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THE IRON GRAYS.11
e twine the wreath of honor
Around the warrior’s brow,
Who, at his country’s altar, breathes
The life-devoting vow,
And shall we to the Iron Grays
The meed of praise deny,
Who freely swore, in danger’s days,
For their native land to die?
For o’er our bleeding country
Ne’er lowered a darker storm,
Than bade them round their gallant chief
The iron phalanx form.
When first their banner waved in air,
Invasion’s bands were nigh,
And the battle-drum beat long and loud,
And the torch of war blazed high!
Though still bright gleam their bayonets,
Unstained with hostile gore,
Far distant yet is England’s host,
Unheard her cannon’s roar.
Yet not in vain they flew to arms;
It made the foeman know
