The Conquered Banner.

Furl that banner, for its' weary
Round , it's staff its
drooping dreamy
Furl it, fold it- it is best;
For there's not a man to wave it,
And there is not a sword to save it,
And there's not one let to lave it
In the blood which heroes gave it;
And foes now scorn and brave it;
Furl it, hide it-let it rest!

Furl that banner-furl it sadly;
Once ten thousand hailed it gladly,
And ten thousand wildly madly
Swore it should, forever wave
Swore that foe man's sword should never
Hearts like their entwined dissever,
And flag should float forever
O'er their freedom, or their grave.