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voices from the old world.
In mountain storms of valor
Swept down upon the foe?
When hoarse and deep, like thunder,
Their shouts of vengeful wrath,
And the lightning of drawn claymores
Flashed out upon their path?
Swept down upon the foe?
When hoarse and deep, like thunder,
Their shouts of vengeful wrath,
And the lightning of drawn claymores
Flashed out upon their path?
Far other are the fearful sounds
Borne o'er the wintry wave,—
The cry of mortal agony,
The death-groans of the brave!
For once a foe invincible
The kilted Gael hath found;
At length one field beholds him yield,—
Starvation's battle-ground!
Borne o'er the wintry wave,—
The cry of mortal agony,
The death-groans of the brave!
For once a foe invincible
The kilted Gael hath found;
At length one field beholds him yield,—
Starvation's battle-ground!
Thus, thus come forth the mountaineers,—
Pale, gaunt, and ghastly bands,
Who westward turn their frenzied eyes,
And stretch their shrivelled hands!
And like the shriek of madness comes
Their wild, beseeching cry,—
"Bread, bread! we faint, we waste, we starve!
Bread, bread! O God, we die!"
Pale, gaunt, and ghastly bands,
Who westward turn their frenzied eyes,
And stretch their shrivelled hands!
And like the shriek of madness comes
Their wild, beseeching cry,—
"Bread, bread! we faint, we waste, we starve!
Bread, bread! O God, we die!"
