Nor bade the horn peal out;
And the laurel groves, as on they pass’d,
Rang with no battle-shout!
They ask’d no clarion’s voice to fire
Their souls with an impulse high;
But the Dorian reed and the Spartan lyre
For the sons of liberty!
And still sweet flutes their path around
Sent forth Æolian breath;
They needed not a sterner sound