Denied to my chance-kindled fire
The wreath that belongs to the lyre,

Yet my good sword the battle shall join,
And chivalry's garland be mine.

Or victory, torn from the brow,
Of the Paynim, shall hallow my vow,—
Or fallen in the strife of the brave,
Young Glory shall beam on my grave!

Fare thee well, land of my birth,
The one spot most sacred of earth!
At last I have burst through the spell

That bound my heart to thee! - Farewell!