Wouldst thou have me love thee, dearest,
With a woman's proudest heart,
Which shall ever hold thee nearest,
Shrined in its inmost heart?
Listen, then! My country's calling
On her sons to meet the foe!
Leave these groves of rose and myrtle,
Drop the dreamy hand of love!
Like young Koerner, scorn the turtle
When the eagle screams above!
Dost thou pause? Let dotards dally--
Do thou for thy country fight!
'Neath her noble emblem rally--
"God! our country, and her right!"
Listen! now her trumpet's calling
On her sons to meet the foe!
Woman's heart is soft and tender,
But 'tis proud and faithful, too;
Shall she be her land's defender?
Lover! soldier? up and do!
Seize thy father's ancient falchion,
Which once flashed as freedom's star!
Till sweet peace--the bow and halcyon,
Still'd the stormy strife of war!
Listen! now thy country's calling
On her sons to meet the foe!
Sweet is love in moonlight bowers!
Sweet the altar and the flame!
Sweet is spring-time with her flowers!
Sweeter far the patriot's name!
Should the God who rules above thee
Doom thee to a soldier's grave,
Hearts will break, but fame will love thee
Canonized among the brave!
Listen, then, thy country's calling
On her sons to meet the foe!
Rather would I view thee lying
On the last red field of life,
'Mid thy country's heroes dying,
Than to be a dastard's wife.