I dreamt that I culled the wild flowers on the moorland,
And roamed o'er the hills which my forefathers trod,
Ere their life-blood empurpled the fields of Hispania;
Ere their souls soared on high to the patriot's God.
I saw, to the call of the pibroch, advancing
O'er mountain, o'er river, o'er blossoming plain,
The strength of strong manhood, the youthful in daring;
The thousands who went, but who came not again.
The many moons passed as a breath, in bright dreamland,
I looked from lone valley to sea-beaten shore;
Two frigates,[Note] full-manned with a nation's defenders,
Britannia's proud ensign defiantly bore.
Then up from the shadows came voices long silenced;
"Oh Britain! thou boast of the free and the brave;
We fought, and we died for thy honor, thy freedom,
Thou yieldest our offspring no boon but the grave."
Dark visions rolled off with the mists of the morning;
High o'er the green larches white smoke-wreaths had curled;
And the tender sun beaming from out the clear ether,
Was the hopefuller sun of an opening world.
And over wide ocean a warbler came winging,
Who sang, as he dropped a heathbell by our door,
"The shadows are flitting, the day-dawn is breaking,
The long night of sorrow will darken no more."