The Trumpet

The trumpet’s voice hath roused the land--
Light up the beacon pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,
And waved the sign of fire.
A hundred banners to the breeze
Their gorgeous folds have cast--
And, hark! was that the sound of seas?
A king to war went past.

The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth;
The mourner hears the thrilling call,
And rises from the earth.
The mother on her first-born son
Looks with a boding eye--
They come not back, though all be won,
Whose young hearts leap so high.

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound
The falchion to his side;
E’en, for the marriage altar crown’d,
The lover quits his bride.
And all this haste, and change, and fear,
By earthly clarion spread!--
How will it be when kingdoms hear
The blast that wakes the dead?