 | The lion's cub |  |
MORITURUM SALUTAMUS.
It is most fitting he should pass away,As he is passing now without a word,
This man of many battles, whom Dismay
Dismayed not, whose stout heart was seldom stirred.
Master of his emotions—not too keen,
Of simple, primitive tastes, his wants were few;
Believer only in things known and seen,
Stubborn and blunt, begotten to subdue.
Not his the blood in Sidney's veins which ran,
Nor his who fell at Roncesvalles of old;
But there is something in this silent man,
Something heroic in his rugged mould.
Of this our Soldier dying Time will be
A kinder, sterner, juster judge than we.
| The lion's cub | |