Page:National Lyrics.pdf/97

Rh

The oaks of England wav'd   O'er the slumbers of his race, But a pine of the Ronceval made moan Above his last lone place:

When the muffled drum was heard In the Pyrenees by night, With a dull deep rolling sound Which call'd strange echoes round To the soldier's burial rite.

Brief was the sorrowing there, By the stream from battle red, And tossing on its wave the plumes Of many a stately head;

But a mother—soon to die, And a sister—long to weep, Ev'n then were breathing prayer for him, In that home beyond the deep: