In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 10 O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. 15 10 15 20 THOMAS CAMPBELL SCOTLAND, 1777-1844 Hohenlinden On Linden when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight By torch and trumpet fast array'd To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, But redder yet that light shall glow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 5 'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, The combat deepens. On, ye Brave, Few, few, shall part where many meet! 10 THOMAS MOORE IRELAND, 1779-1852 The Harp that once through Tara's Halls The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, 5 No more to chiefs and ladies bright The chord alone that breaks at night, Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, Is when some heart indignant breaks, 10 15 20 GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD BYRON Childe Harold's Farewell to England Adieu, adieu! my native shore The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, A few short hours and he will rise But not my mother earth. 5 10 15 Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; "Come hither, hither, my little page! Why dost thou weep and wail? Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along." "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind: Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friends, save thee alone, "My father blessed me fervently, "Enough, enough, my little lad! |