Bear but the memory of my love about thee in the fight,
To breathe upon th’ avenging sword a spell of keener might.
And a maiden’s fond adieu was heard,
Though deep, yet brief and low:
“In the vigil, in the conflict, love!
My prayer shall with thee go!”
“Come forth! come as the torrent comes when the winter’s chain is burst!
So rushes on the land’s revenge, in night and silence nursed.
The night is pass’d, the silence o’er—on all our hills we rise:
We wait thee, youth! sleep, dream no more! the voice of battle cries.”