Lines Written to a March Composed in Imitation of a Military Band

I See them on their winding way,
Above their ranks the moonbeams play,
And nearer yet, and yet more near,
The martial chorus strikes the ear.

They 're lost and gone, — the moon is past,
The wood's dark shade is o'er them cast,
And fainter, fainter, fainter still,
The dim march warbles up the hill.

Again, again, — the pealing drum,
The clashing horn, — they come! they come!
And lofty deeds and daring high
Blend with their notes of victory.

Forth, forth! and meet them on their way;
The trampling hoof brooks no delay;
The thrilling fife, the pealing drum,
How late — but oh! how loved they come!