154
RECORDS OF WOMAN.
Then was her name a note that rung
To rouse bold hearts from sleep,
Her memory, as a banner flung
Forth by the Baltic deep;
Her grief, a bitter vial pour'd
To sanctify th' avenger's sword.
And the crown'd eagle spread again
His pinion to the sun;
And the strong land shook off its chain—
So was the triumph won!
But wo for earth, where sorrow's tone
Still blends with victory's!—She was gone!*[1]
- ↑ *Originally published in the Monthly Magazine.
