 | Terrible tractoration, and other poems |  |
237
AN ODE.
O'er the wild Atlantic wave,
Lo the fiends of discord rave;
Battle's bray is heard from far,
Battle's bray is heard from far,
To Bellona's blood-stain'd car,
Yoked the madding steeds of war:—
But no fiend of battle roars
Round Columbia's happy shores;
Peace and plenty, hand in hand,
Join to bless her happy land.
Lo the fiends of discord rave;
Battle's bray is heard from far,
Battle's bray is heard from far,
To Bellona's blood-stain'd car,
Yoked the madding steeds of war:—
But no fiend of battle roars
Round Columbia's happy shores;
Peace and plenty, hand in hand,
Join to bless her happy land.
CHORUS.
Laud we then the God of Heav'n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God, who led our fathers o'er
To Columbia's happy shore.
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God, who led our fathers o'er
To Columbia's happy shore.
Where th' embattled host of France,
To the kindling war advance,
There shall heroes bite the dust,
There shall heroes bite the dust,
Blood shall tinge the rubrick waves
Where the fiend of battle raves.
Sons of honor, “Sons of soul,”
Whom no tyrants can control,
Patriotic myriads join,
Round fair freedom's sacred shrine.
To the kindling war advance,
238
There shall heroes bite the dust,
Blood shall tinge the rubrick waves
Where the fiend of battle raves.
Sons of honor, “Sons of soul,”
Whom no tyrants can control,
Patriotic myriads join,
Round fair freedom's sacred shrine.
Ever laud the God of Heav'n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God, who led our fathers o'er,
To Columbia's happy shore.
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God, who led our fathers o'er,
To Columbia's happy shore.
Where Britannia's sons unite
To provoke the distant fight,
There shall countless heroes fall,
There shall countless heroes fall,
When the din of battle join'd,
Hurtles in the hollow wind.
Fiends of horror flit around,
Dying heroes strow the ground,
Countless ghosts shall wailing go
To the sullen shades below.
To provoke the distant fight,
There shall countless heroes fall,
There shall countless heroes fall,
When the din of battle join'd,
Hurtles in the hollow wind.
Fiends of horror flit around,
Dying heroes strow the ground,
Countless ghosts shall wailing go
To the sullen shades below.
Laud we then the God of Heav'n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God who led our fathers o'er,
To Columbia's happy shore.
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God who led our fathers o'er,
To Columbia's happy shore.
239
May not anarch's hydra form,
Thunder his voice, his breath the storm,
Desolate our happy land,
Desolate our happy land—
Mid fell discord's wild uproar,
May no fiend of anarch roar,
Call the rugged, meddling throng
Of every clime, of every tongue,
To light fair freedom's funeral pyre,
And bid her mid the blaze expire.
Thunder his voice, his breath the storm,
Desolate our happy land,
Desolate our happy land—
Mid fell discord's wild uproar,
May no fiend of anarch roar,
Call the rugged, meddling throng
Of every clime, of every tongue,
To light fair freedom's funeral pyre,
And bid her mid the blaze expire.
May the gracious God of Heav'n,
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God who led our fathers o'er,
Still protect Columbia's shore.
At whose behest fair peace is giv'n,
The God who led our fathers o'er,
Still protect Columbia's shore.
| Terrible tractoration, and other poems | |