HARK, hark! down the century’s long reaching slope | |
| To those transports of triumph, those raptures of hope, | |
| The voices of main and of mountain combined | |
| In glad resonance borne on the wings of the wind, | |
| The bass of the drum and the trumpet that thrills | 5 |
| Through the multiplied echoes of jubilant hills. | |
| And mark how the years melting upward like mist | |
| Which the breath of some splendid enchantment has kissed, | |
| Reveal on the ocean, reveal on the shore | |
| The proud pageant of conquest that graced them of yore, | 10 |
| When blended forever in love as in fame | |
| See, the standard which stole from the starlight its flame, | |
| And type of all chivalry, glory, romance, | |
| The lilies, the luminous lilies of France. | |
| |
| Oh, stubborn the strife ere the conflict was won! | 15 |
| And the wild whirling war wrack half stifled the sun. | |
| The thunders of cannon that boomed on the lea, | |
| But re-echoed far thunders pealed up from the sea, | |
| Where guarding his sea lists, a knight on the waves, | |
| Bold De Grasse kept at bay the bluff bull-dogs of Graves. | 20 |
| The day turned to darkness, the night changed to fire, | |
| Still more fierce waxed the combat, more deadly the ire, | |
| Undimmed by the gloom, in majestic advance, | |
| Oh, behold where they ride o’er the red battle tide, | |
| Those banners united in love as in fame, | 25 |
| The brave standard which drew from the star-beams their flame, | |
| And type of all chivalry, glory, romance, | |
| The lilies, the luminous lilies of France. | |
| |
| No respite, no pause; by the York’s tortured flood, | |
| The grim Lion of England is writhing in blood. | 30 |
| Cornwallis may chafe and coarse Tarleton aver, | |
| As he sharpens his broadsword and buckles his spur, | |
| “This blade, which so oft has reaped rebels like grain, | |
| Shall now harvest for death the rude yeomen again.” | |
| Vain boast! for ere sunset he’s flying in fear, | 35 |
| With the rebels he scouted close, close in his rear, | |
| While the French on his flank hurl such volleys of shot | |
| That e’en Gloucester’s redoubt must be growing too hot. | |
| Thus wedded in love as united in fame, | |
| Lo! the standard which stole from the starlight its flame, | 40 |
| And type of all chivalry, glory, romance, | |
| The lilies, the luminous lilies of France. | |
| |
| O morning superb! when the siege reached its close; | |
| See! the sundawn outbloom, like the alchemist’s rose! | |
| The last wreaths of smoke from dim trenches upcurled, | 45 |
| Are transformed to a glory that smiles on the world. | |
| Joy, joy! Save the wan, wasted front of the foe, | |
| With his battle-flags furled and his arms trailing low;— | |
| Respect for the brave! In stern silence they yield, | |
| And in silence they pass with bowed heads from the field. | 50 |
| Then triumph transcendent! so Titan of tone | |
| That some vowed it must startle King George on his throne. | |
| |
| When Peace to her own, timed the pulse of the land, | |
| And the war weapon sank from the war-wearied hand, | |
| Young Freedom upborne to the height of the goal | 55 |
| She had yearned for so long with deep travail of soul, | |
| A song of her future raised, thrilling and clear, | |
| Till the woods leaned to hearken, the hill slopes to hear:— | |
| Yet fraught with all magical grandeurs that gleam | |
| On the hero’s high hope, or the patriot’s dream, | 60 |
| What future, though bright, in cold shadow shall cast | |
| The proud beauty that haloes the brow of the past. | |
| Oh! wedded in love, as united in fame, | |
| See the standard which stole from the starlight its flame, | |
| And type of all chivalry, glory, romance, | 65 |
| The lilies, the luminous lilies of France. | |
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