By JAMES BARRON HOPE.
Bornfree, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!By all the stars which burn on high—By the green earth—the mighty sea—By God's unshaken majesty,We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!Let all the trumpets blow!Mind, heart, and soul,We spurn controlAttempted by a foe!Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!And, vainly now the Northmen tryTo beat us down—in arms we standTo strike for this our native land!We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!Born free, we thus resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!Our wives and children look on high,Pray God to smile upon the right!And bid us in the deadly fightAs freemen live or die!Then let the drums all roll!Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!And ere we cease this battle-cry,Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt,On bayonet or sabre hilt!We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!Defiant let the banners fly,Shake out their glories to the air,And kneeling, brothers, let us swearWe will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!And to this oath the dead reply—Our valiant fathers' sacred ghosts—These with us, and the God of hosts,We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!
Bornfree, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!By all the stars which burn on high—By the green earth—the mighty sea—By God's unshaken majesty,We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!Let all the trumpets blow!Mind, heart, and soul,We spurn controlAttempted by a foe!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!And, vainly now the Northmen tryTo beat us down—in arms we standTo strike for this our native land!We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, we thus resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!Our wives and children look on high,Pray God to smile upon the right!And bid us in the deadly fightAs freemen live or die!Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!And ere we cease this battle-cry,Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt,On bayonet or sabre hilt!We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!Defiant let the banners fly,Shake out their glories to the air,And kneeling, brothers, let us swearWe will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:By Heaven, we will be free!And to this oath the dead reply—Our valiant fathers' sacred ghosts—These with us, and the God of hosts,We will be free or die!Then let the drums all roll!
[Southern.]
CIVIL WAR
CIVIL WAR
By CHARGES DAWSON SHANLY.
[In many collections this poem is entitled "The Fancy Shot." It was first published in London, in the paper calledOnce-a-Week, and was there entitled "Civile Bellum." It is believed to be the work of Charles Dawson Shanly, who died in 1876.—Editor.]
"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shotStraight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;Ring me a ball in the glittering spotThat shines on his breast like an amulet!""Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,There's music around when my barrel's in tune!"Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon."Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatchFrom your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;A button, a loop, or that luminous patchThat gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!""O captain! I staggered and sunk on my track,When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet."But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.""Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'tis she,My brother's young bride,—and the fallen dragoonWas her husband—Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree,We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!"But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;War is a virtue, weakness a sin;There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;—Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"
"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shotStraight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;Ring me a ball in the glittering spotThat shines on his breast like an amulet!"
"Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,There's music around when my barrel's in tune!"Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.
"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatchFrom your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;A button, a loop, or that luminous patchThat gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"
"O captain! I staggered and sunk on my track,When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.
"But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."
"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'tis she,My brother's young bride,—and the fallen dragoonWas her husband—Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree,We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!
"But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;War is a virtue, weakness a sin;There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;—Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"