 | Poems |  |
190
SONG OF TRIUMPH.
“The glorious spears of war
Gleam o'er the calm blue wave;
Voices and lutes afar,
Sing pœans to the brave;
Cittern, and lyre, and trumpet strain,
Breathe of the red victorious plain!”
Swain.
Gleam o'er the calm blue wave;
Voices and lutes afar,
Sing pœans to the brave;
Cittern, and lyre, and trumpet strain,
Breathe of the red victorious plain!”
Swain.
They are coming, they are coming,
Along the flower-strewn way,
With trumpet-notes, and dancing plumes,
And fluttering pennons gay.
With the heavy tramp of barded steeds,
And the clash of shield and spear,
And the shouts of gathering multitudes,
Loud echoing far and near.
Along the flower-strewn way,
With trumpet-notes, and dancing plumes,
And fluttering pennons gay.
With the heavy tramp of barded steeds,
And the clash of shield and spear,
And the shouts of gathering multitudes,
Loud echoing far and near.
191
They are coming, they are coming,
With the spoils of many a fight,
With many a hostile standard ta'en,
And many a captive knight;
They have swept the oppressor from the land,
They have rent away the chain,—
Swell high the song of victory
To the sunny skies again!
With the spoils of many a fight,
With many a hostile standard ta'en,
And many a captive knight;
They have swept the oppressor from the land,
They have rent away the chain,—
Swell high the song of victory
To the sunny skies again!
They are coming, they are coming,
And from her lattice high,
The maiden on their serried ranks
Looks forth with anxious eye;
The mother watches earnestly
Her son's fair face to greet,
And wives and aged sires rush forth
Into the crowded street.
And from her lattice high,
The maiden on their serried ranks
Looks forth with anxious eye;
The mother watches earnestly
Her son's fair face to greet,
And wives and aged sires rush forth
Into the crowded street.
They are coming, they are coming,
The banquet board array—
Wreath garlands of all glorious flowers,
To deck your halls to day.
Let the lyre's exulting tones be heard,
And let the red wine foam,
And beauty's brightest smiles be given
To hail the conquerors home.
The banquet board array—
192
To deck your halls to day.
Let the lyre's exulting tones be heard,
And let the red wine foam,
And beauty's brightest smiles be given
To hail the conquerors home.
They are coming, they are coming,—
Wave! all ye banners, wave!—
The warrior of a hundred fields,
The loyal, and the brave;
The young, the loved of many hearts,
A proud, triumphant train;—
Swell high the song of victory
To the sunny skies again!
Wave! all ye banners, wave!—
The warrior of a hundred fields,
The loyal, and the brave;
The young, the loved of many hearts,
A proud, triumphant train;—
Swell high the song of victory
To the sunny skies again!
THE END.
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