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The battle lost by England's hate,
By England's love is won!
We braved the iron tempest
That thundered on our shore;
But when did kindness fail to find
The key to Finland's door?
No more from Aland's ramparts
Shall warning signal come,
Nor startled Sweaborg hear again
The roll of midnight drum.
Beside our fierce Black Eagle
The Dove of Peace shall rest;
And in the mouths of cannon
The sea-bird make her nest.
For Finland, looking seaward,
No coming foe shall scan;
And the holy bells of Abo
Shall ring, “ Good — will to man!”
Then row thy boat, O fisher!
In peace on lake and bay;
And thou, young maiden, dance again
Around the poles of May!
Sit down, old men, together,
Old wives, in quiet spin;
Henceforth the Anglo-Saxon
Is the brother of the Finn! “
1856.
Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company, 1888-89.
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