'My blood had therein no part."

The maiden her lover weeps, unconsoled,
So desolate is her gloom;
But a voice falls softly through the air,
Whispering comfort to her despair,
'Love _here_ hath fadeless bloom.'

The father laments for his boy, who fell
By Cumberland's river-side;
The sister, her brother loved the best,
Whose blood, in the dark and troubled West,
The father of waters dyed.

The mother--oh! silence your Spartan tales--
Says bravely, hushing a moan:
'I have yet _one_ left. My boy! go on;
Rear freedom's banner high in the sun!'
Then sits in the house alone.

To die for one's country is sweet, indeed!
To fight for the right is brave;
But there are brave hearts who vainly wait
Till triumph shall find them desolate,
Their hopes in a far-off grave.

O mourners! be patient; the end shall come;
The beautiful years of peace.
Remember! though hearts rebel the while
You hide your tears with a mournful smile,