THE TRUMPET.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
The Trumpet's voice hath roused the land,
Light up the beacon-pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,
And waved the sign of fire!
A hundred banners to the breeze
Their gorgeous folds have cast,
And, hark! was that the sound of seas?
A king to war went past!
The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth;
The mourner hears the thrilling call,
And rises from the earth!
The mother on her first-born son
Looks with a boding eye;—
They come not back, tho' all be won,
Whose young hearts leap so high.
