to feed on roots, to drink the turbid waters of the ditch,
to prowl nightly round the encampments of the foe, like lions
round the habitations of the shepherds who had slaughtered their cubs.
Sometimes he taught us to fall upon the enemy by surprise,
distracting the midnight hour with the horrors of our battle: at other times,
when our forces were increased, he led us on boldly to the charge,
hewing the enemy to pieces, under the approving light of day.
Oh, Marion, my friend! my friend! never can I forget thee.
Although thy wars are all ended, and thyself at rest in the grave,
yet I see thee still. I see thee as thou wert wont to ride,
most terrible in battle to the enemies of thy country.
Thine eyes like balls of fire, flamed beneath thy lowering brows.
But lovely still wert thou in mercy, thou bravest among the sons of men!
For, soon as the enemy sinking under our swords, cried for quarter,
thy heart swelled with commiseration, and thy countenance was changed,
even as the countenance of a man who beheld the slaughter of his brothers.
The basest tory who could but touch the hem of thy garment was safe.
The avengers of blood stopped short in thy presence, and turned away abashed
from the lightning of thine eyes.

O that my pen were of the quill of the swan that sings for future days!
then shouldst thou, my friend, receive the fulness of thy fame.
The fathers, of the years to come, should talk of thy noble deeds;
and the youth yet unborn should rise up and call thee blessed. Fired at
the charm of thy virtues, they should follow thee in the path of thy glory,
and make themselves the future Marions of their country.

Peter Horry.