Re: 3 Doors Down-Citizen Soldier Mp3
Haydee Cliche
I.
A wandering hunter spied the spot,
Where Falling Spring, a limpid stream,
Which glides on its course like a fairy dream,
A moment's joy and then forgot,
Rolls laughing over its rocky bed;
A moment pure and a moment free,
A lagging moment forever sped,
Then hurried onward toward the sea.
Swept off, the victim of wild intrigue,
'Twixt the ripples and waves of the Conococheague.
On that spot now rests a quiet town,
Called after a man attracted there
By the hunter's tale, bewitching fair,
Of the water-fall which tumbles down
In foaming spray o'er its rough-hewn stair;
The spot I have learned to love so well,
Where fancy can revel without restraint,
And her creations are wont to dwell,
And fill the mind with pictures quaint;
And there I muse on a thousand things,
Which come on Imagination's wings,
And the well-known legends fondly trace,
That are told of the Indian-haunted place.
'Twas on this spot stood free and wild,
The Shawanese and the Delaware savage,
Ere Indian warrior taught his child
To scalp and murder, burn and ravage.
And as I stood by the stream one day,
A thousands visions flitting o'er me,
I thought of times long passed away,
And buried chieftans rose before me;
But vain are the dreams we would fain recall,
For oblivion's mantle is over them all.
And then I thought of the old-time fort,
With its blunderbuss and its swivel gun,
Its cracking fire-arms' loud report,
And the name is bold defender won;
How the savage ventured not too near
Its stockade sides, from a wholesome fear
Of the bull-dogs laid at rest within,
But oping their mouths with a ghastly grin:
And how when the governor's mandate came,
"Forthwith to deliver up the same,"
Old Colonel Chambers bristled with pride,
And declared that "the guns should stay by his side,
For his guns had stood by him, and he
Would stand by his guns, as they should see."
Then followed visions of trouble and strife,
Of the tomahawk and the scalping-knife,
The war-whoop wild and the scene of slaughter,
And of human blood in the limpid water.
And then from the buried past we fly
To the living present which vividly seems
The realization of mystic dreams
That are wont to fleck our dream-land's sky.
From the time on freedom's natal day,
When Craighead urged the youth away,
And our patriot sires, a martial band,
Shoulder to shoulder and hand to hand,
Marched forth to consecrate the land
At liberty's shrine and on freedom's altar;
Up to the day when marched the son
To end the work the sire begun,
And not a man was known to falter.
From the fields where Steele and Chambers fought,
At the nation's first baptismal,
To the gory spot where Easton wrought
And died 'midst the deep swamps dismal;
And from where our patriot fathers bled,
And their comrades moaning, "dead, dead, dead,"
Consigned them to God's own keeping,
To the far-off hillside's thorn-bush shade
Where the gallant Kerns to rest is laid,
As one who is gently sleeping.
The past, the present, the future, all
We have known in life or loved in story;
The dead the living, the great, the small,
Obscurity's son and the child of glory
In vision arise before our eyes,
And troop through brain in wild disorder,
And we look in the stream with strange surprise,
When we recollect we're on the "border."
II.
And thus again as I lay by the stream
Which murmuring rolls its waters along,
And drips o'er the Falls in rippling song,
My fancies were shaped and this my dream,
Minerva-like, sprang out of my brain.
And bore away the triumphal car
Of terrible, glorious "border war;"
While rose to my ears a swelling strain,
Which seemed like the voices of heroes slain,
And this was the burden of what they were singing,
Its cadence wild with the waters ringing.
Away to the border, away,
Where your brethren are calling.
Away and take part in the fray,
Where your children are falling.
Fall in, men, fall in, and forward in order,
Do you not hear the cry coming up from the border?
Away to the border, away,
Where stout hearts are contending.
Away, and take part in the fray,
Your own hearth-stones defending.
Fall in, men, fall in, and forward in order,
The foe's at your doors almost, his foot on the border.
III.
Then quickly before my astonished eyes-
For dreams are like clouds in summer skies-
Passed visions of men in warrior's guise,
Of men who were going to battle:
And mixed and mingled with my dream,
Was saber-thrust and bayonet-dream,
And the fierce artillery's rattle;
There was the Home Guard's steady line,
The "State Militia's" martial front,
The "Anderson Troop," in clothes so fine,
And men who had borne the battle's brunt.
The Home Guards marched like men who knew
Their dinners were safely cooking behind them,
And like men who felt quite conscious, too,
Of where the dinner hour would find them;
And I marched along with my gun by my side,
And I praised my captain so kind and clever,
Who looked at "the boys" with a soldier's pride,
And called time, RIGHT, RIGHT, whenever
He meant the left foot
On the earth should be put;
But hurrah for our captain forever.
I can never forget, nor could I desire
That a scene like that which is certainly worth
A life-long pilgrimage here on this earth
From my memory should ever expire.
When our sergeant led out our squad in the night,
Our homes to defend, for our hearth-stones to fight,
And instructed us thus: "If the foe comes don't fire,
For you see if you should, and a rebel 'bites dirt,'
It would end our organizations;
For you know that in case there were 'somebody hurt,'
'Twould conflict with the regulations."
Then behind a stone fence we were placed where we slept
Till we heard the approaching relief,
When we marched back to camp, and like soldiers we stept,
Only stopping to drink to our chief,
The provost, who'd shut up the bars, though by stealth
We still had enough to drink to his death.
The provost (I dreamed) I could never forget,
And his aids I would always remember,
How from morning till night they were sorely beset
In that terrible month of September;
When the foe in Middletown Valley was seen,
As the sun went down in the west,
And at dark had advanced already between
Greencastle and Marion at least.
But the provost (I dreamed) was a man who would have
His will and his way in his station,
And to show that the town he would certainly save,
He issued a strict proclamation:
"No citizen armed for the common defence,"
His bitters could get of a morning;
But the citizen-soldiers scorned abstinence,
As their mode of attack was by horning.
"In case the foe approaches the town,"
The command was, "Destroy all the brandy,"
But it did not say how, so my friend Mr. Brown,
Thought to drink it were far the most handy;
"And guards will be placed," it was thus ran the text,
"At every approach to the Borough."
So away trooped a crowd, exceeding perplexed
Lest they should bear arms on the morrow.
I can never forget what the Guards have achieved,
And how closely they looked at the "passes"
Of honest old farmers who "spies" were believed,
While they kissed and passed out all the lasses.
Then the "Anderson Troop" came riding along,
On horses impressed from the farmers;
There clothes were new and their sabres were strong,
So they thought themselves "perfect charmers."
And I looked at their steeds when I saw the mark,
Uncle Sam puts on all of his forces;
And I "laughed in my sleeve," as cried out some gay lark,
"They've been branding borrowed horses."
These "Anderson fellows" had drilled for a while,
And moreover were splendid blowers;
So with sabres like scythes they came in style,
To show rebels some excellent mowers.
And I saw in my dream, I can't vouch for the truth,
That with dauntless and terrible blows
They mowed forty thousand rebs down, forsooth,
When at least thirty miles from their foes.
Thus ended this part of my dream, when behold,
As the danger was past and as bloodshed was over,
The "State Militia," in numbers untold,
The "War on the Border" began to discover.
So away they marched with but little persuasion,
To protect "the line" from threatened invasion.
An anxious horseman with panting steed,
Rode into the town at his utmost speed,
With the word that "the rebels were coming!"
Bells rang and drums beat in that hour of need,
But all smiled at the ringing and drumming.
'Twere absurd, men argued, that here, so far
From the army that lay on the river away,
The rebels should come in a single day,
With all the paraphernalia of war.
Yet while they argued, the guns of the foe
Oped their mouths with a grin on the town below.
"They're here, they're here!" was borne on the air,
Through street and alley, "The rebels are here;
Don't you see them down in the Diamond there?
I heard their trumpet-tones calling clear."
And I walked the streets, and I felt the pain
Of "surrender" thrill me through every vein
When I heard a heroic woman declare,
"The dirty rebels, they won't fight fair,
But come when they know we can't beat them,
Instead of giving us time to prepare,
As we do with them ere we meet them."
Then into the town incessant poured
The hateful stream of the rebel horde;
"They had now just come," they deigned to say,
"A hasty visit this place to pay;"
And kindly promised for hurry this once,
To come again and stay for months.
We told them no doubt 'twas well designed,
But still we were sure they were quite too kind;
And assured them one thing was very clear,
We were not at all fond of "butternuts" here.