William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
LexingtonProsper Montgomery Wetmore (1798–1876)
’T
The seraph-rest that knows no care—
Still, as the slumbering summer deep
When the blue heaven lies dream-like there,
Blending with thoughts of that azure steep,
The bright, the beautiful, and fair;
Like hopes that win from heaven their hue,
As fair, as fleeting, and as few,
Those tranquil Eden-moments flew:
The morn beheld the battle strife—
The blow for blow—the life for life—
The deed of daring done;
The Rubicon of doubt was past,
An empire lost, a birthright won—
When Freedom’s banner braved the blast,
Flashing its splendours far and fast
From crimson’d Lexington!
On that eventful day,
And men were there who ne’er had been
The movers in a fray;
The peaceful and the silent came
With darkling brows and flashing eyes;
And breasts, that knew not glory’s flame,
Burn’d for the patriot sacrifice!
No pomp of march, no proud array,
There spake no trumpet sound,
But they pressed, when the morn broke dim and gray,
Dauntless, that conflict ground;
Sadly, as if some tie were broken—
Firmly, with eye and lip severe—
Dark glances pass’d and words were spoken,
As men will look and speak in fear;
Yet coursed no coward blood
Where that lone phalanx stood
Rock-like, but spirit-wrought;
A strange, unwonted feeling crept
Through every breast; all memories slept,
While passion there a vigil kept
O’er one consuming thought—
To live a fetter’d slave,
Or fill a freeman’s grave!
The clenched fingers spake full well
The stem resolve, the fearlessness,
That danger could not quell:
Yet some, with hasty hand,
The rust-encumber’d brand
Had snatched from its peaceful sleep,
And held it now with a grasp that told
A freeman’s life should be dearly sold—
’Twas courage stern and deep!
From a field their arms have won,
With bugle blast and beat of drum,
The Briton host came on!
Their banners unfurl’d and gayly streaming;
Their burnish’d arms in the sunlight gleaming;
Fearless of peril, with valour high,
And in reckless glee, they were idly dreaming
Of a bloodless triumph nigh:
The heavy tread of the war-horse prancing;
The lightning-gleam of the bayonets glancing,
Broke on the ear, and flash’d on the eye,
As the column’d foe, in their strength advancing,
Peal’d their war-notes to the echoing sky!
With the dragon-flag upborne in air;
For England gather’d then her pride,
The bravest of a warrior land
Names to heroic deeds allied,
The strong of heart and hand.
They came in their panoplied might,
In the pride of their chivalrous name;
For music to them were the sounds of the fight—
On the red carnage-field was their altar of fame:
They came, as the ocean-wave comes in its wrath,
When the storm-spirit frowns on the deep;
They came as the mountain-wind comes on its path,
When the tempest hath roused it from sleep:
They were met, as the rock meets the wave,
And dashes its fury to air;
They were met, as the foe should be met by the brave,
With hearts for the conflict, but not for despair!
Not mercy’s voice, nor a thrill of fear;
’Tis the dread recoil of the dooming wave,
Ere it sweeps the bark to its yawning grave;
’Tis the fearful hour of the brooding storm,
Ere the lightning-bolt hath sped;
The shock hath come! and the life-blood warm
Congeals on the breasts of the dead!
The strife, the taunt, the death-cry loud,
Are pealing through the sulphurous cloud,
As, hand to hand, each foe engages;
While hearts that ne’er to monarch bow’d,
And belted knights, to the combat crowd—
A fearless throng the contest wages;
And eye to eye, the meek, the proud,
Meet darkly ’neath the battle shroud,
’Tis the feast of death where the conflict rages!
Death-dealing fiend of war!
Thy battle hoofs are dyed in gore,
Red havoc drives thy car;
Wo! for the dark and desolate,
Down crush’d beneath thy tread;
Thy frown hath been as a withering fate
To the mourning and the dead!
Wo! for the pleasant cottage-home,
The love-throng at the door;
Vainly they think his step will come—
Their cherish’d comes no more!
Wo! for the broken-hearted,
The lone one by the hearth;
Wo! for the bliss departed,
The Pleiad gone from earth!
For the foe of the banner’d line;
And the host that came at morn in state,
Were a broken throng ere the sun’s decline;
And many a warrior’s heart was cold,
And many a soaring spirit crush’d,
Where the crimson tide of battle roll’d,
And the avenging legions rush’d.
And glory’s meed for the perish’d!
No sculptor’s art may their forms restore,
But the hero-names are cherish’d;
When voiced on the wind rose the patriot-call,
They gave no thought to the gory pall,
But press’d to the fight as a festival!
They bared them to the sabre-stroke,
Nor quail’d an eye when the fury broke;
They fought like men who dared to die,
For freedom! was their battle-cry,
And loud it rang through the conflict smoke!
With an eagle-flight,
To the far blue sky;
’Tis a glorious sight,
As they float abroad in the azure light,
And their fame shall never die!
For deeds that gild the olden age,
Shining the meteor lights of story;
England with swelling pride shall hear
Of Cressy’s field, and old Poictiers,
And deathless Agincourt;
Fair Gallia point with a kindling eye
To the days of her belted chivalry,
And her gallant Troubadour;
Old Scotia, too, with joy shall turn
Where beams the fight of Bannockburn,
And Stirling’s field of glory!
Land of the free! though young in fame,
Earth may not boast a nobler name:
Platæa’s splendour is not thine,
Leuctra, nor Marathon;
Yet look where lives in glory’s line,
The day of Lexington!