136
THE KEARSARGE.
Well might the startled echoes wake
The British lion's trance,
And on their silken standards shake
The fleur-de-lis of France.
The British lion's trance,
And on their silken standards shake
The fleur-de-lis of France.
We are too late to catch the first
Swift glory as it came,
While yet the notes of triumph burst
From out the lips of Fame:
But not too late to leave our meed
Of honor's fadeless flowers,
And hail with welcome and God-speed
These sailor-boys of ours.
Swift glory as it came,
While yet the notes of triumph burst
From out the lips of Fame:
But not too late to leave our meed
Of honor's fadeless flowers,
And hail with welcome and God-speed
These sailor-boys of ours.
O stalwarth arms and loyal hearts
A Nation holds your name!
The seasons wane, the year departs,
There is no death for Fame!
Her hands will hold the scroll sublime
While Freedom's self shall last,
Undimmed, untouched, by change or time,
Immortal as our past!
A Nation holds your name!
The seasons wane, the year departs,
There is no death for Fame!
Her hands will hold the scroll sublime
While Freedom's self shall last,
Undimmed, untouched, by change or time,
Immortal as our past!
