 | Original Songs (1861) |  |
72
OH, WHO CAN GAZE UNMOVED?
I
Oh, who can gaze unmovedUpon the land he loves,
Where the flowers are musical with bees,
The boughs with cooing doves;
Where the old grey, well-known spire
Points with its hoary head,
As if to tell us through the sky
Look down our watching dead?
II
And pointing to the oakUpon the village green,
Where, on the time-worn rustic seats,
The young and old are seen,
73
Our sons, we now confide,
To shield these ancient homes of peace,
For which we fought and died.”
III
The daisies, silver-frill'd,'Mid which the children play,
Shall all be dappled with our blood
Ere we that trust betray;
And those green lanes shall see,
Where the wild roses blow,
Their primrose banks piled with our dead,
Ere through them pass the foe.
IV
And who that lovers' walkWould not struggle to defend,
That winds along the silver brook,
O'er which the willows bend?
Dear as our own heart's blood,
As the apple of our eye,
Are these belovèd scenes to us,
And for them we will die.
T. M.
| Original Songs (1861) | |