  By the banks of the Cumberland echoes the roar Of the sentinel’s warning—the foe’s on the shore. Our war-drums are beaten, our bugles are blown, And our legions advance to their musical tone. By the banks of the Cumberland, slippery and red With the death-dew of battle, and strewn with the dead, Kentucky has routed her arrogant foe, And victory’s star gilds the night of our woe. By those banks, that once bloomed like an Eden of joy The fiend of Disunion stalked forth to destroy, Our rich teeming harvests he swept in his wrath, And the blaze of our dwellings illumined his path. Like an eagle-plumed arrow our Nemesis comes. Shout, soldiers! sound, bugles! and clamor, oh drums! Let the land ring aloud in the wildness of joy, And the bonfires blaze brightly—but not destroy. For the God of the Union has prospered the right, And the ranks of Disunion have melted in flight. Blow, bugles! roll, river! and tell to the sea That our swords shall not rest ’till Kentucky is free. |
|
