 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
180
BATTLE HYMN.—NOW RAISE THE MIGHTY SONG!
Now raise the mighty song—the brave old Dorie song—
The trumpet strain that tells of Liberty!
For, oh, too long! too long! we've borne the cruel wrong!
Let us now be strong, for the work of vengeance, strong!
Let us now be free, as the winds of winter, free!
Shout high the stormy chorus, shout, for Death or Liberty!
The trumpet strain that tells of Liberty!
For, oh, too long! too long! we've borne the cruel wrong!
Let us now be strong, for the work of vengeance, strong!
Let us now be free, as the winds of winter, free!
Shout high the stormy chorus, shout, for Death or Liberty!
Hark! the sovereign anthem, how it floats
From our mountain summits, swells and goes,
Bearing, terrible, and swift, like our native eagle's notes,
Mighty as the storm, from thrice ten thousand throats,
Terror to our foes, and fate!—fate and terror to our foes!
Shout, to their insolent souls, of the terror in our blows!
From our mountain summits, swells and goes,
Bearing, terrible, and swift, like our native eagle's notes,
Mighty as the storm, from thrice ten thousand throats,
Terror to our foes, and fate!—fate and terror to our foes!
Shout, to their insolent souls, of the terror in our blows!
Ay, shout as one, ye thousands, all! The chorus
Shall rouse anew the souls that long have slept!
Teach the insolent foe that gathers now before us
How the vigil of our sorrow hath been kept;
How we crouched in our shame; how we wept!
But we wake to sleep no more with the tyrant's banner o'er us!
Shall rouse anew the souls that long have slept!
Teach the insolent foe that gathers now before us
How the vigil of our sorrow hath been kept;
How we crouched in our shame; how we wept!
But we wake to sleep no more with the tyrant's banner o'er us!
To the field! to the field! where the long account of shame
Shall be satisfied forever to the freedom in our souls!
Where we wash away the blot, the dark stigma on our name!
Where our anguish, as we dare once again to think of fame,
Grows to gladness, even in danger, and with every peal that rolls,
We fling off the foul fetters that were crushing in our souls!
Shall be satisfied forever to the freedom in our souls!
Where we wash away the blot, the dark stigma on our name!
Where our anguish, as we dare once again to think of fame,
Grows to gladness, even in danger, and with every peal that rolls,
We fling off the foul fetters that were crushing in our souls!
181
Shout to battle! shout to battle! Raise anew the noble song—
The eagle note of hate and of vengeance on the foe!
Our fathers' spirits waken, and no more we suffer wrong;
We are strong in souls and thousands—for the field of carnage strong—
And with joy of battle raging, with a death at every blow!
Shout the chorus, brave and free! the Doric song of Liberty!
Death or Liberty be ours—and in death we may be free!
The eagle note of hate and of vengeance on the foe!
Our fathers' spirits waken, and no more we suffer wrong;
We are strong in souls and thousands—for the field of carnage strong—
And with joy of battle raging, with a death at every blow!
Shout the chorus, brave and free! the Doric song of Liberty!
Death or Liberty be ours—and in death we may be free!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |