Page:Translations from Camoens; and Other Poets.pdf/85



IFE's parting beams were in his eye, Life's closing accents on his tongue, When round him, pealing to the sky, The shout of victory rung! Then, ere his gallant spirit fled, A smile so bright illumed his face— Oh! never, of the light it shed, Shall memory lose a trace!

His was a death, whose rapture high Transcended all that life could yield; His warmest prayer was so to die, On the red battle-field! And they may feel, who loved him most, A pride so holy and so pure— Fate hath no power o'er those who boast A treasure thus secure!