Haste! form your lines again, ye brave and true!
Haste, haste! your triumphs and your joys suspending.
Th’ invader comes: your banners raise anew,
Rush to the strife, your country’s call attending!
Victors! why pause ye?—Are ye weak and few?—
Ay! such he deem’d you, and for this descending,
He waits you on the field ye know too well,
The same red war-field where your brethren fell.
O thou devoted land! that canst not rear
In peace thine offspring; thou, the lost and won,