Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/353

 WATRRLO0. The.grove is won!--Oh, hasten, ere too late, On the fierce.foe to close you guardian gate! But who shall dare the danger? Who roll back lta ponderous weight against the mad attack? Then burst, in all its native lightning, forth Th' indignant sp'it of the hardy North. Bee'st thou yon Highland Chief, whose gleaming brand Has met so oft the foeman hand to hand? Forward be springs! exultlng shouts proclaim His ann's strong triumph, and Maed6uners name? Vainly without still chafes the frantic al; The storm of war turos harmless from the wall. As oft the bold tornado of the West Howls round the dwelling of the Indian's rest. Still with new fury rocks the solid base, And shakes the fabric it can ne'er displace But fiercest, deadliest, in his swift career, Spurs his hot steed th' impetuous Cuirassier. In vain the sword those rivets may assail, And idly thence 'rebounds the iron hail. Destruction, hurtling in the cannon's bray, Sweeps the thinn'd ranks before their destiu'd way: Onward they dart, beneath the battle-cloud, �b Paul's Letters to his Kinzfo. lL ......... Google

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