He died for love of race: because the blood
Of Northern freeman swell'd his veins: arose
True to tradition that like mountain stood
Impregnable, crown'd with its pathless snows.

When broke the call, from the sepulchred years
Strong voices urged and stirr'd his soul to life;
The call of English freeman fled his fears
And led him (their true son) into the strife.

There in the van he fought thro' many a dawn,
Stood by the forlorn hope, knew victory;
Proud, scorning Death, fought with a purpose drawn,
Sword-edged, defiant, grand, for Liberty.
He fell: but yielded not his English soul:
That lives out there beneath the battle's roll.