Till the past, in a dead, mesmeric veil,
Drooped with its wizard flood;
Till the surly blaze through the iron bars.
Shot to the hearth with a pang and cry,
While a lank howl plunged from the Champs de Mar
To the Column of July;
Till Corday sprang from the gem, I swear!
And the dove-eyed damsel I knew had flown;
For Eva was not on the ottoman there,
By Psyche carved in stone:
She grew like a Pythoness flushed with fate,
With the incantation in her gaze;
A lip of scorn, an arm of hate,
And a dirge of the Marseillaise.
Eva, the vision was not wild,
When wreaked on the tyrants of the landFor you were transfigured to Nemesis, child, With the dagger in your hand!
Melt the bells, melt the bells,
Still the tinkling on the plain,
And transmute the evening chimes
Into war's resounding rhymes,
That the invaders may be slain
By the bells.
Melt the bells, melt the bells,
That for years have called to prayer,
And instead, the cannon's roar
Shall resound the valleys o'er,
That the foe may catch despair
From the bells.
Melt the bells, melt the bells,
Though it cost a tear to part
With the music they have made,
Where the ones we loved are laid,
With pale cheek and silent heart,
'Neath the bells.
Melt the bells, melt the bells,
Into cannon vast and grim,
And the foe shall feel the ire
From its heaving lung of fire,
And we'll put our trust in Him
And the bells.
Melt the bells, melt the bells,
And when the foe is driven back,
And the lightning cloud of war
Shall roll thunderless and far,
We will melt the cannon back
Into bells.
Melt the bells, melt the bells,
And they'll peal a sweeter chime,
And remind of all the brave
Who have sunk to glory's grave, And will sleep through coming time 'Neath the bells.
AHA! a song for the trumpet's tongue!
For the bugle to sing before us,
When our gleaming guns, like clarions,
Shall thunder in battle chorus!
Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing,
Where the black bombs whistle o'er us,
With rolling wheel and rattling peal
They'll thunder in battle chorus !
With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash,
With the cannon's roar and rattle,
Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns,
Go down to their country's battle!
Their brassy throats shall learn the notes
That make old tyrants quiver,
Till the war is done, or each TYRRELL gun,
Grows cold with our hearts forever!
Where the laurel waves o'er our brothers' graves,
Who have gone to their rest before us,
Here's a requiem shall sound for them.
And thunder in battle chorus!
With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash,
With the cannon's roar and rattle,
Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns,
Go down to their country's battle!
By the light that lies in our Southern skies;
! By the spirits that watch above us;
By the gentle hands in our summer lands,
And the gentle hearts that love us!
Our fathers' faith let us keep till death-
Their fame in its cloudless splendor-
As men who stand for their mother land,
And die-but never surrender!
With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash,
With the cannon's roar and rattle,
Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns,
Go down to their country's battle!
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