  Their silvered swords are red with rust, Their plumÉd heads are bowed; Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, Is now their martial shroud. And plenteous funeral tears have washed The red stains from each brow, And the proud forms, by battle gashed, Are free from anguish now. Yon marble minstrel’s voiceless stone In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanished age hath flown, The story how ye fell: Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter’s blight, Nor Time’s remorseless gloom, Shall dim one ray of glory’s light That gilds your deathless tomb. From “The Army and Navy of the United States.” AMERICAN PRIVATEER TAKING POSSESSION OF A PRIZE. |
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