But who shall weigh the wordless grief
That leaves in tears its traces,
As round their leader crowd again,
The bronzed and veteran faces!
The "Old Brigade" he loved so well--
The mountain men, who bound him
With bays of their own winning, ere
A tardier fame had crowned him;

The legions who had seen his glance
Across the carnage flashing,
And thrilled to catch his ringing "_charge_"
Above the volley crashing;--
Who oft had watched the lifted hand,
The inward trust betraying,
And felt their courage grow sublime,
While they beheld him praying!

Good knights and true as ever drew
Their swords with knightly Roland;
Or died at Sobieski's side,
For love of martyr'd Poland;
Or knelt with Cromwell's Ironsides;
Or sang with brave Gustavus;
Or on the plain of Austerlitz,
Breathed out their dying AVES!

Rare fame! rare name!--If chanted praise,
With all the world to listen,--