAUSE.
This is the folly of their way;
And yet their sons, as vain,
Approve the words their fathers say,
And act their works again.
Men void of wisdom and of grace,
If honor raise them high,
Live like the beast, a thoughtless race,
And like the beast they die.
[Laid in the grave like silly sheep,
Death feeds upon them there,
Till the last trumpet break their sleep
In terror and despair.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Right The Wrong
An indian woman buried her grampa in the black hills
When she was young he used to tell her
That these hills belonged to her still
And even though injustice took them hills away
One day well get them back, he said
And the suns gonna shine that day
When we say, right the wrong
Before she laid him down to rest
She heard his voice in the wilderness
Sayin I got six feet of it back
And now we can right the wrong
Right the wrong
Hear the song
Before long u wont hear nothin but the crackle of flames
Right the wrong
Hear the song
Would u rather die knowing that u did or keep living in shame
Did you hear the one about the boy just 17
Three years hard time for stealing ice cream
First offence and all his dreams are gone
How long before they right the wrong?
Right the wrong
Hear the song
Before long u wont hear nothin but the crackle of flames
Right the wrong
Hear the song
Would u rather die knowing that u did or keep living in shame
Right the wrong
2, 3, uh
1, 2, 1-2, come on
(right the wrong baby)
Far be it from me to say
It seem like we could stop the flow of snow in the sky today
But I guess the weather man he likes the rain
Aint that insane
Now sing
Right the wrong
Hear the song
Before long u wont hear nothin but the crackle of flames
Right the wrong
Hear the song
Would u rather die knowing that u did or keep living in shame?
(come on, come on, come on)
Did you hear me baby?
Right the wrong
Im 6 feet in the grave
Im 6 feet in the grave
(right right, right right)
(right the wrong right the wrong)
(right the wrong right the wrong)
Right the wrong (right the wrong right the wrong)
(right the wrong right the wrong)
(right the wrong right the wrong)
(right the wrong right the wrong)
Right the wrong (right the wrong right the wrong)
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust (right the wrong right the wrong)
This young man with a talented soul (right the wrong right the wrong)
Died when he wanted 2. (right the wrong right the wrong)
The [life/light]that lives (right the wrong right the wrong)
So he shall not be pitied
Nor shall the guity be forgiven
Until they find it in their hearts to
Right the wrong
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Love
Farewell, Earl Richard,
Tender and brave;
Kneeling I kiss
The dust from thy grave.
Pray for me, Richard,
Lying alone
With hands pleading earnestly,
All in white stone.
Soon must I leave thee
This sweet summer tide;
That other is waiting
To claim his pale bride.
Soon I’ll return to thee
Hopeful and brave,
When the dead leaves
Blow over thy grave.
Then shall they find me
Close at thy head
Watching or fainting,
Sleeping or dead.
poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
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Rhyme & Reason
Oh well oh well so here we stand
But we stand for nothing
My heart calls to me in my sleep
How can i turn to it
'cause i'm all locked up in this
Dark place--
And i do not know i'm as good as dead
My head aches--
Warped and tied up i need to kill this pain
My head won't leave my head alone
And i don't believe it will
Until i'm dead and gone
My head won't leave my head alone
And i don't believe it willl
Until i'm six feet under gound
How long i'm tied up
My mind in knots--
My stomach reels in concern for what i might do or
What i've done
It's got me living in fear
Well i know these voices must
Be my sould i've had my grave
Lying wired and shut and quiet in my grave
Leave me here
Leave it to me to waste here
So young and here i am again
Talking to myself
A tv blares
Oh man
Oh how i wish i didn't smoke
Or drink to reason with my head
But sometimes this thick confusion
Grows utnil i cannot bear it all
Needle to the vein
Needle to the vein
Take this needle from my vein my fiend
I said
In my grave
Lying, lying cold in my grave
The reason--my reason
Take my head off this terror
The fearing won't come back
I can't see my mind's all wiped clean
The needle
Make my great escape
I seem caught in time
My head leaves me behing
Body fall cold
And i have seen heaven
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Worth the toil!
NOT all the sum of earthly happiness
Is worth the bowed head of a moment's pain,
And if I sell for wine my dervish dress,
Worth more than what I sell is what I gain!
Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me
Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil,
Not worth the journey over land and sea,
Not worth the toil!
Down in the quarter where they sell red wine,
My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup
How brave a pledge of piety is mine,
Which is not worth a goblet foaming up!
Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said
'Forth from the tavern gate!' Why am I thrust
From off the threshold? is my fallen head
Not worth the dust?
Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine!
Where word and deed alike one colour bear,
The grape's fair purple garment shall outshine
Thy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.
Full easy seemed the sorrow of the sea
Lightened by hope of gain--hope flew too fast
A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,
Not worth the blast.
The Sultan's crown, with priceless jewels set,
Encircles fear of death and constant dread
It is a head-dress much desired--and yet
Art sure 'tis worth the danger to the head?
'Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those
That long for thee; the Conqueror's reward
Is never worth the army's long-drawn woes,
Worth fire and sword.
Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest
And store it in the treasury of Ease;
Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,
Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!
Ah, scorn, like Hafiz, the delights of earth,
Ask not one grain of favour from the base,
Two hundred sacks of jewels were not worth
Thy soul's disgrace
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Psalm of Life
Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solenm main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rhyme Reason
Oh well oh well so here we stand
But we stand for nothing
My heart calls to me in my sleep
How can I turn to it
cause Im all locked up in this
Dark place--
And I do not know Im as good as dead
My head aches--
Warped and tied up I need to kill this pain
My head wont leave my head alone
And I dont believe it will
Until Im dead and gone
My head wont leave my head alone
And I dont believe it willl
Until Im six feet under gound
How long Im tied up
My mind in knots--
My stomach reels in concern for what I might do or
What Ive done
Its got me living in fear
Well I know these voices must
Be my sould Ive had my grave
Lying wired and shut and quiet in my grave
Leave me here
Leave it to me to waste here
So young and here I am again
Talking to myself
A tv blares
Oh man
Oh how I wish I didnt smoke
Or drink to reason with my head
But sometimes this thick confusion
Grows utnil I cannot bear it all
Needle to the vein
Needle to the vein
Take this needle from my vein my fiend
I said
In my grave
Lying, lying cold in my grave
The reason--my reason
Take my head off this terror
The fearing wont come back
I cant see my minds all wiped clean
The needle
Make my great escape
I seem caught in time
My head leaves me behing
Body fall cold
And I have seen heaven
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gospel in a Nutshell
Here’s The Gospel in a nutshell friend, from the beginning to the end.
The message displayed for all to see, so all men can live for eternity.
A message made loud and clear, so that sinful man needs not to fear.
The message is seen in Jesus Christ, so all men can have Eternal Life.
Jesus Christ died on a bloody cross, The Perfect Man for sinners lost,
For Jesus Christ died in our place, and this friend was all God’s Grace.
God sent to earth The Perfect Lamb, to bleed and die for sinful man,
As the wages for sin is death, He said “Forgive them” in His last breath.
By Jesus the penalty for sin was paid, then on the ground His body laid.
He was then placed in a tomb my friend, for the cross was not His end.
After being placed in the tomb, the Jews thought they sealed His doom.
Being In the ground for three days, sorrow began replacing men’s praise.
But the grave could not hold Him friend, for death was not Christ’s end,
And after three days came and went, Christ from that grave rose again.
He rose again just like He said, for He couldn’t remain among the dead.
Christ ascended again to His Father’s side, even though for us He died.
To help the fainted heart believe again, He returned to be seen by men,
To five hundred men He did appear, to put to rest any doubt and fear.
After forty days He would ascend, reminding all He would return again.
This is the Hope we have in Christ, that we will be raised unto New Life.
(Copyright ©02/2005)
The Ballad Of Jesse James
Jesse james was a man
And he killed many men
He robbed the glendale train
And he took from the richer
And he gave that to the poorer
Hed a hand and a heart and a brain
Oh jesse had a wife to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid jesse james in his grave
(instrumental)
On wednesday night
When the moon was shining bright
They robbed that glendale train
And the folks from miles about (yeah they can)
They all said without a doubt
It was done by her frankie and jesse james (yes it was)
Oh jessie had a wife, to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid (poor) jesse james in his grave
(instrumental)
Well the people held their breath
When they heard about jesses death (yeah)
And they wondered how poor jesse came to die (how did he die? )
It was one of his guys, called little robert ford
And he shot jessie james on the sly
Oh jessie had a wife to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid jesse james in his grave
Has laid poor jesse in his grave
He laid jesse james in his grave
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cleburne
Another ray of light hath fled, another Southern brave
Hath fallen in his country's cause and found a laureled grave-
Hath fallen, but his deathless name shall live when stars shall set,
For, noble Cleburne, thou art one this world will ne'er forget.
'Tis true, thy warm heart beats no more, that on thy noble head
Azrael placed his icy hand, and thou art with the dead;
The glancing of thine eyes are dim; no more will they be bright
Until they ope in Paradise, with clearer, heavenlier light.
No battle news disturbs thy rest upon the sun-bright shore,
No clarion voice awakens thee on earth to wrestle more,
No tramping steed, no wary foe bids thee awake, arise,
For thou art in the angel world, beyond the starry skies.
Brave Cleburne, dream in thy low bed, with pulseless deadened heart;
Calm, calm and sweet, O warrior rest! thou well hast borne thy part,
And now a glory wreath for thee the angels singing twine,
A glory wreath, not of the earth, but made by hands divine.
A long farewell-we give thee up, with all thy bright reknown,
A chieftain here on earth is lost, in heaven an angel found.
Above thy grave a wail is heard-a nation mourns her dead;
A nobler for the South ne'er died, a braver never bled.
A last farewell-how can we speak the bitter word farewell!
The anguish of our bleeding hearts vain words may never tell.
Sleep on, sleep on, to God we give our chieftain in his might;
And weeping, feel he lives on high, where comes no sorrow's night.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Gold are not Silver
dust has to return, night has a day
as the sky in the heaven, the night has fall into darkness
the air blown to the highest height, the wave return to the shore
as the moutain tall looks in the ocean floor, the bird sings
man has to find, the destiny it brings
as the flowers that blooms, the stream goes to the river raged
birth that laugh, to the pangs it offers
as the gift tastes, the sweet rejoice in the halos of midst
brings as you gives, the heart that survive, to the laughter that pass by
make the best for everything you take, all are just fake, to what you made
the sounding joy you hears, is what you know that, all are just new, where everything will be for you
moment is true, time is made, days are counted, in the birth life
has started, live the best and God take the rest
air is but a breath in the end we will pass, clean the heart, the purest
soul make it last, for the gold is not silver and everything will turn to
dust
poem by Antonio Liao
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Jesse James
Jesse James was a lad who killed many a man.
He robbed the Glendale train.
He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor,
He’d a hand and a heart and a brain.
Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, they were brave,
But that dirty little coward that shot Mister Howard,
Has laid Jesse James in his grave.
It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he does feel,
For he ate of Jesse’s bread and he slept in Jesse’s bed,
Then he laid Jesse James in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He’d never see a man suffer pain,
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.
It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
He stopped the Glendale train,
And the people all did say for many miles away,
It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
It was on a Saturday night, Jesse was at home,
Talking to his family brave,
Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night,
And laid Jesse James in his grave.
The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse’s death,
And wondered how he ever came to die,
It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford,
That shot Jesse James on the sly.
Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast,
The devil will be upon his knee,
He was born one day in the county of Clay
And he came from a solitary race.
This song was made by Billy Gashade,
As soon as the news did arrive,
He said there was no man with the law in his hand
Could take Jesse James when alive.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna
Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light
And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest
With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,--
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half of our heavy task was done
When the clock struck the hour for retiring:
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But left him alone with his glory.
poem by Charles Wolfe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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