| On Linden, when the sun was low, |
| All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; |
| And dark as winter was the flow |
Of Iser,
rolling rapidly.
|
| But Linden saw another sight, |
| When the drum beat at dead of night |
| Commanding fires of death to light |
The darkness
of her scenery.
|
| By torch and trumpet fast array’d. |
| Each horseman drew his battle-blade, |
| And furious every charger neigh’d |
To join the
dreadful revelry.
|
| Then shook the hills with thunder riven; |
| Then rush’d the steed, to battle
driven; |
| And louder than the bolts of Heaven |
Far flash’d
the red artillery.
|
| But redder yet that light shall glow |
| On Linden’s hills of stainéd snow; |
| And bloodier yet the torrent flow |
Of Iser,
rolling rapidly.
|
| ‘Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun |
| Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, |
| Where furious Frank and fiery Hun |
Shout in their
sulphurous canopy.
|
| The combat deepens. On, ye Brave |
| Who rush to glory, or the grave! |
| Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, |
And
charge with all thy chivalry!
|
| Few, few shall part, where many meet! |
| The snow shall be their winding-sheet, |
| And every turf beneath their feet |
Shall be a
soldier’s sepulchre.
|
| Thomas Campbell |
Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ Hohenlinden ] [ Freedom and Love ] [ Battle of the Baltic ] [ Lord Ullin's Daughter ] [ Ye Mariners of England ] [ To the Evening Star ] [ The River of Life ] |
