There are noble hearts in that lonely home,
And Harris, the leader, is soon to come.
They hear him now, as they firmly tread
O’er the fallen leaves and the flowers dead:
“Halt”—the low, deep summons is soon obeyed,
And Harris moves out from the tall tree’s shade.
There’s a light in his eye, and a stern command
In the haughty wave of his ungloved hand,
As he lifts the cap from his high, white brow,
And says, “My men, be ready now.