pon it, was the heroic injunction of a Spartan mother. Sound the trumpet, sound!
The die is cast, The rubicon of fate is passed, The loyal and the rebel hosts, Kentucky, throng thy leaguered coasts, And on the issue of the strife Hang peace and liberty and life; All that the storied past endears, And all the hopes of coming year glory, Still pressing where the starry light Streamed like a meteor o'er the fight, Till their expiring bosoms poured The red libation of the sword, Would leave Kentucky now, or thrust Her beaming forehead in the dust, Where treason's reptiles writhe and hiss Like fiends shut out from Eden's bliss? Better the freeman's lowliest ge as accursed-- Day shall be cheerless — no repose At night thy swollen eye shall close-- Lift to indignant Heaven thine eye, Curse God in black despair and die! Kentucky, hast thou son so base Thy fame unsullied would disgrace? Attaint his blood, disown his race, His line, his very name efface. Then charge!
thy grand battalions