The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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Song on the Abdication of Bonaparte. |
 | The poetical works of William Nicholson |  |
196
Song on the Abdication of Bonaparte.
Now blushing Spring in maiden pride,
From Surly Winter wins the day;
Love trims his bow-string by her side,
And tunes his universal lay.
The birken bush, the balmy dawn,
Are sweet and mild, and fair to see;
But dearer far to captive man,
Are Peace and Health, and Liberty.
From Surly Winter wins the day;
Love trims his bow-string by her side,
And tunes his universal lay.
The birken bush, the balmy dawn,
Are sweet and mild, and fair to see;
But dearer far to captive man,
Are Peace and Health, and Liberty.
Fell war no more will thin the land
With fiery brand and withering breath;
Peace waves around her magic wand,
And breaks the instruments of death.
See, where the war-worn soldiers come,
Once more to view their native plains!
With joy they hail their friends—their home,
And bless the hands that burst their chains.
With fiery brand and withering breath;
Peace waves around her magic wand,
And breaks the instruments of death.
See, where the war-worn soldiers come,
Once more to view their native plains!
With joy they hail their friends—their home,
And bless the hands that burst their chains.
Let Bourbon lilies lift their head,
And spread their blossoms to the day!
The Red Rose round its odour shed,
And let the harp of Erin play!
Scotia, bring thou thy symbol forth!
What though thy crest's but hamely gear,
The hardy Thistle of the North
Has oft times stemmed the tide of weir!
And spread their blossoms to the day!
The Red Rose round its odour shed,
And let the harp of Erin play!
Scotia, bring thou thy symbol forth!
What though thy crest's but hamely gear,
The hardy Thistle of the North
Has oft times stemmed the tide of weir!
Now well may Pride her lesson learn,
And dread a brother's blood to spill;—
And well may all that Voice discern,
Which bids the sons of men be still.
Yet though the proud, the great, is low,
His eagles fall no more to rise—
We tread not on the vanquished foe,
But learn by others to be wise.
And dread a brother's blood to spill;—
And well may all that Voice discern,
Which bids the sons of men be still.
197
His eagles fall no more to rise—
We tread not on the vanquished foe,
But learn by others to be wise.
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |