47. our mountain soldiers.
by Marion Douglas.
Hurrah! hurrah! let traitor heartsAnd traitor hands be wary;
Our country calls her eagle down,
From off her mountain eyry!
As chainless as the streams that leap,
Amid their granite ledges;
As hardy as the pines that spring
Around their mountain edges,
They come, the heroes of the North I!
In all their gallant daring;
The trusty bayonet and gun,
The starry banner bearing.
As bright, as when its beauty nerved
Our fathers' hearts of iron;
As when, before its burning stars
Fled back the British Lion!
What if, with hands unused to hold
The musket or the sabre,
They looked for calmer scenes of toil,
And humble fields of labor.
The simple garb of peaceful life
No coward spirits wore it;
The wind, that stirs the corn, may rise
And drive the clouds before it.
[37] Their country's sword! no quiet joys
Could tempt them to refuse it!
The deathless courage in their hearts
Shall teach them how to use it.
They leave not, conscript-like, their homes,
All dreary and benighted;
The fire, that glows within their hearts,
Was at their hearth-stones lighted!
The fairest scenes, the dearest eyes--
They manfully resigned them;
Their parting words, though brief and sad,
Left prouder friends behind them.
And not unblessed they come; their brows
Were kissed by saintly mothers;
Fond wives will for their husbands pray,
And sisters for their brothers.
Then speed them forward! they shall write
Our country's proudest story--
Or, if they die, their falling place
Will be the field of glory!
Hurrah! hurrah! let traitor hearts
And traitor hands be wary;
Our country calls her eagle down,
From off her mountain eyry.
