Canst not near copse and wold
Tarry, then yonder,
Ripe figs and apple-gold
Seeking, we'll wander;
Grapes too shall woo our hand,
Grapes from the mantling vine.
Ah, let this dearest land,
Dear one, be thine!
EUPHORION
Dream ye of peaceful day?
Dream on, while dream ye may!
War! is the signal cry,
Hark! cries of victory!
CHORUS
War who desireth
While peace doth reign,
To joy aspireth
Henceforth in vain.
EUPHORION
All whom this land hath bred,
Through peril onward led,
Free, of undaunted mood,
Still lavish of their blood,
With soul untaught to yield,
Rending each chain!
To such the bloody field,
Brings glorious gain.
CHORUS
High he soars,—mark, upward gazing,—
And to us not small doth seem:
Victor-like, in harness blazing,
As of steel and brass the gleam!