Thy days are done, thy fame begun; <br />Thy country's strains record <br />The triumphs of her chosen Son, <br />The slaughter of his sword! <br />The deeds he did, the fields he won, <br />The freedom he restored! <br /> <br />Though thou art fall'n, while we are free <br />Thou shalt not taste of death! <br />The generous blood that flow'd from thee <br />Disdain'd to sink beneath: <br />Within our veins its currents be, <br />Thy spirit on our breath! <br /> <br />Thy name, our charging hosts along, <br />Shall be the battle-word! <br />Thy fall, the theme of choral song <br />From virgin voices pour'd! <br />To weep would do thy glory wrong: <br />Thou shalt not be deplored.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thy-day-s-are-done/
