 | ["Died he as the soldier joys to die", in] American anecdotes |  |
286
[Died he as the soldier joys to die]
Died he as the soldier joys to die,
When the banner he follows is waving high,
And from voices, whose tones he remembers well,
Loudly the cheers of triumph swell;
'Till victory's shout on the free breeze floats,
He hath caught its sound, 'mid the wild war notes,
—One flash of hope, his eye grows dim—
The land he hath served will remember him?
When the banner he follows is waving high,
And from voices, whose tones he remembers well,
Loudly the cheers of triumph swell;
'Till victory's shout on the free breeze floats,
He hath caught its sound, 'mid the wild war notes,
—One flash of hope, his eye grows dim—
The land he hath served will remember him?
Died he as the patriot prays to rest,
His labors all crowned, and his country blest;
Garrulous age, his echo of fame,
Repeating the proud and cherish'd name;
While the spirit of youth, like a charger stirred
By the clarion's swell, at the glorious word,
Thirsting for danger, and spurning at fear,
Bounds to follow his hero's career?
His labors all crowned, and his country blest;
Garrulous age, his echo of fame,
Repeating the proud and cherish'd name;
While the spirit of youth, like a charger stirred
By the clarion's swell, at the glorious word,
Thirsting for danger, and spurning at fear,
Bounds to follow his hero's career?
He died, but not on the battle plain,
Where laurels are freshened with crimson rain!
Nor the rolling drum, nor fife's shrill tone
Nerved him to stifle the low death groan:
Nor the clasp of a comrade his cold hand thrilled,
And bade his heart leap ere its pulse was stilled,
That a message of love from his lips would be borne
To the fond friends who never might greet his return.
Where laurels are freshened with crimson rain!
Nor the rolling drum, nor fife's shrill tone
Nerved him to stifle the low death groan:
Nor the clasp of a comrade his cold hand thrilled,
And bade his heart leap ere its pulse was stilled,
That a message of love from his lips would be borne
To the fond friends who never might greet his return.
He died, and his memory passed away,
Like the rain-bow gleam from the torrent's spray;
And ne'er at his country's high triumphs was heard
His name, that should be the signal word,
When from learning's halls, and bowers of mirth,
Young genius at Freedom's call, starts forth,
And ye read in the fearless, flashing eye,
He comes to the battle, ‘to do or die!’
Like the rain-bow gleam from the torrent's spray;
And ne'er at his country's high triumphs was heard
His name, that should be the signal word,
When from learning's halls, and bowers of mirth,
Young genius at Freedom's call, starts forth,
And ye read in the fearless, flashing eye,
He comes to the battle, ‘to do or die!’
He died, and 'twas by the foeman's hand,
But not like a soldier by ball or brand,—
—A felon's fate was his fearful doom!
Yet gather young flowers to deck his tomb,
Spring's earliest buds—they shall emblems be
Of the hopes that woo'd him to victory—
O, bright they shone,—but there came a frown
And his sun in its morning light went down!
But not like a soldier by ball or brand,—
—A felon's fate was his fearful doom!
Yet gather young flowers to deck his tomb,
287
Of the hopes that woo'd him to victory—
O, bright they shone,—but there came a frown
And his sun in its morning light went down!
And he died, and his death was a bitter one,
For taunting foes were gazing on;
He heard their scorn on his lov'd land poured,
Yet his fettered hand could not grasp his sword.
—He stood beneath the fatal tree,
And gazed on the cord undauntedly!
—If there came a pang, it blanched not his cheek—
And the wish they had mocked, he disdained to speak.
For taunting foes were gazing on;
He heard their scorn on his lov'd land poured,
Yet his fettered hand could not grasp his sword.
—He stood beneath the fatal tree,
And gazed on the cord undauntedly!
—If there came a pang, it blanched not his cheek—
And the wish they had mocked, he disdained to speak.
He died when the war-cloud was gathering fast,
When havoc and horror were borne on the blast—
But sure to the martyr of Freedom is given
A glance of the future, when ripe for heaven—
—O didst thou not see, young Hale, in that hour,
The eagle's broad pinions in pride and power,
Bearing the banner of liberty,
Shadow thy own land from sea to sea?
And didst thou not feel, when pouring thy breath,
That duty done, plucks the sting from death?
When havoc and horror were borne on the blast—
But sure to the martyr of Freedom is given
A glance of the future, when ripe for heaven—
—O didst thou not see, young Hale, in that hour,
The eagle's broad pinions in pride and power,
Bearing the banner of liberty,
Shadow thy own land from sea to sea?
And didst thou not feel, when pouring thy breath,
That duty done, plucks the sting from death?
| ["Died he as the soldier joys to die", in] American anecdotes | |