Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington!
When the battle is fought and won,
What shall be told of you?
Hark!—’tis the south-wind moans,—
Who are the martyrs down?
Ah, the marrow was true in your children’s bones
That sprinkled with blood the cursèd stones
Of the murder-haunted town!
What if the storm-clouds blow?
What if the green leaves fall?