A TRIBUTE OF SYMPATHY TO THE DEFENDERS OF GLEN LYNDEN.
Away! Away! Away!
There are patriot voices calling!
Glen Lynden’s band
Holds the foe in hand,
Though its watch-worn sons are falling.
Away to the mountain glen!
Where the warwhoop wild is yelling,
And the savage howls
As he darkly scowls
On the white man’s flame-wrapped dwelling.
There is life-blood reeking there!
Where our slaughtered friends are lying;
Not boldly slain
On the battle-plain,
But each by his hearth-stone dying.
Away Away! Away!
To horse, to rifle springing,
While the widow’s sigh
And the orphan’s cry
In our ears,—in our hearts are ringing!
They were dwelling in peaceful vales,
Nor fear nor danger knowing;
’Midst their flocks spread wide
O’er the mountain side,
And milk and honey flowing.
The vine and the fig-tree’s cheer;—
The cornfields waving gladness,
The shearer’s throng,
And the reaper’s song
Left cause nor room for sadness.
There was childhood’s guileless glee,—
There was maiden beauty blooming;
There was ripe old age,
With its wisdom sage,
And its honour,—life perfuming.
And there were thankful hearts
For peace and plenty given;
The voice of prayer
Ascended there
And the song of praise to heaven.