FALLEN.

O, hadst thou died when thou wert great,

When at thy feet a nation knelt

To sob the gratitude it felt

And thank the Saviour of the State,

Gods might have envied thee thy fate!

Then was the laurel round thy brow,

And friend and foe spoke praise of thee,

While all our hearts sang victory.

Alas! thou art too base to bow

To hide the shame that brands it now.

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