BY THE SHENANDOAH.
241
And found where the fox lay hid at noon,
And the shy fawn drank by the rising moon.
And the shy fawn drank by the rising moon.
Fleet Storm, look up! you ne'er may hear,
When all the dewy glades are still,
In silver windings, fine and clear,
Their whistle stealing o'er the hill!
Nor fly to the shade where the wild deer rest,
Ere morn has reddened the mountain's crest;
Nor sit at their feet, when the chase is o'er,
And the antlers hang by the sunset-door.
When all the dewy glades are still,
In silver windings, fine and clear,
Their whistle stealing o'er the hill!
Nor fly to the shade where the wild deer rest,
Ere morn has reddened the mountain's crest;
Nor sit at their feet, when the chase is o'er,
And the antlers hang by the sunset-door.
What drew our hunters from the hills?
They heard the hostile trumpets blow,
And leapt adown like April rills
When Shenandoah roars below.
One, to the field where the old flag shines,
And one, alas! to the rebel lines!
My tears—their fond arms round me thrown—
And the house was hushed and the hillside lone.
They heard the hostile trumpets blow,
And leapt adown like April rills
When Shenandoah roars below.
One, to the field where the old flag shines,
And one, alas! to the rebel lines!
My tears—their fond arms round me thrown—
And the house was hushed and the hillside lone.
But oh! to feel my boys were foes
Was sharper than their sabres' steel!
In every shifting cloud that rose
I saw their deadly squadrons wheel;
And heard in the waves, as they hurried by,
Their hasty tread when the fight was nigh,
And, deep in the wail the night-winds bore,
Their dying moan when the fight was o'er.
Was sharper than their sabres' steel!
In every shifting cloud that rose
I saw their deadly squadrons wheel;
And heard in the waves, as they hurried by,
Their hasty tread when the fight was nigh,
And, deep in the wail the night-winds bore,
Their dying moan when the fight was o'er.
