 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
THE BLOOD-STAINED ALDER.
A SONG OF FREEDOM FOR THE LYRE.
When the bright Sun of Freedom had set
On poor Poland, the Land of the Brave!
And the soil that they fought for, was wet
With the blood which they died but to save;
By the walls of great Warsaw there stood
A young Alder Tree covered with gore,
Which their children dug up for the blood
Which its green tender branches then bore.
On poor Poland, the Land of the Brave!
And the soil that they fought for, was wet
With the blood which they died but to save;
By the walls of great Warsaw there stood
A young Alder Tree covered with gore,
Which their children dug up for the blood
Which its green tender branches then bore.
A poor Exile, when seeking his rest
In America, Land of the Free!
Set it out in the far, fertile West,
Where it sprouted to Liberty's Tree.
For, when Prussia had triumphed, he kept
The young Tree for the blood that it bore;
And, whenever he looked on it, wept
For the Land he should visit no more!
In America, Land of the Free!
Set it out in the far, fertile West,
Where it sprouted to Liberty's Tree.
For, when Prussia had triumphed, he kept
The young Tree for the blood that it bore;
And, whenever he looked on it, wept
For the Land he should visit no more!
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Like that Exile of Poland, ye Sons
Of the Mighty who died to be free!
Let each drop of the blood which now runs
Through your veins, nourish Liberty's Tree!
For, as that was so dear to the Poles
Because stained with their forefather's gore,
Let each relic be dear to our souls,
Which our own have left us—evermore.
Of the Mighty who died to be free!
Let each drop of the blood which now runs
Through your veins, nourish Liberty's Tree!
For, as that was so dear to the Poles
Because stained with their forefather's gore,
Let each relic be dear to our souls,
Which our own have left us—evermore.
Villa Allegra, Ga., June 8, 1846.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |