I not by the ball or brand Sped by a mortal hand, Not by the lightning stroke When fiery tempests broke,— Not mid the ranks of War Fell the great Conqueror. II Unmovëd, undismayed, In the crash and carnage of the cannonade,— Eye that dimmed not, hand that failed not, Brain that swerved not, heart that quailed not, Steel nerve, iron form,— The dauntless spirit that o’erruled the storm. III While the Hero peaceful slept A foeman to his chamber crept, Lightly to the slumberer came, Touched his brow and breathed his name: O’er the stricken form there passed Suddenly an icy blast. IV The Hero woke, rose undismayed, Saluted Death, and sheathed his blade. V The Conqueror of a hundred fields To a mightier Conqueror yields; No mortal foeman’s blow Laid the great Soldier low: Victor in his latest breath— Vanquished but by Death.
Vanquished
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