|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 82
They are ringing peace, and the spring-time blooms
Like a garden fresh and fair;
But our martyrs sleep in their silent tombs--
Do _they_ hear that sound--do they hear?
They are ringing peace, and the battle-cry
And the bayonet's work are done,
And the armor bright they are laying by,
From the brave sire to the son.
And the musket's clang, and the soldier's drill,
And the tattoo's nightly sound;
We shall hear no more, with a joyous thrill,
Peace, peace, they are ringing round!
There are women, still as the stifled air
On the burning desert's track,
Not a cry of joy, not a welcome cheer--
And their brave ones coming back!
There are fair young heads in their morning pride,
Like the lilies pale they bow;
Just a memory left to the soldier's bride--
Ah, God! sustain her now!
There are martial steps that we may not hear!
There are forms we may not see!
Death's muster roll they have answered clear,
_They are free! thank God, they are free!_
Not a fetter fast, nor a prisoner's chain
For the noble army gone--
No conqueror comes o'er the heavenly plain--
Peace, _peace to the dead alone!_
They are ringing peace, but strangers tread
O'er the land where our fathers trod,
And our birthright joys, like a dream, have fled,
And _Thou!_ where art _Thou_, 0 God!
They are ringing peace! _not here, not here,_
Where the victor's mark is set;
Roll back to the North its mocking cheer--
No peace to the Southland yet!
We may sheathe the sword, and the rifle-gun
We may hang on the cottage wall,
And the bayonet brave, sharp duty done,
From, the soldier's arm it may fall.
But peace!--no peace! till the same good sword,
Drawn out from its scabbard be,
And the wide world list to my country's word,
And the South! oh, the South, be free!
Charleston Broadside.
Ballad--"What! Have Ye Thought?"
Charleston Mercury.
I.
What! have ye thought to pluck
Victory from chance and luck,
Triumph from clamorous shout, without a will?
Without the heart to brave
All peril to the grave,
And battle on its brink, unshrinking still?
II.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|