After the Battle. 
By Moore, Thomas. 


Night closed around the conqueror's way,
And lightenings showed the distant hill
Where those who lost that dreadful day
Stood few and faint, but fearless still.
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,
For ever dimmed, for ever crossed - 
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,
When all but life and honour's lost?

The last sad hour of freedom's dream,
And valour's task, moved slowly by,
While mute they watched till morning's beam
Should rise and give them light to die.
There's yet a world where souls are free,
Where tyrant's taint not nature's bliss; - 
If death that world's bright opening be,
Oh! who would live a slave in this?