He once had worn Love's myrtle-wreath,
And worshipped Art's disdain;
But he fought his manhood's fight beneath
The ruddy flag of Pain.

His comrades scaled the splendid heights:
But for his only deed
He proved the bullet how it bites,
The wounds and how they bleed.

No mortal plaudits pay this price;
No herald here has trod;
The incense of his sacrifice
Ascendeth unto God.