 | Poems |  |
45
MORITURI TE SALUTANT.
Far shine the plains with many a flag and tent,Lo! the wide seas are white with many a sail,
Tumultuous footsteps up the crags are bent,
And nations thunder “Onward!” to the gale.
From bondage in the city and the plain,
Through the long darkness and swift-flying suns,
Come we o'er mountains and the headlong main,
We and our women and our little ones:
On, brothers, on! though doubt and danger meet
The path, while darkness wrestles with the dawn;
Fall, if 'tis so, before we reach her feet,
And bridge the gulf for pilgrims yet unborn.
All hail, great thronèd goddess of the free!
We go to die, but go saluting thee.
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