352. The Song of Death
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AREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the broad setting sun;Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, Our race of existence is run!Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life’s gloomy foe! Go, frighten the coward and slave;Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know No terrors hast thou to the brave! Thou strik’st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark, Nor saves e’en the wreck of a name;Thou strik’st the young hero—a glorious mark; He falls in the blaze of his fame!In the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands, Our King and our country to save;While victory shines on Life’s last ebbing sands,— O! who would not die with the brave!
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