William Ross Wallace Poems

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
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A sound like a sound of thunder rolled,
And the heart of a nation stirred—
For the bell of Freedom, at midnight tolled,
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I

Oh, well may the muffled drum be rolled,
And the Star-Flag wrapped around him;
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How soft the murmur of this breeze!
How deep the Ocean’s purple hue I
How goldenly over all the Sun
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I.

O ENGLAND, through thy lovely vales
And emerald hills how many now
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IF you smile at the Snn for that pride when his eye
With a broad blaze of triumph looks round on the sky;
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YES, factionists! well may ye tremble before
The hot thunderbolt waked in the Patriot’s sky,
To whose pure, moveless arch fi-om your own fcetid shore
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THE Vine, the Vine! the glorious Vine
That binds the beaming brow of Mirth,
That sanctifies the solemn shrine,
And blushes o’er the joyous Earth,
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“Who is my favorite bard?” you ask—
Well, let me think !—there’s Milton—Spenser—and
Dear Shakspeare—Bryant-—Elliott-—Street—
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O’er the mountain and the valley; o’er the homestead and the mast,
Mighty as the sound of waters let the summons take the
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