 | The battle of Niagara |  |
And this would be while yet the fire
Enkindled by that wondrous lyre,
Was quivering on his downcast lash,
Just like the dying tempest-flash!
And those who felt their bosoms swell
Beneath the working of his spell:
Who felt that young enchanter's might,
Whose incantations woke the fight,
And taught to peasant-hearts the feeling
That mounts to hear the trumpet pealing,
Then—deemed the youthful minstrel there,
Familiar with the strife had been:
And that his sad, appealing air—
His darkened brow—his bosom bare—
His haughty port of calm despair—
Enthusiasm—genius were—
And never but in warriors seen!
Enkindled by that wondrous lyre,
Was quivering on his downcast lash,
Just like the dying tempest-flash!
And those who felt their bosoms swell
Beneath the working of his spell:
Who felt that young enchanter's might,
Whose incantations woke the fight,
And taught to peasant-hearts the feeling
That mounts to hear the trumpet pealing,
Then—deemed the youthful minstrel there,
Familiar with the strife had been:
And that his sad, appealing air—
His darkened brow—his bosom bare—
His haughty port of calm despair—
Enthusiasm—genius were—
And never but in warriors seen!
| The battle of Niagara | |