FRAGMENT
.
WHERE
yonder
mossy
ruins
lie
,
And
desolation
strikes
the
eye
,
A
noble
mansion
,
high
and
fair
,
Once
rear'd
its
turrets
in
the
air
.
There
infant
warriors
drew
their
breath
,
And
learn'd
to
scorn
the
fear
of
death
.
In
halls
where
martial
trophies
hung
,
They
listen'd
while
the
minstrels
sung
,
Of
pain
and
glory
,
toil
and
care
,
And
all
the
horrid
charms
of
war
:
There
caught
the
fond
desire
of
fame
,
And
punted
for
a
hero's
name
.
Alas
!
too
oft
in
youthful
bloom
,
Renown
has
crown'd
the
early
tomb
,
Has
pierc'd
the
widow's
bosom
deep
,
And
taught
the
mother's
eyes
to
weep
.
She
,
on
whose
tale
the
stripling
hung
,
While
pride
and
sorrow
rul'd
her
tongue
.
His
father's
gallant
acts
to
tell
,
How
bold
he
fought
,
how
bravely
fell
.
Methinks
e'en
now
I
hear
her
speak
,
I
see
the
tear
upon
her
cheek
;
The
musing
boy's
abstracted
brow
,
And
the
high-arching
eye
below
.
The
stifled
sigh
and
anxious
heave
,
The
kindling
heart
which
dares
not
grieve
;
The
finely-elevated
head
,
The
hand
upon
the
bosom
spread
,
Proclaim
him
wrought
by
potent
charms
,
And
speak
his
very
soul
in
arms
.
Incautious
zeal
!
what
hast
thou
done
?
The
tale
has
robb'd
thee
of
thy
son
.
And
while
thy
pious
tears
deplore
,
The
loss
of
him
who
lives
no
more
,
Ambition
wakes
her
restless
fire
,
The
boy
will
emulate
his
sire
,