The Battle of Morat

Our men fought well at Morat! They fought like lions, boy,
Like lions, that within their lair the hunter dares annoy.
Ah! now I'm old, but I was then a boy as you are now,
And this old tree was nothing but a bit of broken bough.

Tis sixty good long years ago — how fast the years go by,
Since we crushed, that deadly day of June, the hosts of Burgundy;
The morning threatened thick with cloud, a weird and solemn gloom
Hung o'er the town — the empty streets were silent as a tomb,

Save here and there where little groups with sad and anxious brow,
Old men, and boys, and women, were gathered talking low,
Recounting news of Burgundy in words of doubt and fear,
Or tales of our own mountain strength their trembling hearts to cheer.

Some wrung their hands the while they spoke — in many a maiden's eye
The slow tears brimmed, the pale mouth twitched in secret agony,
And old men sadly shook their heads, while at their mother's side
Children were pulling at their gowns, and asking why they cried?

Sad o'er us hung the sullen sky, — our hearts were dark with gloom,
When suddenly the cannon's peal, with heavy muffled boom,
Rolled dully smiting on the heart, that for a moment stilled,
Stopped in the breast, then wildly like a hurried drum-beat thrilled.

'Twas then," ere rang their battle-cry, our brothers in the field
Bared their stern brows, and on the earth to ask God's blessing kneeled;
And Hans Von Hallwyll lifted, while all were silent there,
Mid the thunder voice of cannon, the still, small voice of prayer.

The heavens hung low and gloomy above them lowly bowed,
But as they prayed the sudden sun broke through the shattered cloud
And flashed across their bended ranks, and Hallwyll from his knee,
Sprang shouting — Up! behold, God lights the way to victory!

[Extract]