Battle song

“ Than glancing spear and temper'd sword, bright instruments of war;
As thee I grasp with willing hand, and feel a reaper's glee,
When, waving in the rustling breeze, the ripen'd field I see;
Or listen to the harmless jest, the bandsman's cheerful song,
The hearty laugh, the rustic mirth, while mingling 'mid the throng;
With joy I see the well-fill'd sheaf, and mark each rising stook,
As thee I ply with agile arm, my trusty Reaping Hook!
They tell of glorious battle-fields, strew'd thick with heaps of slain!
Alas! the triumphs of the sword bring only grief and pain ”

“ It has been lamented that we have in America no martial lyrics comparable to those of the older nations. Holmes exclaims in one of his admirable poems⁠—
When Gallia’s flag its triple fold displays,
Her marshaled legions peal the Marseillaise;
When round the German close the war-clouds dim,
Far through their shadows floats his battle hymn;
When, crowned with joy the camps of England ring,
A thousand voices shout “God save the King!”
When Victory follows with our eagle’s glance,
Our nation’s anthem is a country dance. [7]
But the martial song belongs to more warlike countries. ”

“ Mighty men around us falling,
⁠Courage almost gone!
See the glorious banner waving!
⁠Hear the trumpet blow!
In our Leader's name we'll triumph
⁠Over every foe!
Fierce and long the battle rages,
⁠But our help is near ”

“ The beauty of her voice was due to its careful training in the Italian school of singing in her youth. Doubtless the habit of public speaking also tended to preserve it.
She occasionally repeated “The Flag,” a more dramatic and more personal poem than the “Battle Hymn.” Her rendering of it, accordingly, was more dramatic.
On public occasions my mother was often introduced as “The author of ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic.’” Sometimes the introducer would, by mistake, substitute the name of another war song, good of its kind, but hardly to be compared with my mother’s hymn. ”

“ Only one exception do I know, and that is the most tremendous war song I can recall; even an outsider in time of peace can hardly read it without emotion. I mean, of course, Julia Ward Howe’s war song of the Republic, with the choral opening line,
‘Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.’
If that were ever sung upon a battle-field the effect must have been terrific.”
During the present war in Europe, an English lady has had a large number of copies of the “Hymn” printed and distributed, through the Young Men’s Christian Association, to the soldiers. ”

“ What wondrous miracles hast thou not accomplished? The war-drum beats—the clarion gives forth its piercing notes—and legions of armed men rush headlong to the fierce and devastating battle. Again, the drum is muffled, and its deep notes break heavily upon the air, while the dead warrior is borne along upon his bier, and thousands mingle their tears to his memory. ”

“ An Homeric hero struggles among the sneers of a stupid crowd, a herd of brawling and hobbling ninnies. A violin solo, in a sort of concerto, describes the seductions, the coquetry, and the degraded wickedness of woman. Then strident trumpet-blasts sound the attack; and it is beyond me to give an idea of the terrible charge of cavalry that follows, which makes the earth tremble and our hearts leap; nor can I describe how an iron determination leads to the storming of towns, and all the tumultuous din and uproar of battle—the most splendid battle that has ever been painted in music. ”

“ When they have destroyed life and ruined buildings their power is spent. But the singing of hymns may, and sometimes does, render men for a time at least, indifferent to the loss of their lives and the ruin of their houses. Against men in the frame of mind which hymn-singing induces the biggest guns are powerless. The original singers fall, perhaps, but the spirit of their singing survives. For each voice silenced by the bursting shells ten voices take up the song.
The battleship, after firing the gun, swung round and once more slowly steamed across the lough. ”

“ Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace;
East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease
Sing the song of great joy that the angels began,
Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! ”

“ Under various banners, with diverse, and discordant war-cries, trumpets braying a certain or uncertain sound, and weapons of strange pattern, though made of trusty steel, they do battle against the enemy. ”

“ When our gleaming guns, like clarions,
Shall thunder in battle chorus!
Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing,
Where the black bombs whistle o’er us,
With rolling wheel and rattling peal
They’ll thunder in battle chorus!
Chorus.—With the cannon’s flash, and the cannon’s crash,
With the cannon’s roar and rattle,
Let Freedom’s sons, with their shouting guns,
Go down to their country’s battle!
Their brassy throats shall learn the notes
That make old tyrants quiver;
Till the war is done, or each Tyrrell gun
Grows cold with our hearts forever! ”

“ Now and then, they saluted our ears with well-known music, the whistling of musket-balls.
Their columns, preceded by mounted officers to take up the alignments, soon began to appear; the bayonets flashing over dark masses at different points, accompanied by the rattling of drums and the clang of trumpets.
Could any one behold so imposing a spectacle without awe, or without extreme excitement? Could any one witness the commencement of the battle with indifference? Can any one forget the impressions that are made upon the mind at such a moment? ”

“ Their songs and their music are said, by the same writer, to have been so exceedingly affecting, that "sometimes when two armies are standing in order of battle, with their swords drawn, and their lances extended upon the point of engaging in a most furious conflict, the poets have stepped in between them, and by their soft and fascinating songs calmed the fury of the warriors, and prevented the bloodshed. ”

“ But the war cry he strikes with is, ‘conquest or death!’
VI.
Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens,
Each son that thou rearest, in the battle’s wild shock,
When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given,
Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock.
Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow,
Let him stride the rough mountain, or toss on the foam,
He will strike fast and well on the field or the billow,
In triumph and glory, for God and his home! ”

“ Starting, softly at first, by the leaders of the chorus, the fierce thrilling chant of the war-song, taken up by the ranks, gathered in strength with every repetition, soon rising to a perfect roar of deep chest notes as the savages, rattling their shields and weapons, threw themselves into the excitement of the thing, beating time with the rhythmic thunder of their feet as the tread of one man, turning themselves hither and thither, muscles quivering, eyeballs rolling in the fierce frenzy of the stimulating exercise. ”

“ The development, with its complex, conflicting rhythms, its 115 resistless, tempestuous sweep, thrills with the excitement of sudden onset, the rush of charging squadrons, the battle cry of struggling hosts. The closing chords express a somber triumph, the proud but sorrow-shadowed elation of a hard-won victory, purchased by the blood of many a patriot comrade.
The second movement, the scherzo, gives us the triumphant return of our hero crowned with laurel, accompanied by the jubilant strains of martial music, and the glad acclamations of the crowd. ”

“ No doubt my young readers imagine war to be a great and glorious thing, and so, indeed, in many regards it is. It would be idle to deny that there is something stirring in the sound of martial music, something strangely uplifting and intensely fascinating in the roll of musketry and the loud thunder of artillery. Besides, the march and the battle afford opportunities for the unfolding of manly virtue, and as things go in this disjointed world, human progress seems to be almost impossible without war. ”

“ The march, the bivouac, the battle-field, are now all to me; and the campaign alone presents a prospect which may fill up the aching void that disappointed and ruined hopes have left behind them.”
How I longed for the loud call of the trumpet, the clash of the steel, the tramp of the war-horse; though the proud distinction of a soldier’s life were less to me in the distance than the mad and whirlwind passion of a charge, and the loud din of the rolling artillery. ”

“ The shouts of conquerors and songs of triumph!
[A proud and joyous clamor arises in the distance.]
I've changed the meanings into trumpet blasts!
[The wind wafts vague sounds of trumpet-calls.]
I've earned the right to see what crawled and writhed,
Suddenly leap into a phantom charge!
[Noise as of a cavalcade. The Voices, which before
were lugubrious, now call to each other
with commands and signals.]
The Voices.
Forward!
[The drums of the wind beat the charge.]
The Duke.
The pomp and pageantry of battle,
The dust that's raised by charging cavalry!
Voices.
Charge! ”

“ Each man smote down his brother, and was himself smitten down before he had time to exult in his victory. The trumpeters, all the while, blew their blasts shriller and shriller; each soldier shouted a battle cry, and often fell with it on his lips. ”

“ The drum has beat, to be sure, but it was mingled with merry-making, or its martial sound was rather to remind us that war had once been known among the nations, than to arouse us to tread the martial and measured step of those who muster for the war, or march to the battle field. Oh, what a life we live! It is the dream of the poets actually fulfilled in real life. ”

“ It is the vexation of this conviction that hath brought my face to the meagreness and sallow tint that accused the scorching sun of Barbary. I love the rush of battle. The clash of swords or roaring of artillery is music to me. There is joy in contending, life for life, with a traitor, and marshaling the fierce battalions on the field. ”

“ But now the call to battle sounds, and it may not be ignored. Distant fanfares of trumpets summon the Hero to the conflict. The orchestra becomes a battle-field; the music is chaos—tumultuous, cataclysmic: "it evokes the picture of countless and waging hosts, of forests of waving spears and clashing blades. The din, heat, and turmoil of conflict are spread over all, and the ground piled high with the slain." Through the dust and din we are reminded of the inspiration of the beloved, which urges on and enheartens the champion, whose motive contests for supremacy with that of his adversaries. ”

“ Dost thou recoil at the weight of thy arms, O delicate soldier! Before the enemy's darts the shield is no burden, nor the helmet heavy. The bravest soldiers tremble when the trumpet is heard before the battle is joined; but then hope of victory and fear of defeat make them brave. How canst thou tremble, walled round with the zeal of thy armed brethren, angels bearing aid at thy right hand, and thy leader Christ? There shalt thou safely fight, secure of victory. ”

“ How they have maddened mankind! And the deep bass boom of the cannon, chiming in in the chorus of battle, that trumpet and wild charging bugle,—how they set the military devil in a man, and make him into a soldier! Think of the human family falling upon one another at the inspiration of music! ”

“ The warriors exert themselves, with great energy. Every muscle is in action: and there is the most perfect concord between the music and their movements. They brandish their weapons, and with such apparent fury, that fatal accidents seem unavoidable. Presently a warrior leaves the circle, and with his tomahawk or casse-tete, strikes the post. The music and dancing cease, and profound silence ensues. He then recounts, with a loud voice, his military achievements. He describes the battles he has fought—the prisoners he has captured—the scalps he has taken. ”

“ The blood gushed forth in blacker streams; the warrior’s life was ebbing fast away—when from the rear of the broken hills a sudden trumpet blew a point of war in notes so thrilling, that it pierced the ears like the thrust of some sharp weapon. Before the astonishment of the crowd had time to vent itself in word or deed, the eminences were crowded with the mail-clad myriads of the Christian forces! Down they came, like the blast of the tornado on some frail and scattered fleet, with war-cry, and the clang of instruments, and the thick trampling of twice ten thousand hoofs. ”

“ People who requested her to recite her war lyric at the close of a lecture did not realize the fatigue that it entailed upon a person no longer young and already weary with speaking. Yet I doubt if she ever refused, when it was possible for her to comply with the request. Not long before her death, some ladies, calling upon her at her summer home near Newport, begged her to recite then and there the “Battle Hymn.” She was loth to do so, feeling the solemn words were not at all in keeping with the light and pleasant chat of a morning visit. ”

“ The two great battle-poems begin, each of them, with beautiful descriptive lines, move on with gradually kindling fire, reach the highest intensity of action, till the words themselves have the weight and the rush of shot and shell, and the verses seem aflame with the passion of the conflict,—then, as the strife calms itself after the victory is won, the wild dithyrambic stanzas rock themselves into sweet, even cadences. No one can fail to be struck with the freedom and robustness of the language, the irregular strength of the rhythm, the audacious felicities of the rhyme. ”

“ Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;
Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!
Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;
O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!
The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!
Dub, dub!
They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:
See how the arrows fly
That darken all the sky!
Hark how the trumpets sound!
Hark how the hills rebound—
Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara!
Hark how the horses charge! in, boys! boys, in!
The battle totters; now the wounds begin:
O how they cry!
O how they die! ”