 | [The Kentucky partisan, in] Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the war |  |
403
THE KENTUCKY PARTISAN.
Hath the wily Swamp Fox
Come again to earth?
Hath the soul of Sumter
Owned a second birth?
From the Western hill-slopes
Starts a hero-form,
Stalwart, like the oak tree,
Tameless, like the storm!
His an eye of lightning!
His a heart of steel!
Flashing deadly vengeance,
Thrilled with fiery zeal!
Hound him down, ye minions!
Seize him—if ye can;
But woe worth the hireling knave
Who meets him, man to man!
Come again to earth?
Hath the soul of Sumter
Owned a second birth?
From the Western hill-slopes
Starts a hero-form,
Stalwart, like the oak tree,
Tameless, like the storm!
His an eye of lightning!
His a heart of steel!
Flashing deadly vengeance,
Thrilled with fiery zeal!
Hound him down, ye minions!
Seize him—if ye can;
But woe worth the hireling knave
Who meets him, man to man!
Well done, gallant Morgan!
Strike with might and main,
Till the fair fields redden
With a gory rain;
Smite them by the roadside,
Smite them in the wood,
By the lonely valley,
And the purpling flood;
'Neath the mystic starlight,
'Neath the glare of day,
Harass, sting, affright them,
Scatter them, and slay;—
Beard, who durst, our chieftain!
Blind him—if ye can,—
But woe worth the Hessian thief
Who meets him, man to man!
Strike with might and main,
Till the fair fields redden
With a gory rain;
Smite them by the roadside,
Smite them in the wood,
By the lonely valley,
And the purpling flood;
'Neath the mystic starlight,
'Neath the glare of day,
Harass, sting, affright them,
Scatter them, and slay;—
Beard, who durst, our chieftain!
Blind him—if ye can,—
But woe worth the Hessian thief
Who meets him, man to man!
There's a lurid purpose
Brooding in his breast,
Born of solemn passion
And a deep unrest:
For our ruined homesteads
And our ravaged land,
For our women outraged
By the dastard hand,
For our thousand sorrows
And our untold shame,
For our blighted harvests,
For our towns aflame—
He has sworn, (and recks not
Who may cross his path)—
That the foe shall feel him
In his torrid wrath—
That, while will and spirit
Hold one spark of life,
Blood shall stain his broadsword,
Blood shall wet his knife:—
On! ye Hessian horsemen!
Crush him—if ye can!
But woe worth your stanchest slave
Who meets him, man to man!
Brooding in his breast,
Born of solemn passion
And a deep unrest:
For our ruined homesteads
And our ravaged land,
For our women outraged
By the dastard hand,
For our thousand sorrows
And our untold shame,
For our blighted harvests,
For our towns aflame—
He has sworn, (and recks not
Who may cross his path)—
That the foe shall feel him
In his torrid wrath—
That, while will and spirit
Hold one spark of life,
Blood shall stain his broadsword,
Blood shall wet his knife:—
On! ye Hessian horsemen!
Crush him—if ye can!
But woe worth your stanchest slave
Who meets him, man to man!
'Tis no time for pleasure!
Doff the silken vest!
Up, my men, and follow
Marion of the West!
Strike with him for freedom!
Strike with main and might,
'Neath the noonday splendor,
'Neath the gloom of night;
Strike by rock and roadside,
Strike in wold and wood;
By the shadowy valley,
By the purpling flood;
On! where Morgan's war-horse
Thunders in the van!
God! who would not gladly die
Beside that glorious man?
Doff the silken vest!
Up, my men, and follow
Marion of the West!
Strike with him for freedom!
Strike with main and might,
'Neath the noonday splendor,
'Neath the gloom of night;
Strike by rock and roadside,
Strike in wold and wood;
By the shadowy valley,
By the purpling flood;
On! where Morgan's war-horse
Thunders in the van!
God! who would not gladly die
Beside that glorious man?
Hath the wily Swamp Fox
Come again to earth?
Hath the soul of Sumter
Owned a second birth?
From the Western hill-slopes
Starts a hero-form,
Stalwart, like an oak tree,
Restless, like the storm!
His an eye of lightning!
His a heart of steel!
Flashing deadly vengeance,
Thrilled with fiery zeal!
Hound him down, ye robbers!
Slay him—if ye can!
But woe worth the hireling knave
Who meets him, man to man!
Come again to earth?
Hath the soul of Sumter
Owned a second birth?
From the Western hill-slopes
Starts a hero-form,
Stalwart, like an oak tree,
Restless, like the storm!
His an eye of lightning!
His a heart of steel!
Flashing deadly vengeance,
Thrilled with fiery zeal!
Hound him down, ye robbers!
Slay him—if ye can!
But woe worth the hireling knave
Who meets him, man to man!
| [The Kentucky partisan, in] Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the war | |