Shall ever on dane and terver, To all their heavily Colors True Then hail the banner of the free, Olion Wendell Homes POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. BREATHES THERE THE MAN. FROM "THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL," CANTO VI. BREATHES there the man with soul so dead This is my own, my native land! From wandering on a foreign strand? To the vile dust from whence he sprung, SIR WALTER SCOTT. MY COUNTRY. THERE is a land, of every land the pride, Before the gates of Sutrium Is met the great array; A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon the trysting-day. For all the Etruscan armies Prince of the Latian name. But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright; From all the spacious champaign To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city The throng stopped up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see Through two long nights and days. For aged folk on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers, sobbing over babes That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters High on the necks of slaves, And troops of sunburned husbandmen With reaping-hooks and staves, And droves of mules and asses Laden with skins of wine, And endless flocks of goats and sheep, And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of wagons, That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate. Now, from the rock Tarpeian, They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came With tidings of dismay. To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands, Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. I wis, in all the Senate There was no heart so bold Up rose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns, And hied them to the wall. They held a council, standing Before the River-gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly: "The bridge must straight go down ; For, since Janiculum is lost, Naught else can save the town." Just then a scout came flying, All wild with haste and fear : "To arms! to arms! Sir Consul, Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come; In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of spears. And plainly and more plainly, Above that glimmering line, Of twelve fair cities shine; And plainly and more plainly Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest, There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen; And Astur of the fourfold shield, Girt with the brand none else may wield; Tolumnius with the belt of gold, And dark Verbenna from the hold By reedy Thrasymene. |