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THE BLACK FLAG. |
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By Paul H. Hayne.
Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand,
The voice of the madden'd millions comes up from an outraged land;
For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past,
And Mercy has fled to the Angels, and Hatred is King at last!
Chorus.—Then up with the Sable Banner!
Let it thrill to the War God's breath, For we march to the watchword—Vengeance I And we follow the Captain—Death !
In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt
in flame, 'Mid the ruin'd homesteads, blacken'd by a hundred deeds
of shame; Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien
meet, We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of
our armed feet.
They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burn'd on our
hearts in fire, And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire; |
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