When war's alarm affrights the land,
With each fresh prey by combat torn,
My heart bleeds not for wife, or friend,
Nor doth the fallen hero mourn.
Alas! fond wife soon solace gains.
And best of friends their friend forget;
One only soul on earth remains
That unto death remembers yet:
Amid life's wretched, empty show,
Amid fret, uproar, cant and folly,
Alone the sorrowing mothers know
Tear-bathed grief, sincere and holy.
They ne'er forget their sons they bore.
Their boys gone down on fields of gore.
They mourn, uncomforted, their days;
Nor shall the drooping willow raise
Her weeping boughs—No, nevermore!
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