 | [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) |  |
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To the Heroes of Niagara
Oh, hail to the heroes, whose deeds have restored
Our honor unsullied once more!
And the blaze of their valor triumphantly poured
On the field that was darkened before;
For hid from our sight was fair Victory's form,
And the heavens were clouded in wrath,
Till the sons of the battle, like stars of the storm,
Arose on the desolate path.
Our honor unsullied once more!
And the blaze of their valor triumphantly poured
On the field that was darkened before;
For hid from our sight was fair Victory's form,
And the heavens were clouded in wrath,
Till the sons of the battle, like stars of the storm,
Arose on the desolate path.
Then plume thy dark pinion, proud bird of the North,
And sweep from thy home in the skies,
On the wings of the whirlwind, exultingly forth
To the plain where thy enemy dies.
And joy, O my country! thy stains are effaced,
The pride of the boaster is low;
And thy deep-sullied standard by cowards disgraced,
Is washed in the gore of the foe.
And sweep from thy home in the skies,
On the wings of the whirlwind, exultingly forth
To the plain where thy enemy dies.
And joy, O my country! thy stains are effaced,
The pride of the boaster is low;
And thy deep-sullied standard by cowards disgraced,
Is washed in the gore of the foe.
And thou, starry banner! look proudly again
On the chiefs who redeemed thee from shame,
Nor darken thy beam, though it fall on the slain
Who repose on the death-bed of fame;
For the lustre that circles the tombs of the brave,
Its splendor unfailing maintains;
The sun of their being may set in the grave,
The light of their glory remains.
On the chiefs who redeemed thee from shame,
Nor darken thy beam, though it fall on the slain
Who repose on the death-bed of fame;
For the lustre that circles the tombs of the brave,
Its splendor unfailing maintains;
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The light of their glory remains.
Yes, weep for the brave who in battle have died,
Their fall was triumphantly bright;
In our sorrows shall mingle a feeling of pride,
Like the moon through the tears of the night.
They are gone, but the fame of their glorious deeds,
Shall live in our memory yet;
And the tear-bedewed beaming of moonlight succeeds
To the blaze of the sun that has set.
Their fall was triumphantly bright;
In our sorrows shall mingle a feeling of pride,
Like the moon through the tears of the night.
They are gone, but the fame of their glorious deeds,
Shall live in our memory yet;
And the tear-bedewed beaming of moonlight succeeds
To the blaze of the sun that has set.
| [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) | |