Hear me, thou hard of heart:
They who go forth to battle, are led on
With sprightly trumpets and shrill clam'rous clarions!
The drum doth roll its double notes along,
Echoing the horses' tramp; and the sweet fife
Runs through the yielding air in dulcet measure,
That makes the heart leap in its case of steel;
Thou--shalt be knell'd unto thy death by bells,
Pond'rous and brazen-tongued, whose sullen toll
Shall cleave thine aching brain, and on thy soul
Fall with a leaden weight: the muffled drum
Shall mutter round thy path like distant thunder:
'Stead of the war-cry, and wild battle roar,--
That swells upon the tide of victory,
And seems unto the conqueror's eager ear
Triumphant harmony of glorious discords:
There shall be voices cry, Foul shame on thee;
And the infuriate populace shall clamour
To heaven for lightnings on thy rebel head.
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