Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Loudhon's Attack

Loudhon's Attack.

A Hungarian War-Song.

Rise, ye Croats, fierce and strong,From the front and march along;And gather fast, ye gallant men,Of Nona and of Warrasden;Whose sunny mountains nurse a lineGenerous as her fiery wine; Hosts of Buda, hither bringThe bloody flag, and eagle wing;Ranks of Agria, head and heelSheathed in adamantine steel.Quit the woodlands and the boar,Ye hunters wild on Drara's shore;And ye that hew her oaken wood,Brown with lusty hardihood,The trumpets sound, the colours fly,And Loudhon leads to victory!Hark! the summons loud and strong—"Follow, soldiers—march along—Every baron, sword in hand,Rides before his gallant band;The vulture, screaming for his food,Conducts you to the field of blood,And bids the sword of valour seekFor nurture to his gory beak!

 Men of Austria, mark around,Classic fields and holy ground;For here were deeds of glory done,And battles by our fathers won—Fathers who bequeathed to youTheir country and their courage too;Heirs of plunder and renown,Hew the squadrons—hew them down,Now ye triumph—slaughter nowTears the field with bloody plough;And all the streamy shore resoundsWith shouts and shrieks and sabre-wounds!Now your thunders carry fate;Now the field is desolate—Save where Loudhon's eagles flyOn the wings of victory!This is glory, this is life!Champions of a noble strife,Moving like a wall of rockTo stormy siege or battle-shock;Thus we conquer might and main,Fight and conquer o'er again:Grenadiers, that, fierce and large,Stamp like dragons to the charge;Foot and horsemen, serf and lord,Triumph now with one accord!Years of triumph shall repayDeath and dangers' troubled day; Soon the rapid shot is o'er,But glory lasts for evermore—Glory whose immortal eyeGuides us to the victory!