+ "Charge!" Trump and drum awoke ; Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and saber-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the guns' mouths they laugh; Or at the slippery brands Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crashing steel, – All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment. "Freedom!" their battle-cry, "Freedom! or leave to die!" Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us 't is heard, Not a mere party shout; They gave their spirits out, Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death; Praying, -alas! in vain!That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty! This was what "freedom" lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well; Scourges and shackles strong Never shall do them wrong. O, to the living few, Soldiers, be just and true! Hail them as comrades tried; Fight with them side by side; Never, in field or tent, Scorn the black regiment! GEORGE HENRY BOKER. OF THE WARRES IN IRELAND. FROM HARRINGTON'S EPIGRAMS, BOOK IV. 6. I PRAISED the speech, but cannot now abide it, There without baked, rost, boyl'd, it is no cheere, At home in silken sparrers, beds of Down, SIR JOHN HARRINGTON. O, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING! O, THE sight entrancing, With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing, But never to retreating. By vict'ry made, Whose wings right o'er us hover. When morning's beam is glancing With helm and blade, And plumes in the gay wind dancing. Yet 't is not helm or feather, Could bring such hands And proud he braves The gaudiest slaves That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. Worth steel and stone, WAR'S loud alarms Call me to arms; Honor bids me quit thy charms; Entreat me then no more to stay, And burns to meet the foe. A Briton bold from danger fled, Within a lady's bower! The power of Cupid I defy, When Cambria's banner waves on high, When hurtles through the darkened sky The arrow's deadly shower. Far o'er the plain, Loudly again, Sounds the trumpet's warlike strain, Yet, dearest, when I'm far from thee, Thy form alone shall ever be Still nearest to my heart! With spear to spear, and shield to shield, And bend his haughty knee, Then will my true and faithful heart At glory's call now doomed to part, Forsaking spear and shield and dart, Come fondly back to thee! From the Welsh of TALHAIARN, by THOMAS OLIPHANT. CAVALRY SONG. OUR bugles sound gayly, To horse and away! And whether we fight or whether we fall By saber-stroke or rifle-ball, The hearts of the free will remember us yet, And our country, our country will never forget! Then mount and away! let the coward delight To be lazy all day and safe all night; Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam, And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home: See yonder the ranks of the traitorous foe, you would fight; Then charge! with a will, boys, and God for the right! And whether we fight, etc. We have gathered again the red laurels of war; ROSSITER W. RAYMOND. SONG OF THE CAVALRY. FROM "ALICE OF MONMOUTH." OUR good steeds snuff the evening air, Our pulses with their purpose tingle; The foeman's fires are twinkling there; He leaps to hear our sabers jingle! HALT! Each carbine send its whizzing ball: Dash on beneath the smoking dome : Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home: The guidons that we bear are dearer. CHARGE! Cling! clang! forward all! Heaven help those whose horses fall: They flee before our fierce attack! They fall! they spread in broken surges. Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the foeman to his dirges. WHEEL! The bugles sound the swift recall : Home, and good night! EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK. PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. HAIL to the Chief who in triumph advances ! Honored and blessed be the evergreen Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, Sends our shout back again, Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Echo his praise again, 'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannachar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! O that the rosebud that graces yon islands twine! O that some seedling gem, Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" SIR WALTER SCOTT. THE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS. FEAR not, O little flock! the foe Dread not his rage and power; What though your courage sometimes faints? His seeming triumph o'er God's saints Lasts but a little hour. Be of good cheer; your cause belongs As true as God's own word is true, A jest and by-word are they grown; Amen, Lord Jesus; grant our prayer! Great Captain, now thine arm make bare ; Fight for us once again! So shall the saints and martyrs raise A mighty chorus to thy praise, World without end! Amen. From the German of MICHAEL ALTENBURG. KÖRNER'S SWORD SONG. [Charles Theodore Körner was a young German soldier, scholar, poet, and patriot. He was born at Dresden in the autumn of 1791, and fell in battle for his country at the early age of twenty-two. The "Sword Song," so called, was written in his pocket-book only two hours before he fell, during a halt in a wood previous to the engage ment, and was read by him to a comrade just as the signal was given for battle. This bold song represents the soldier chiding his sword, which, under the image of his iron bride, is impatient to come forth from her chamber, the scabbard, and be wedded to him on the field of battle, where each soldier shall press the blade to his lips. Körner fell in an engagement with superior numbers near a thicket in the neighborhood of Rosenburg. He had advanced in pursuit of the flying foe too far beyond his comrades. They buried him under an old oak on the site of the battle, and carved his name on the trunk.] SWORD, on my left side gleaming, What means thy bright eye's beaming? It makes my spirit dance To see thy friendly glance. Hurrah! "A valiant rider bears me; Yes, good sword, I am free, "And I to thee, by Heaven, The trumpet's solemn warning Shall hail the bridal morning. When cannon-thunders wake Then my true-love I take. Hurrah! "O blessed, blessed meeting! My heart is wildly beating: Come, bridegroom, come for me; My garland waiteth thee." Hurrah! Why in the scabbard rattle, "Well may thy prisoner rattle; Stay in thy chamber near, "Let me not longer wait : Now, then, come forth, my bride! Come forth, thou rider's pride! |