51. the American war.Hark to the sound of the war-charger prancing
The red gory field of yon mighty domain;
Where kinsmen and brothers to death are advancing,
And father and son swell the ranks of the slain.
Their trumpets are sounding slave emancipation!
What genius awoke that harmonical strain,
Or charmed it to slumber in vile degradation,
Till union extinction had kindled the, flame?
Ye sons of Columbia, your rigor surrender,
The sun of your glory descends into night;
Your grandsires, who bled for your freedom and splendor,
In union combined ye — then why do ye fight?
Your maidens are sighing amidst their devotion,
For loved ones laid low in the flower of their bloom;
Hearts that responded each tender emotion
Lie silent and cold in the warrior's tomb.
The daisies may wave where the pale lips were parted,
In hateful reproach, or in anguish to pray;
And spirits unfettered their prison deserted,
Surveyed them with horror, and fled in dismay.
Be still, little baby, your mother is weeping--
In secret she whispers the name of her dear,
Your father, so young and so noble, is sleeping--
The wail of his darling falls dead on his ear.
Oh! when shall Columbia her freedom inherit,
And peace, like an angel, descend with a smile;
Or fate send a hero, with Washington's merit,
To stay the red surge that overwhelms the soil?