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Well delivered, parfay! convulsive she leaps,—
One bound more,—then she drops on her side;
Our steel hath bit smart the life-strings of her heart,
And cold now lies the green forest's pride.
Heave her up, and away!—should any base churl
Dare to ask why we range in this wood,
There's a keen arrow yare, in each broad belt to spare,
That will answer the knave in his blood!
Then forward, my Hearts! like the bold reckless breeze
Our life shall whirl on in mad glee;
The long bows we bend, to the world's latter end,
Shall be borne by the hands of the Free!
