Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Ebenezer Elliott. 17811849587. Battle Song
DAY, like our souls, is fiercely dark; | |
What then? ‘Tis day! | |
We sleep no more; the cock crows—hark! | |
To arms! away! | |
They come! they come! the knell is rung | 5 |
Of us or them; | |
Wide o’er their march the pomp is flung | |
Of gold and gem. | |
What collar’d hound of lawless sway, | |
To famine dear— | 10 |
What pension’d slave of Attila, | |
Leads in the rear? | |
Come they from Scythian wilds afar, | |
Our blood to spill? | |
Wear they the livery of the Czar? | 15 |
They do his will. | |
Nor tassell’d silk, nor epaulet, | |
Nor plume, nor torse— | |
No splendour gilds, all sternly met, | |
Our foot and horse. | 20 |
But, dark and still, we inly glow, | |
Condensed in ire! | |
Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know | |
Our gloom is fire. | |
In vain your pomp, ye evil powers, | 25 |
Insults the land; | |
Wrongs, vengeance, and the Cause are ours, | |
And God’s right hand! | |
Madmen! they trample into snakes | |
The wormy clod! | 30 |
Like fire, beneath their feet awakes | |
The sword of God! | |
Behind, before, above, below, | |
They rouse the brave; | |
Where’er they go, they make a foe, | 35 |
Or find a grave. |