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He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name,

And children, like himself, inured to shame.

But we will combat for our fathers' land,

And we will drain the life-blood where we stand,

To save our children.—Fight ye side by side,

And serried close, ye men of youthful pride,

Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost

Of life itself in glorious battle lost.

Leave not our sires to stem the unequal fight,

Whose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant might;

Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast

Permit the man of age (a sight unblest)

To welter in the combat's foremost thrust,

His hoary head dishevelled in the dust,

And venerable bosom bleeding bare.

But youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair,

And beautiful in death the boy appears,

The hero boy, that dies in blooming years:

In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears;

More sacred than in life, and lovelier far,

For having perished in the front of war.

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