73. the call for Volunteers.
by George W. Bungay.I.
The thunder of the rebel's gun,
Before the morn had seen the sun,
Proclaimed the treason of the traitors,
Where the tide heaves its breast, and sighs,
And the free waves in tumult rise,
And the free winds are agitators.
Hot shells explode in lurid glare,
Like meteors in morning air,
Hoarse cannon unto cannon calling.
War's tropic tempest fiercely rains,
Belching red fire in crinkling chains,
The iron drops on Sumter falling.
Shall our good swords in scabbards rust,
Our flag, dishonored, trail in dust,
When rebels seek our subjugation?
Perish the thought! our blades are drawn,
Thick as the summer blades of corn,
Swift to defend our bleeding nation.
The breach in Sumter's battered walls,
With black lips to the nation calls,
To rise, from inland to the borders.
Our flag of stars, by traitors' slaves
Trod in the dust, in triumph waves
With stripes for cowards and marauders.
Oh, clang the old bell in the tower,
That spoke for Freedom in the hour
“That tried the souls” of bravest mortals.
Let patriots rock old Faneuil Hall,
And mantles on our heroes fall,
From those who climbed Fame's starry portals
We have a chief whose battle soars
Were won beneath the Stripes and Stars,
Whose name will live in song and story.
Green are the laurels he has won--
Our Scott stands next to Washington
Upon the radiant scroll of glory.