XXXVII.

And, England, mourn for him the youthful Chief, Whose noble promise Death hath there struck down, Survived by Blanca for a moment brief, And followed soon beneath the rampart’s frown. Oh, perished there young Love and young Renown, And budding Glory in the path of arms. Mourn for the brave who fell before the town, Nor least for Morton, first ’mid War’s alarms To prove the patriot glow the Briton’s heart that warms.