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352. The Song of Death

 FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
 Now gay with the broad setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,
 Our race of existence is run!
Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life’s gloomy foe!
 Go, frighten the coward and slave;
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know
 No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik’st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark,
 Nor saves e’en the wreck of a name;
Thou strik’st the young hero—a glorious mark;
 He falls in the blaze of his fame!
In the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands,
 Our King and our country to save;
While victory shines on Life’s last ebbing sands,—
 O! who would not die with the brave!

Poem by Robert Burns
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