Lament for the martyr who dies for his faith
Who prays for his foes with his failing breath
Who see's as his looks to the kindling sky,
God & his captain the Saviour nigh
Who sees the mighty recompense
When soul is conquering flesh & sense
Sees heaven and all its angels bright
At the very end of his mortal flight
At the black close of that agony
Which sets the impatient spirit free
Then as in christ he sinks to sleep
Weep for the Dying Martyr, weep
And the Soldier laid on the battle-plain
At the close of night alone
The passing off of some warlike-strain
Blent with his latest moan
His thoughts all for his father-land
His feeble heart, his unnerved hand
Still quiveringly upraised to wield
Once more her bright sword on the field
While wakes his fainting energy
To gain her yet one victory
As he lies bleeding cold and low
As life's red tide is ebbing slow
Lament for fallen bravery

For the son of wisdom the holy sage
Full of knowledge and hoar with age
Him who had walked through the times of night
As if on his path a secret light
Lustrous & pure & silent fell
To all save himself invisible
A secret ray from Heaven's own shrine
Poured on the spirit half divine
And making a single Isle of light
In the wide, blank Ocean of Pagan night
Lament for him as you see him laid
Waiting for Death on the Dungon bed
The sickly lamp beside him burning
Its dim ray falling on sorrow & gloom
Around him his sad disciples mourning
As they watch for the hour of awful doom
And he by coming death unshaken
As if that slumber would soon be o'er
As if all freshened he should waken
An see the light of morn once more

Ay on the sage's the soldier's bier
I could drop many an pitying tear
And as the martyr sinks to sleep
I could in love, in sorrow weep
But Percy for that Rose of thine
Maria Stuart, bright divine
Divine & bright the mortal form
The eternal soul a venomed worm
For her I'd never heave a sigh
Unmoaned I'd let the fair fiend die
Seductive in her treachery
Most dazzling in her crimes
The flower of France should fade away
And Scotlands heather bell decay
Her death mass lift its chimes
And I could smile vindictively
To know the earth I walked was free
From her who kissed her lord to death
And poisoned him with kindness breath
One moment fondly o'er him bending
The next her gentle spirit lending
To plots that well might wake a shiver
In bosom's crime has seathed for ever
Accursed woman o'er thy tomb
My scorn flings down its sternest gloom