Before The Battle.

By the hope within us springing,         Herald of to-morrow's strife;     By that sun, whose light is bringing         Chains or freedom, death or life--         Oh! remember life can be     No charm for him, who lives not free!         Like the day-star in the wave,         Sinks a hero in his grave,     Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears.         Happy is he o'er whose decline         The smiles of home may soothing shine     And light him down the steep of years:--         But oh, how blest they sink to rest,         Who close their eyes on victory's breast!     O'er his watch-fire's fading embers         Now the foeman's cheek turns white,     When his heart that field remembers,         Where we tamed his tyrant might.     Never let him bind again     A chain; like that we broke from then.         Hark! the horn of combat calls--         Ere the golden evening falls,     May we pledge that horn in triumph round![1]         Many a heart that now beats high,         In slumber cold at night shall lie,     Nor waken even at victory's sound--         But oh, how blest that hero's sleep,         O'er whom a wondering world shall weep!