Erste Klasse. 
1. The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna. 
Charles Wolse 
1. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corpse to the rampart we hurried; 
Not a soldieèr discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
2. We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
And the lantern dimly burning. 
3. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest 
With his martial cloak around him. 
4. Few and short were the prayers we said, 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead. 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
5. We thought, as ve hollowed his narrow bed, 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
That thie foe and the stranger would tread o'er hĩs head, 
And we far away on the billow! 
6. Läghtly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him. — 
But little he'll reek, if they let hĩm sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid sim. 
7. But half of our heavy task was done, 
When the eloek struek the hour for retiring;