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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), 23. Rhode Island to the South. (search)
23. Rhode Island to the South. by Gen. F. W. Lander. Once on New England's bloody heights, And o'er a Southern plain, Our fathers fought for sovereign rights, That working men might reign. And by that only Lord we serve, The great Jehovah's name; By those sweet lips that ever nerve High hearts to deeds of fame; By all that makes the man a king, The household hearth a throne-- Take back the idle scoff ye fling, Where freedom claims its own. For though our battle hope was vague Upon Manassas' plain, Where Slocum stood with gallant Sprague, And gave his life in vain; Before we yield the holy trust Our old forefathers gave, Or wrong New England's hallowed dust, Or grant the wrongs ye crave-- We'll print in kindred gore so deep The shore we love to tread, That woman's eyes shall fail to weep O'er man's unnumbered dead.
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 60 (search)
28. poetry by Gen. Lander. The following stanzas were written by Brig.-Gen. Lander, on hearing that the Confederate troops had said that Fewer of the Massachusetts officers would have been killed if they had not been too proud to surrender. We trust that the suggestion in the last stanza will be promptly met, and the Twentieth Massachusetts be at once recruited to its full complement. “ours.” Aye, deem us proud! for we are more Than proud of all our mighty dead; Proud of the bleak Brig.-Gen. Lander, on hearing that the Confederate troops had said that Fewer of the Massachusetts officers would have been killed if they had not been too proud to surrender. We trust that the suggestion in the last stanza will be promptly met, and the Twentieth Massachusetts be at once recruited to its full complement. “ours.” Aye, deem us proud! for we are more Than proud of all our mighty dead; Proud of the bleak and rock-bound shore A crowned oppressor cannot tread. Proud of each rock, and wood, and glen, Of every river, lake, and plain; Proud of the calm and earnest men Who claim the right and will to reign. Proud of the men who gave us birth, Who battled with the stormy wave, To sweep the red man from the earth, And build their homes upon his grave. Proud of the holy summer morn, They traced in blood upon its sod; The rights of freemen yet unborn, Proud of their language and their God. Proud, that b