In the blood which heroes gave it, And its foes now scorn and brave it: Furl it, hide it, let it rest!
Take that Banner down! 'tis tattered; Broken is its staff and shattered, And the valiant hosts are scattered Over whom it floated high;
Oh, 'tis hard for us to fold it, Hard to think there's none to hold it, Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh!
Furl that Banner-furl it sadly; Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, And ten thousands wildly, madly,
Swore it should forever wave
Swore that foemen's swords could never Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, And that flag should float forever
O'er their freedom or their grave!
Furl it! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low; And the Banner-it is trailing, While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe;
For though conquered, they adore it— Love the cold dead hands that bore it, Weep for those who fell before it, Pardon those who trailed and tore it; And oh, wildly they deplore it,
Now to furl and fold it so!
Furl that Banner! True, 'tis gory, Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory, And 'twill live in song and story
Though its folds are in the dust!
For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shall go sounding down the ages—
Furl its folds though now we must!
Furl that Banner, softly, slowly; Treat it gently-it is holy,
For it droops above the dead;
Touch it not-unfold it never; Let it droop there, furled forever,— For its people's hopes are fled.
IN THE LAND WHERE WE WERE DREAMING.
FAIR were our visions! Oh, they were as grand As ever floated out of faerie land;
Children were we in single faith,
But God-like children, whom nor death Nor threat nor danger drove from honor's path, In the land where we were dreaming.
Proud were our men, as pride of birth could render; As violets, our women pure and tender;
And when they spoke, their voice did thrill Until at eve the whip-poor-will,
At morn the mocking-bird, were mute and still, In the land where we were dreaming.
And we had graves that covered more of glory Than ever tracked tradition's ancient story; And in our dream we wove the thread Of principles for which had bled
And suffered long our own immortal dead, In the land where we were dreaming.
Though in our land we had both bond and free, Both were content; and so God let them be ;-
'Till envy coveted our land,
And those fair fields our valor won;
But little recked we, for we still slept on, In the land where we were dreaming.
Our sleep grew troubled and our dreams grew wild-
Red meteors flashed across our heaven's field; Crimson the moon; between the Twins Barbed arrows fly, and then begins
Such strife as when disorder's Chaos reigns, In the land where we were dreaming.
Down from her sun-lit heights smiled Liberty And waved her cap in sign of Victory- The world approved, and everywhere, Except where growled the Russian bear, The good, the brave, the just gave us their prayer In the land where we were dreaming.
We fancied that a Government was ours
We challenged place among the world's great powers;
We talked in sleep of Rank, Commission, Until so life-like grew our vision
That he who dared to doubt but met derision, In the land where we were dreaming.
We looked on high: a banner there was seen, Whose field was blanched and spotless in its sheen- Chivalry's cross its Union bears,
And veterans swearing by their scars Vowed they would bear it through a hundred wars, In the land where we were dreaming.
A hero came amongst us as we slept; At first he lowly knelt-then rose and wept ; Then gathering up a thousand spears
He swept across the field of Mars;
Then bowed farewell and walked beyond the stars, In the land where we were dreaming.
We looked again: another figure still Gave hope, and nerved each individual will— Full of grandeur, clothed with power, Self-poised, erect, he ruled the hour
With stern, majestic sway-of strength a tower, In the land where we were dreaming.
As, while great Jove, in bronze, a warder God, Gazed eastward from the Forum where he stood, Rome felt herself secure and free,
So, "Richmond's safe," we said, while we Beheld a bronzéd hero-God-like Lee,
In the land where we were dreaming.
As wakes the soldier when the alarum calls- As wakes the mother when the infant falls- As starts the traveller when around His sleeping couch the fire-bells sound— So woke our nation with a single bound, In the land where we were dreaming.
Woe! woe is me! the startled mother cried— While we have slept our noble sons have died! Woe! woe is me! how strange and sad That all our glorious vision's filed,
And left us nothing real but the dead, In the land where we were dreaming.
NOT as when some great Captain falls In battle, where his country calls, Beyond the struggling lines That push his dread designs
To doom, by some stray ball struck dead: Or, in the last charge, at the head
Of his determined men,
Who must be victors then.
Nor as when sink the civic great, The safer pillars of the State,
Whose calm, mature, wise words Suppress the need of swords.
With no such tears as e'er were shed Above the noblest of our dead
Do we to-day deplore
The Man that is no more.
Our sorrow hath a wider scope, Too strange for fear, too vast for hope, A wonder, blind and dumb, That waits-what is to come!
Not more astounded had we been If Madness, that dark night, unseen, Had in our chambers crept,
And murdered while we slept.
We woke to find a mourning earth, Our Lares shivered on the hearth, The roof-tree fallen, all That could affright, appall!
Such thunderbolts, in other lands, Have sinitten the rod from royal hands, But spared, with us, till now, Each laurelled Cæsar's brow.
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