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For the kindly look, the word of cheer, my heart may thirst in vain, And the face that was as light to mine—it cannot come again!

"I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a crown; With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased cold renown; How often will my weary heart 'midst the sounds of triumph die, When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of chivalry!

"I am lonely—I am lonely! this rest is even as death! Let me hear again the ringing spears, and the battle-trumpet's breath;