Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee, But here, this side the sea! Toll here, in broad, bright day! For not by night awaits A noble foe without the gates, But perjured friends within betray, Toll! Roland, toll! Thy sound is not too soon! To Arms! Ring out the Leader's call! Reëcho it from East to West, Till every hero's breast Shall swell beneath a soldier's crest! Till cottager from cottage wall Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun! Till swords from scabbards leap! What tears can widows weep Less bitter than when brave men fall? Toll! Roland, toll! In shadowed hut and hall Shall lie the soldier's pall, And hearts shall break while graves are filled! Amen! So God has willed! And may his grace anoint us all! Toll! Roland, toll! The Dragon on thy tower And Freedom so stands safe in Ghent ! And in the land's serene content So let it be ; A kingly king is he Who keeps his people free! Toll! Roland, toll! Ring out across the sea! No longer They but We Have now such need of thee! Toll! Roland, toll! Nor ever may thy throat Keep dumb its warning note Till Freedom's perils be outbraved! Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved, Toll! Roland, toll! From Northern lake to Southern strand, Till friend and foe, at thy command, Toll! Roland, toll! T. Tilton. CCCXXVII. THE MASSACHUSETTS LINE. STILL first, as long and long ago, Let Massachusetts muster: Give her the post right next the foe; She never faltered for the right, Fling up her name with all your might; In peace, her sails fleck all the seas; It is hers first to front the Mob, God bless, God bless, the glorious State! She'll go where batteries crash with fate, Give her the Right, and let her try; 66 CCCXXVIII. ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. MOVE my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, In the sunshine bright and strong, For this world is fading, Pompey On the shores of Tennessee. "Mournful though the ripples murmur, As they still the story tell, I shall listen to their music, Dreaming that again I see Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop, "And, Pompey, while old massa's waiting For death's last despatch to come, If that exiled starry banner Should come proudly sailing home, Voice and hand shall both be free R. Lowell "Massa's berry kind to Pompey; But ole darkey's happy here, Where he's tended corn and cotton For 'ese many a long-gone year. Over yonder Missis 's sleeping No one tends her grave like me; Mebbie she would miss the flowers She used to love in Tennessee. "'Pears like she was watching Massa If Pompey should beside him stay, Mebbie she'd remember better How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven While he lived in Tennessee." Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, Master dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bid the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride. Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee, Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ralph Vervair, of Tennessee. Still the south wind fondly lingers 'Mid the veteran's silvery hair; Still the bondman close beside him |