 | The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod |  |
ODE
THE BREEZE THAT NOW BLOWS
The breeze that now blows from our beautiful Isle,
Wafts the white sail of peace o'er the bay that sleeps yonder;
And the ocean creeps up with a kiss and a smile
On the beach, where our maids and our youth love to wander.
Yet, brothers! 'twas there, amid battle's red glare,
That our forefathers won the proud emblem we bear—
The same breath that now wooes the dear lips that we love,
Bore the smoke of that fight to the calm skies above.
Wafts the white sail of peace o'er the bay that sleeps yonder;
And the ocean creeps up with a kiss and a smile
On the beach, where our maids and our youth love to wander.
Yet, brothers! 'twas there, amid battle's red glare,
That our forefathers won the proud emblem we bear—
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Bore the smoke of that fight to the calm skies above.
If the homes that we cherish are happy and free,
If the fame that was left us is stainless in story,
If the winds that come to us across the blue sea,
Blow over a land that is dreaming of glory,
'Tis to them that we owe the pure blessings we know,
And the night that now sleeps in default of a foe—
It sleeps, but shall wake at the first signal-gun,
And the sons will preserve what their fathers have won.
If the fame that was left us is stainless in story,
If the winds that come to us across the blue sea,
Blow over a land that is dreaming of glory,
'Tis to them that we owe the pure blessings we know,
And the night that now sleeps in default of a foe—
It sleeps, but shall wake at the first signal-gun,
And the sons will preserve what their fathers have won.
| The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod | |