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 Another knows of a sweet fond face That will fade into ashy pale As she hears the tale of that day of tears; And a prayer rises to Him who hears The widow and orphan's wail.

"We die," passed through each warrior's heart, "And vainly, but the care Rests not with us; 'tis ours to show The world, old England, and the foe, What Englishmen can dare."

Then bridle-reins are gathered up, And sabres blaze on high, And as each charger bounds away Doubts flee like ghosts at opening day, And each man joys to die.

St. George! it is a glorious sight A splendid page of war, To mark yon gorgeous, matchless troop, Like some bright falcon, wildly swoop On the sullen prey before.

(loquitur). "Hurrah for the hearts of Englishmen, And the thoroughbred's long stride, As the vibrating, turf-tearing hoof-thunder rolled, 'Twas worth a year of one's life, all told, To have seen our fellows ride!"