Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SUMTER'S BAND, by JAMES WRIGHT SIMMONS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SUMTER'S BAND, by                    
First Line: When carolina's hope grew pale
Last Line: Their watchword is thy memory!
Subject(s): American Revolution; Sumter, Thomas (1734-1832); Virginia (state)


WHEN Carolina's hope grew pale
Before the British lion's tread,
And Freedom's sigh in every gale
Was heard above her martyr'd dead;

When from her mountain heights subdued,
In pride of place forbid to soar,
Her Eagle banner, quench'd in blood,
Lay sullen on the indignant shore,

Breathing revenge, invoking doom,
Tyrant! upon thy purple host,
When all stood wrapt in steadfast gloom,
And silence brooded o'er her coast,

Stealthy, as when from thicket dun,
The Indian springs upon his bow,
Up rose, South Mount, thy warrior son,
And headlong darted on the foe.

Not in the pride of war he came,
With bugle note and banner high,
And nodding plume, and steel of flame,
Red battle's gorgeous panoply!

With followers few, but undismay'd,
Each change and chance of fate withstood
Beneath her sunshine and her shade,
The same heroic brotherhood!

From secret nook, in other land,
Emerging fleet along the pine,
Prone down he flew before his band,
Like eagle on the British line!

Catacoba's waters smiled again,
To see her Sumter's soul in arms;
And issuing from each glade and glen,
Rekindled by war's fierce alarms,

Throng'd hundreds through the solitude
Of the wild forest, to the call
Of him whose spirit, unsubdued,
Fresh impulse gave to each, to all.

By day the burning sands they ply,
Night sees them in the fell ravine;
Familiar to each follower's eye,
The tangled brake, the hall of green.

Roused by their tread from covert deep,
Spring the gaunt wolf, and thus while near
Is heard, forbidding thought of sleep,
The rattling serpent's sound of fear!

Before or break of early morn,
Or fox looks out from copse to close,
Before the hunter winds his horn.
Sumter's already on his foes!

He beat them back! beneath the flame
Of valor quailing, or the shock!
And carved, at last, a hero's name
Upon the glorious Hanging Rock!

And time, that shades or sears the wreath,
Where glory binds the soldier's brow,
Kept bright her Sumter's fame in death,
His hour of proudest triumph, now.

And ne'er shall tyrant tread the shore
Where Sumter bled, nor bled in vain;
A thousand hearts shall break, before
They wear the oppressor's chains again.

O never can thy sons forget
The mighty lessons taught by thee;
Since -- treasured by the eternal debt --
Their watchword is thy memory!





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