Its hilt for
them was set with rarest gems. "A mother's love or sweetheart's
fond goodbye." A grateful nation saw fit to bring their remains
back to their native land. They merit beautiful monuments, but
memory of their noble deeds of valor and sacrifice will be all
the monument they need, and by the light of Freedom's blazing
torch the world shall read their epitaph written by the hand of
Time.
How fine again it is to stand
Where they in Freedom's soil are laid,
And from their ashes may be made
The May Flowers of their native land.
At many hearths the fires burn dim,
The vacant chairs are closer drawn
Where weary hearts draw nearer them
And softly whisper, "they are gone."
The low-hung clouds in pity sent,
Their floral tributes from the skies,
And sobbing winds their voices lent
To stifled sobs and bitter sighs.
In spotless beauty their myriads lay,
Upon Freedom's flag like frozen tears
Or petals of the flowers of May,
In perfumed softness on their bier.
Oh, may they not have died in vain,
Those gallant youths of Freedom's land,
They sought not any earthly gain
And perished that the right might stand.
The death of the following is depicted in "Dr. Le Baron and his
Daughters." "In memory of seventy-two seamen who perished in
Plymouth harbor on the 26 and 27 days of December, 1778, on
board the private armed Brig.
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