The south-western. [volume] (Shreveport, La.) 1852-1870, 1855-02-07
For the South -Westerr.

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For the South -Wester
Before the Battle.
On the evening before the battle OF brandyWin
the rev. Jacob Trout made stirring appeal 10 U
soldiers Of the continental army, in the presence
Washington, Sullivan and Wayne
IT'S The stiffness of evenfng-he steeds Of the sun
From their names flashing fakes of warm amber, hai
run -
TO earth's verge; upon woodlands and hamlet an
The loud pulses of being moment grow stiu,
Through the silence, a desolate nurmur hear,
And tie echo of war rushes wild on my ear
With vision prophetic, gaze Ger the scene,
There is blood In the sunshine and blood on the greer
There's tremor Of earth and peaiIng Of drums,
Like host that with banners, indignantly comes
a mingling Of bugles sweeps by from afar
And a Ieaping of blades to the tecsin war;
And the coming of morn to his eye shall reveal
The streaming Of banners--a forest Of steel.
From your foc-leagured homes re are come in yoa
wrath
To the feast Of the sword and the reyel of DEATH
And the thick boss'd and sunbeaming bnckler Of God
rs his who returns from this hoof beaten sod!
By the winds that have sunk to their eehoess halls
BY the breath Of the ominous whisper that falls
On my soul like the pnions of death, BIZ the gleam
Like blood, that shoots up from blue BrandyWInel
stream,
BY the motionIess folds of yon pennon, ] know
That the heads Of the mighty tomorrow shall bow
Stern he1rtsl who are come to this terrible feast
From the hills Of the north from the wales of the east
Ye hare grded your Joins, We have taken the sword
Te are come up to fight in the ranks of the Lord;
The splendors Of paradise dawn on his soul,
Round whose head wars fierce anthem unheeded
shall roll
brief day and there rose the gay music Of mirth
From the hayseented plains Of this garden Of EARTH
Ard the song of the reaper was bIith on the hill,
While the pinion of twilight fell balmy and still,
And the sabbath hymn rose like lark, from the vale
The heart Of the mourner sent up on the gale
Hath our sorrow come up in a day, in an hour;
With death belching cannon, and banner and brand,
The blood feasting demon towers through the land
A wall for the living a wall for the dead,
wall through the wales where our fathers have bled
For purity blighted, for innocence slain,
For the young hands upiifted for suecor in vain;
a moan for the aged, moan for the lost
Who lie dumb in the dust Of the feet Of the host
That hath blackened our hamlets and crimsoned our
giades,
And tramped our haryests and startled our shades,
With the blazing Of roofs with the step Of the flying,
The shrek Of the maiden, the yell Of the dying;
Unconquer'd IN battle, to rayage, enslave,
A people hath come DER the foam of the ware,
With The blast Of their nayies the dash Of their oars
they have shaken waters and frghted our Shores
Our hills hear the tramp of their ron-clad forms,
and their banners sweep down on our valleys like
storms, fall
They may crush us this once, we may bleed we may
In the glance of the sword in the path Of the ball.
They may trample our corses that bIacken the sod,
They may fatten the weeds of the waste with our
blood
Yet If throned d er the realms of the fatholess blue
The lghtnings red halls and the springs OF the dew
LIZ the boundlessness twilight and silence Of space