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It was his last, his only field: They brought him back upon his shield, But victory was won. I cannot weep when I recall Thy land has cause to bless thy fall.

When others tell their children all The fame that warriors win, I must sit silent, and but think On what my child had been. It is a father's joy to see The young eyes glow exultingly When warlike tales begin; And yet I know no living one I would change for my sleeping Son.