Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ON THE FALL OF ZALONA, by EMILY JANE BRONTE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: All blue and bright, in glorious light Last Line: May he forsake our foes! Alternate Author Name(s): Bell, Ellis | ||||||||
All blue and bright, in glorious light The morn comes marching on And now Zalona's steeples white Glow golden in the sun -- This day might be a festal day; The streets are crowded all, And emerald flags stream broad and gay From turret, tower and wall; And hark! how music, evermore Is sounding in the sky: The deep bells boom -- the cannon roar, The trumpets sound on high -- The deep bells boom, the deep bells clash Upon the reeling air: The cannon, with unceasing crash Make answer far and near -- What do those brazen tongues proclaim? What joyous fete begun -- What offering to our country's fame -- What noble victory won? Go, ask that solitary sire Laid in his house alone; His silent hearth without a fire -- His sons and daughters gone -- Go, ask those children, in the street Beside their mother's door; Waiting to hear the lingering feet That they shall hear no more. Ask those pale soldiers round the gates With famine-kindled eye -- They'll say, 'Zalona celebrates The day that she must die!' The charger, by his manger tied Has rested many a day; Yet ere the spur have touched his side, Behold, he sinks away! And hungry dogs, with wolf-like cry Unburied corpses tear, While their gaunt masters gaze and sigh And scarce the feast forbear -- Now, look down from Zalona's wall -- There war the unwearied foe: If ranks before our cannon fall, New ranks, forever, grow -- And many a week, unbroken thus, Their troops, our ramparts hem; And for each man that fights for us A hundred fight for them! Courage and Right and spotless Truth Were pitched 'gainst traitorous crime We offered all -- our age, our youth -- Our brave men in their prime -- And all have failed! the fervent prayers, The trust in heavenly aid, Valour and faith and sealed tears That would not mourn the dead -- Lips, that did breathe no murmuring word; Hearts, that did ne'er complain Though vengeance held a sheathed sword And martyrs bled in vain -- Alas, alas, the Myrtle bowers By blighting blasts destroyed! Alas, the Lily's withered flowers That leave the garden void! Unfolds o'er tower, and waves o'er height, A sheet of crimson sheen -- Is it the setting sun's red light That stains our standard green? Heaven help us in this awful hour! For now might Faith decay -- Now might we doubt God's guardian power And curse, instead of pray -- He will not even let us die -- Not let us die at home; The foe must see our soldiers fly As they had feared the Tomb: Because, we dare not stay to gain Those longed for, glorious graves -- We dare not shrink from slavery's chain To leave our children slaves! But when this scene of awful woe Has neared its final close As God forsook our armies, so May He forsake our foes! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DEATH SCENE by EMILY JANE BRONTE AT CASTLE WOOD by EMILY JANE BRONTE D.G.C. TO J.A by EMILY JANE BRONTE F. DE SAMARA TO A.G.A. by EMILY JANE BRONTE FAITH AND DESPONDENCY by EMILY JANE BRONTE LINES BY CLAUDIA by EMILY JANE BRONTE MY COMFORTER by EMILY JANE BRONTE PLEAD FOR ME by EMILY JANE BRONTE |
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