 | Poems by Rose Terry |  |
146
THE LAST REVOLUTION.
Hurrah! the mob is up again!
I hear its distant rush and roar,
Like mad seas surging on the shore;
But this sea shall not surge in vain.
Shout, bondsmen all, for freedom's reign—
Hurrah!
I hear its distant rush and roar,
Like mad seas surging on the shore;
But this sea shall not surge in vain.
Shout, bondsmen all, for freedom's reign—
Hurrah!
A thousand, thousand hurrying feet,
Resistless, heedless, trampling by:
From the black East a shrieking cry;
The sound flies fast, the winds are fleet;
Hurrah! this liberty is sweet.
Hurrah!
Resistless, heedless, trampling by:
From the black East a shrieking cry;
The sound flies fast, the winds are fleet;
Hurrah! this liberty is sweet.
Hurrah!
Hark! is't the roar of cannonades?
A sullen thunder from afar—
The grim, exulting psalm of war,
When deep in blood the victor wades:
No! 'tis the crashing barricades.
Hurrah!
A sullen thunder from afar—
The grim, exulting psalm of war,
When deep in blood the victor wades:
No! 'tis the crashing barricades.
Hurrah!
147
A shattered throne lies on the plain;
Dead, at its foot, the hoary king.
Shout for the gay republic—Spring!
Hurrah! it hath not come in vain,
This revolution of the rain.
Hurrah!
Dead, at its foot, the hoary king.
Shout for the gay republic—Spring!
Hurrah! it hath not come in vain,
This revolution of the rain.
Hurrah!
| Poems by Rose Terry | |