“Our grand old Army held the ridge, and won that glorious day!”
DARTMOUTH ODE.
I.
PRELUDE.
A wind and a voice from the North!
A courier-wind sent forth
From the mountains to the sea:
A summons borne to me
From halls which the Muses haunt, from hills where the heart and the wind are free!
“Come from the outer throng!”
(Such was the burden it bore,)