Classic Poem

Lo ! on the bloodstained battle-field
A wounded hero lying!
Dim is the lustre of his eye —
For he, alas! is dying.

See how with feeble hand he grasps
The sword so faithful ever!
Now drops the weapon by his side,
To be resumed — no, never.

Oh, gallant Clay! though for thy brow
Its laurels fame is wreathing, —
Vain trophies these, thy bosom now
Its last faint sigh is heaving.

Back! tyrants! would ye deeper make
The wounds already given?
You from an aged father's heart
Another tie have riven.

Intrepid Warrior! thou hast left
A deathless name behind thee;
That name unsullied, bright shall shine,
Though the dark grave may hide thee.

Thou by thy General's side hast fought,
And Taylor will deplore thee;
And many a heart that loved thee dear
Will weep in silence o'er thee.