And Ardennes [5.B.] waves above them her green leaves,[hn]

Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass—

Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,

Over the unreturning brave,—alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living Valour, rolling on the foe

And burning with high Hope, shall moulder cold and low.