A health to the brave, in fields afar
Sweet Freedom's foes assailing;
And high your choral burden bear,
Their names with honours hailing.
What meed awaits the fallen brave?
A nation's tears to dew them,
And bards the blooming flowers to weave,
And virgin hands to strew them.

But what their meed to whom return
In triumph's ear is granted?
Beside their comrade's laurel'd urn,
To see the olive planted,
To hear the good, the great, the fair,
Rich notes of rapture pealing.
That hig the choral burden bear,
Their names with honours hailing.