What heroes from the woodland sprung, <br />When, through the fresh awakened land, <br />The thrilling cry of freedom rung, <br />And to the work of warfare strung <br />The yeoman's iron hand! <br /> <br />Hills flung the cry to hills around, <br />And ocean-mart replied to mart, <br />And streams whose springs were yet unfound, <br />Pealed far away the startling sound <br />Into the forest's heart. <br /> <br />Then marched the brave from rocky steep, <br />From mountain river swift and cold; <br />The borders of the stormy deep, <br />The vales where gathered waters sleep, <br />Sent up the strong and bold,-- <br /> <br />As if the very earth again <br />Grew quick with God's creating breath, <br />And, from the sods of grove and glen, <br />Rose ranks of lion-hearted men <br />To battle to the death. <br /> <br />The wife, whose babe first smiled that day, <br />The fair fond bride of yestereve, <br />And aged sire and matron gray, <br />Saw the loved warriors haste away, <br />And deemed it sin to grieve. <br /> <br />Already had the strife begun; <br />Already blood on Concord's plain <br />Along the springing grass had run, <br />And blood had flowed at Lexington, <br />Like brooks of April rain. <br /> <br />That death-stain on the vernal sward <br />Hallowed to freedom all the shore; <br />In fragments fell the yoke abhorred-- <br />The footstep of a foreign lord <br />Profaned the soil no more.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seventy-six/
