'Tis finish'd, they 've died for their forefathers' land, As the patriot sons of the mountain should die, With the mail on each bosom, the sword in each hand, On the heath of the desert they lie. Like their own mountain eagles they rush'd to the fight, Like the oaks of their deserts they braved its rude blast; Their blades in the morning look'd dazzling and bright, But red when the battle was past.
They rush'd on, exulting in honour, and met The foes of their country in battle array; But the sun of their glory in darkness hath set, And the flowers of the forest are faded away! Oh! far from the scenes of their childhood they sleep, No friend of their bosom, no loved one is near, To add a gray stone to their cairns on the steep, Or drop o'er their ashes a tear.
The sky in beauty arch'd The wide and weltering flood, While the winds in triumph march'd Through their pathless solitude-- Rousing up the plume on ocean's hoary crest, That like space in darkness slept, When his watch old Silence kept, Ere the earliest planet leapt From its breast.
A speck is on the deeps, Like a spirit in her flight; How beautiful she keeps Her stately path in light! She sweeps the shining wilderness in glee-- The sun has on her smiled, And the waves, no longer wild, Sing in glory round that child Of the sea.
'Twas at the set of sun That she tilted o'er the flood, Moving like God alone O'er the glorious solitude-- The billows crouch around her as her slaves. How exulting are her crew-- Each sight to them is new, As they sweep along the blue Of the waves!
Fair herald of the fleets That yet shall cross the wave, Till the earth with ocean meets One universal grave, What armaments shall follow thee in joy! Linking each distant land With trade's harmonious band, Or bearing havoc's brand To destroy!
Though this wild brain is aching, Spill not thy tears with mine; Come to my heart, though breaking, Its firmest half is thine. Thou wert not made for sorrow, Then do not weep with me; There is a lovely morrow, That yet will dawn on thee.
When I am all forgotten-- When in the grave I lie-- When the heart that loved thee 's broken, And closed the sparkling eye; Love's sunshine still will cheer thee, Unsullied, pure, and deep; For the God who 's ever near thee, Will never see thee weep.