His shall he a noble pyre!
Robes of gold shall feed the fire;
Amber, gums, and richest pearl
On his bed of glory hurl:
Trophies of his conquering might,
Skulls of foes, and banners bright,
Shields, and splendid armour, won
When the combat-day was done,
On his blazing death-pile heap,
Where the brave in glory sleep!
And the Romans' vaunted pride,
Their eagle-god, in blood streams dyed,
Which, amid the battle's roar,
From their king of ships he tore;
Hurl it, hurl it in the flame,
And o'er it raise the loud acclaim!
Let the captive and the steed
On his death-pile nobly bleed;
Let his hawks and war-dogs share
His glory, as they claimed his care.

SEMI-CHORUS.

Silent is his hall of shields
In Rath-col's dim and woody fields,
Night-winds round his lone hearth sing
The fall of Prythian's warlike king!--
Now his home of happy rest
Is in the bright isles of the west;