Alexander Russel

What! "Russel of the Scotsman " dead?
Nay, Death himself would hang the head,
And dare not tell the foolish lie;
Such living forces never die.

The Shadows that make up our night
Were growing thin for him to fight.
Rut still he fights, we think with pride,
Our battle from the other side!

Hard head, warm heart, and liberal hand,
Open or shut, to bless or brand;
Large-moulded, with Norse fire aglow j
This was a man, to friend or foe!

Long in our melee will be missed
The mace of Russel's mighty fist,
That struck, and, wasting nought in sound,
Duried its blow without rebound.

With " derring-do," and thought that strives,
Erect his Statue in your lives,
Warm-blooded, not in marble wan —
The living measure of the man!

Walhalla! Rise and welcome him
Aross the Braga-Eeaker's rim;
And, that his glory may be full,
Brim high some Water-Drinker's Skull.