Lay His Sword By His Side

 Lay his sword by his side -- it hath served him too well 
Not to rest near his pillow below; 
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell, 
Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe.
 
Fellow-labourers in life, let them slumber in death, 
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave -- 
That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath, 
And himself unsubdued in his grave.
 

Yet pause -- for, in fancy, a still voice I hear, 
As if breathed from his brave heart's remains; -- 
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear, 
Once sounded the war-word, "Burst your chains.
" 
And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep, 
"Though the day of your Chieftain for ever hath set, 
Oh leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep -- 
It hath victory's life in it yet! 

"Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield, 
Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword, 
Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd, 
Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord.
 
But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd the proud use 
Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain, 
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose, 
Leap forth from thy dark sheath again!"

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