New Zealand Verse/The Battle of the Free
vi.
The Battle of the Free.
To arms! To arms!
Hear ye not the trumpet’s peal?
Hear ye not the clash of steel,—
And the sound of gathering armies in the Island of the Sea?
Hear ye not the voice that calls them to the Battle of the Free?
Tis the voice of England calling on the free-born and the brave
To defend the lands of Freedom from the tyrant and the slave.
This is why her navies ride
On the gloomy northern tide;
This is why her cannons roar
On the distant Euxine shore,
And her children haste away
To mingle in the bloody fray.
No lingering or debating till the deadly fight be won.
The maiden sends her lover,—and the mother sends her son.
They are gathering, they are gathering, from the mountain and the lea,
To rally round the banner of the Island of the Free.
Old England’s arms are ringing
In hamlet and in hall,
And her sons, the sons of freedom,
Are coming at her call !
They are coming—they are coming—
To upraise the banner of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
Hear ye not the trumpet’s peal?
Hear ye not the clash of steel,—
And the sound of gathering armies in the Island of the Sea?
Hear ye not the voice that calls them to the Battle of the Free?
Tis the voice of England calling on the free-born and the brave
To defend the lands of Freedom from the tyrant and the slave.
This is why her navies ride
On the gloomy northern tide;
This is why her cannons roar
On the distant Euxine shore,
And her children haste away
To mingle in the bloody fray.
No lingering or debating till the deadly fight be won.
The maiden sends her lover,—and the mother sends her son.
They are gathering, they are gathering, from the mountain and the lea,
To rally round the banner of the Island of the Free.
Old England’s arms are ringing
In hamlet and in hall,
And her sons, the sons of freedom,
Are coming at her call !
They are coming—they are coming—
To upraise the banner of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms ! To arms !
What are they, those glittering hosts,
Gathering on the neighbouring coasts
That look out on the waters of the Island of the Free?
See! their Eagles are mingled with the banners of the sea,
And their joyous shout of greeting comes wafted unto thee.
England! where yon eagles glance
Stands the chivalry of France!
Oh, England! ne’er on battle plain
Shalt thou meet such foes again.
These are they who oft have tried
Thy mettle in the battle’s tide;
These are they whose Eagles flew
O’er the plain of Waterloo;
Whose unsurrendering warriors fell
To shield the chief they loved so well.
England, exult!
For thine ancient enemy is gathering unto thee,
To fight with thy children in the Battle of the Free.
Oh, England! those whose courage
Thy fathers oft have tried;—
The French—thine ancient foemen,
Will battle at thy side.
They are coming—they are coming—
To mingle their Eagles with the banners of the sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
What are they, those glittering hosts,
Gathering on the neighbouring coasts
That look out on the waters of the Island of the Free?
See! their Eagles are mingled with the banners of the sea,
And their joyous shout of greeting comes wafted unto thee.
England! where yon eagles glance
Stands the chivalry of France!
Oh, England! ne’er on battle plain
Shalt thou meet such foes again.
These are they who oft have tried
Thy mettle in the battle’s tide;
These are they whose Eagles flew
O’er the plain of Waterloo;
Whose unsurrendering warriors fell
To shield the chief they loved so well.
England, exult!
For thine ancient enemy is gathering unto thee,
To fight with thy children in the Battle of the Free.
Oh, England! those whose courage
Thy fathers oft have tried;—
The French—thine ancient foemen,
Will battle at thy side.
They are coming—they are coming—
To mingle their Eagles with the banners of the sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms! To arms!
When Barbarian Armies roll,
Countless, from the Northern pole,
To battle with the Eagle and the Lion of the Sea;
When the deadly fight is raging,—the death fight that must be,
Between Liberty and Serfdom, ere the nations shall be free,—
When the shattered failing peoples look with trembling hope to thee:
Then, England, call thy children forth,
From East and West, and South and North,—
From every land of free-born men
Where thou hast planted liberty;—
Oh, England! call thy children then,
And they will gladly answer thee.
Hark! to the shores of the Island of the Free,
Their answer cometh floating o’er the voiceful sea!
England, exult!
For thy numberless sons are gathering unto thee.
Oh, England! bear thee proudly
In the direst need of war!
Thy sons,—the sons of Freedom,—
Are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To carry the banners of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
When Barbarian Armies roll,
Countless, from the Northern pole,
To battle with the Eagle and the Lion of the Sea;
When the deadly fight is raging,—the death fight that must be,
Between Liberty and Serfdom, ere the nations shall be free,—
When the shattered failing peoples look with trembling hope to thee:
Then, England, call thy children forth,
From East and West, and South and North,—
From every land of free-born men
Where thou hast planted liberty;—
Oh, England! call thy children then,
And they will gladly answer thee.
Hark! to the shores of the Island of the Free,
Their answer cometh floating o’er the voiceful sea!
England, exult!
For thy numberless sons are gathering unto thee.
Oh, England! bear thee proudly
In the direst need of war!
Thy sons,—the sons of Freedom,—
Are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To carry the banners of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms! To arms!
Echoes from the Western glades,—
Echoes from the forest shades
Are flinging back their answer to the Island of the Sea,
Where her children are arming for the Battle of the Free.
They have heard the din of battle that comes wafted on the breeze,
In the sighing and the moaning of the tall dark forest trees;
And their souls are stirred within them, and their homes have lost their charms,
When the Fatherland is calling all its chivalry to arms.
To arms! To arms! the axe is ringing
In the dark primeval wood,
And a new-born forest springing
On St. Lawrence’s kingly flood.
A noble foliage on its boughs the parent forest bore,
Whence yon tapering mast was taken on the green Canadian shore;
But it bears a nobler burden now, as yon navy sweeps to sea,—
For it bears the cross of England—the banner of the Free!
Oh, England, send thy navies—
Send them fearless to the war,
For thy sons,—the gallant sailors,
Are coming from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To guard the waters of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
Echoes from the Western glades,—
Echoes from the forest shades
Are flinging back their answer to the Island of the Sea,
Where her children are arming for the Battle of the Free.
They have heard the din of battle that comes wafted on the breeze,
In the sighing and the moaning of the tall dark forest trees;
And their souls are stirred within them, and their homes have lost their charms,
When the Fatherland is calling all its chivalry to arms.
To arms! To arms! the axe is ringing
In the dark primeval wood,
And a new-born forest springing
On St. Lawrence’s kingly flood.
A noble foliage on its boughs the parent forest bore,
Whence yon tapering mast was taken on the green Canadian shore;
But it bears a nobler burden now, as yon navy sweeps to sea,—
For it bears the cross of England—the banner of the Free!
Oh, England, send thy navies—
Send them fearless to the war,
For thy sons,—the gallant sailors,
Are coming from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To guard the waters of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms ! To arms !
Hark! what tramping hoofs resound
On the glassy slopes around
The many-masted seaports of the Island of the Free.
What is this gathering of horses that I see?
Those riderless horses from the park and from the lea?
England, exult!
For their horseless riders are coming o’er the sea.
In their wild far-distant home
They have heard thy call and come,
With red spurs and loosened reins,
Sweeping o’er Australia’s plains.
They have left their reeking steeds on the wide Pacific’s shore,
Whose wild waves rolling surdly the sounds of battle bore,
The drum-beat, and the shouting, and the cannon’s angry roar;
And ever through their music the gallant tidings ran
Of the rugged heights of Alma and the glens of Inkermann.
Oh, England, land of horsemen!
Bring thy noblest steeds of war
For thy sons, the gallant riders,
Who are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To bestride the horses of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms! To arms!
When the battle rages fierce,
And the deadly volleys pierce
The small outnumbered army of the Island of the Free;—
When her dauntless hearts have chosen either death or victory;—
Where her warriors are fighting, as the bravest only dare,
For the birthplaces of freedom and the liberties of man;—
Then New Zealand shall be there,
In the van.
Young New Zealand shall be there,—
Her rifles from the mountain and her horsemen from the plain
When the foeman’s ranks are reeling o’er the slain.
Few in number—stout of heart—
They will come to take their part
In the dangers and the glories of the brave,
To share in their triumph or their blood-stained grave.
England, exult!
For thy numberless sons are coming o’er the sea,
To rally round the banner of the Island of the Free.
Oh, England! bear thee proudly
In the direst need of war;
For thy sons,— the sons of Freedom,
Are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To surround the banner of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
Hark! what tramping hoofs resound
On the glassy slopes around
The many-masted seaports of the Island of the Free.
What is this gathering of horses that I see?
Those riderless horses from the park and from the lea?
England, exult!
For their horseless riders are coming o’er the sea.
In their wild far-distant home
They have heard thy call and come,
With red spurs and loosened reins,
Sweeping o’er Australia’s plains.
They have left their reeking steeds on the wide Pacific’s shore,
Whose wild waves rolling surdly the sounds of battle bore,
The drum-beat, and the shouting, and the cannon’s angry roar;
And ever through their music the gallant tidings ran
Of the rugged heights of Alma and the glens of Inkermann.
Oh, England, land of horsemen!
Bring thy noblest steeds of war
For thy sons, the gallant riders,
Who are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To bestride the horses of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms! To arms!
When the battle rages fierce,
And the deadly volleys pierce
The small outnumbered army of the Island of the Free;—
When her dauntless hearts have chosen either death or victory;—
Where her warriors are fighting, as the bravest only dare,
For the birthplaces of freedom and the liberties of man;—
Then New Zealand shall be there,
In the van.
Young New Zealand shall be there,—
Her rifles from the mountain and her horsemen from the plain
When the foeman’s ranks are reeling o’er the slain.
Few in number—stout of heart—
They will come to take their part
In the dangers and the glories of the brave,
To share in their triumph or their blood-stained grave.
England, exult!
For thy numberless sons are coming o’er the sea,
To rally round the banner of the Island of the Free.
Oh, England! bear thee proudly
In the direst need of war;
For thy sons,— the sons of Freedom,
Are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To surround the banner of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.