The light there lightens, the day there brightens, The loud wind there lives free: Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me That I wad hear or see.
But O gin I were there again, Afar ayont the faem, Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed That haps my sires at hame!
We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair, And the sweet grey gleaming sky, And the lordly strand of Northumberland, And the goodly towers thereby; And none shall know but the winds that blow The graves wherein we lie.
Swinburne.
[CXIX]
THE REVEILLÉ
Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armèd men the hum; Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum,— Saying, ‘Come, Freemen, come! Ere your heritage be wasted,’ said the quick alarming drum.
‘Let me of my heart take counsel: War is not of life the sum; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come?’ But the drum Echoed, ‘Come! Death shall reap the braver harvest,’ said the solemn-sounding drum.
‘But when won the coming battle, What of profit springs therefrom? What if conquest, subjugation, Even greater ills become?’ But the drum Answered, ‘Come! You must do the sum to prove it,’ said the Yankee-answering drum.
‘What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder, Whistling shot and bursting bomb, When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb?’ But the drum Answered, ‘Come! Better there in death united, than in life a recreant,—Come!’
Thus they answered,—hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, ‘My chosen people, come!’ Then the drum, Lo! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, ‘Lord, we come!’