 | The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod |  |
ODE
The land hath many a battle-ground
As rich, and red with crimson stains;
But Orleans is the very sound
To stir the blood in warrior veins:
There the young Giant of the world
Struck a last blow at England's side;
And the Free Flag of Stars was furled
Above the grave of England's pride.
As rich, and red with crimson stains;
But Orleans is the very sound
To stir the blood in warrior veins:
There the young Giant of the world
Struck a last blow at England's side;
85
Above the grave of England's pride.
Than his who led, no sterner will
E'er couched within a human breast;
And his was human, and could thrill
To all that's softest, purest, best.
The hand from which the Briton fled,
And the bold savage learned to fear,
Could stroke a tender infant's head,
And tremble at a woman's tear.
E'er couched within a human breast;
And his was human, and could thrill
To all that's softest, purest, best.
The hand from which the Briton fled,
And the bold savage learned to fear,
Could stroke a tender infant's head,
And tremble at a woman's tear.
The Roman of his country's fame,
The mighty Consul of the West,
No stronger arm, or haughtier name,
E'er gained a crown, or graced a crest;
Yet the white honor of his life
Nor blood could stain, nor power eclipse;
And having faced all shapes of strife;
He died with blessings on his lips.
The mighty Consul of the West,
No stronger arm, or haughtier name,
E'er gained a crown, or graced a crest;
Yet the white honor of his life
Nor blood could stain, nor power eclipse;
And having faced all shapes of strife;
He died with blessings on his lips.
So long as these bright arms, we bear,
May rest all spotless and unproved:
So long, we trust our hearts shall share
The homelier virtues which he loved.
But when the war-blast shall be heard,
And other battles must be won—
Be JACKSON'S name our battle-word;
And his great Shade shall lead us on.
May rest all spotless and unproved:
So long, we trust our hearts shall share
The homelier virtues which he loved.
But when the war-blast shall be heard,
And other battles must be won—
Be JACKSON'S name our battle-word;
And his great Shade shall lead us on.
| The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod | |