31. for the Times.
by Sarah M. Brownson.
Sound the trumpets, roll the drums,The Queen of Nations conquering comes;
She leaves her throne in all her power--
Long shall the traitor rue the hour!
Hark! hark! to her loud battle-cry,
The wild eagle shrieks reply:
With talons wide and pinion spread,
He rushes o'er the mountain's head;
A moment now his broad wings droop,
Ere yet he makes the deadly swoop,
Ah! woe, woe to the traitor's heart this day,
His blood shall stain the mountain's clay.
Sound the trumpets, roll the drums,
The whirlwind through the forest comes--
A mighty rush of armed men,
Down the mountain, through the glen;
Like an avalanche in their might,
They come! they come! God speed the right!
Bright their peerless fronts are beaming;
Bright their deadly arms are gleaming;
Proud their dauntless hearts are bounding--
Through the country far resounding,
Like a mighty river broadly gushing,
You can hear their angry rushing;
The steady Guard and light Zouave--
The raven scents the rebel's grave.
Strike for the land where heroes fought,
For the land their best blood has bought;
Strike for peaceful homes despoiled,
For Sumter's flag all rent and soiled;
Strike — your brother's bones be white
Low on the plain, as they fell in fight;
Strike — your sister weeps a husband slain,
Not as warrior brave on battle-plain,
But murdered by the fiends that swell
The first secession list in hell.
Now bravely do, and bravely dare,
No traitor foe shall breathe our air.
