Page:The death of Oenone, Akbar's dream, and other poems (IA deathofoenoneakb00tenn).pdf/103



is a sound of thunder afar, Storm in the South that darkens the day! Storm of battle and thunder of war! Well if it do not roll our way. Storm, Storm, Riflemen form! Ready, be ready against the storın ! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form! Be nol deaf to the sound that warns, Be not gull'd by a despot's plea! Are figs of thistles? or grapes of thorns? How can a despot feel with the Free? 93