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The forests heard it, the mountains rang, The hamlets woke to its haughty clang; Rich and victorious was every tone, Telling the land of her foes o'erthrown.

Didst thou meet not a mourner for all the slain? Thousands lie dead on their battle-plain! Gallant and true were the hearts that fell— Grief in the homes they have left must dwell; Grief o'er the aspect of childhood spread, And bowing the beauty of woman's head: Didst thou hear, midst the songs, not one tender moan, For the many brave to their slumbers gone?

I saw not the face of a weeper there— Too strong, perchance, was the bright lamp's glare! I heard not a wail midst the joyous crowd— The music of victory was all too loud!