In after time, when spleen and strife
Their madd'ning flame shall have expired,
The noble deeds that gemm'd this life
By Age and Youth will be admired.
As o'er the stream the boatmen rove
By Pittsburg Bend at early Spring,
They'll show with moist'ning eye the grave
Where havoc spread her sable wing.
There, 'neath the budding foliage green,
Ere Night evolved her dewy breath,
While Vict'ry smiled upon the scene,
Our Chieftain met the blow of death.
Great men to come will bless the brave;
The soldier, bronzed in War's career,
Shall weave a chaplet o'er his grave,
While Mem'ry drops the glist'ning tear.
Though envy wag her scorpion tongue,
The march of Time shall find his fame;
Where Bravery's loved and Glory's sung,
There children's lips shall lisp his name.
"Not Doubtful of Your Fatherland."
I.
Not doubtful of your fatherland,
Or of the God who gave it;
On, Southrons! 'gainst the hireling band
That struggle to enslave it;
Ring boldly out
Your battle-shout,
Charge fiercely 'gainst these felon hordes:
One hour of strife
Is freedom's life,
And glory hangs upon your swords!
II.
A thousand mothers' matron eyes,
Wives, sisters, daughters weeping,
Watch, where your virgin banner flies,
To battle fiercely sweeping:
Though science fails,
The steel prevails,
When hands that wield, own hearts of oak:
These, though the wall
Of stone may fall,
Grow stronger with each hostile stroke.