Explore "Hohenlinden" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed / Each horseman drew his battle-blade, / And furious every charger neighed / To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven; / Then rushed the steed, to battle driven; / And louder than the bolts of Heaven / Far flashed the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow / On Linden's hills of stained snow; / And bloodier yet the torrent flow / Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun / Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, / Where furious Frank and fiery Hun / Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye Brave, / Who rush to glory or the grave! / Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, / And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few shall part, where many meet! / The snow shall be their winding-sheet, / And every turf beneath their feet / Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.