| SLOWLY the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, | |
| Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun, | |
| When from his couch, while his children were sleeping, | |
| Rose the bold rebel and shouldered his gun. | |
| Waving her golden veil | 5 |
| Over the silent dale, | |
| Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire; | |
| Hushed was his parting sigh, | |
| While from his noble eye | |
| Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire. | 10 |
| |
| On the smooth green where the fresh leaf is springing | |
| Calmly the first-born of glory have met; | |
| Hark! the death-volley around them is ringing! | |
| Look! with their life-blood the young grass is wet! | |
| Faint is the feeble breath, | 15 |
| Murmuring low in death, | |
| "Tell to our sons how their fathers have died"; | |
| Nerveless the iron hand, | |
| Raised for its native land, | |
| Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side. | 20 |
| |
| Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, | |
| From their far hamlets the yeomanry come; | |
| As through the storm-clouds the thunder-burst rolling, | |
| Circles the beat of the mustering drum. | |
| Fast on the soldier's path | 25 |
| Darken the waves of wrath, | |
| Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall; | |
| Red glares the musket's flash, | |
| Sharp rings the rifle's crash, | |
| Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. | 30 |
| |
| Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, | |
| Never to shadow his cold brow again; | |
| Proudly at morning the war-steed was prancing, | |
| Reeking and panting be droops on the rein; | |
| Pale is the lip of scorn, | 35 |
| Voiceless the trumpet horn, | |
| Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high; | |
| Many a belted breast | |
| Low on the turf shall rest, | |
| Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by. | 40 |
| |
| Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving, | |
| Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail, | |
| Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving, | |
| Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale; | |
| Far as the tempest thrills | 45 |
| Over the darkened hills, | |
| Far as the sunshine streams over the plain, | |
| Roused by the tyrant band, | |
| Woke all the mighty land, | |
| Girded for battle, from mountain to main. | 50 |
| |
| Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying! | |
| Shroudless and tombless they sunk to their rest,— | |
| While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying | |
| Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest. | |
| Borne on her Northern pine, | 55 |
| Long o'er the foaming brine | |
| Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun; | |
| Heaven keep her ever free | |
| Wide as o'er land and sea | |
| Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won! | 60 |
