By: Thomas Moore (not the saint)
Night closed around the conqueror's way,
And lightnings 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,
Forever dimmed, forever crossed --
Oh! who shall say what heroes feel,
When all but life and honors lost?
The last sad hour of freedom's dream,
And valor’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 tyrants taint not nature's bliss; --
If death that world's bright opening be,
Oh! who would live a slave in this?