KORNER. 



But when the fight was past, 



And war's red pennon furl'd, 

 And the trumpet's shrill and awful blast 



No more disturb'd the world. 



Then would'st thou sweep the lyre 



With rapt and holy hand. 

 Kindling each heart with patriot fire 

 Throughout thy native land. 



Nor are thy songs forgot ! 



They're sung by prince and boor ; 

 They are heard in palace and in cot. 



On mountain and on moor. 



Thine was an early grave, 



Yet hallow'd is the sod; 

 For thou sleep'st amongst the young and brave. 



On ground by freemen trod. 



Where thy blood, in life's bright bloom. 



In freedom's cause was pour'd, 

 Thou art bui-ied ! — and upon thy tomb 



Art grav'd a " lyre and sword," 



To tell the nations round 



That a bard lies there enshrin'd 

 Who was matchless, as he was renown'd, 



In the wond'rous gifts of mind. 



Long, long thy glorious name. 



Thou of the "sword and lyre," 

 With visions of immortal fame 



Shall kindred hearts inspire. 



On thy native hills thou art 



The theme of song and story — 

 Thou art graven on thy country's heart. 



And cherished with her glory. 



B. Nightingale. 



