Page:Translations from Camoens; and Other Poets.pdf/71



And breathe no dirge's plaintive moan, A hero claims far loftier tone! Oh! proudly should the war-song swell, Recording how the mighty fell In that dread hour, When England, midst the battle-storm, Th' avenging angel—reared her form In tenfold power.

Yet, gallant heart! to swell thy praise, Vain were the minstrel's noblest lays; Since he, the soldier's guiding-star, The Victor-chief, the lord of war, Has owned thy fame: And oh! like his approving word, What trophied marble could record A warrior's name?