ON this fair valley’s grassy breast | |
| The calm sweet rays of summer rest, | |
| And dove-like peace divinely broods | |
| On its smooth lawns and solemn woods. | |
| |
| A century since, in flame and smoke, | 5 |
| The storm of battle o’er it broke; | |
| And ere the invader turned and fled, | |
| These pleasant fields were strown with dead. | |
| |
| Stark, quick to act and bold to dare, | |
| And Warner’s mountain band were there; | 10 |
| And Allen, who had flung the pen | |
| Aside to lead the Berkshire men. | |
| |
| With fiery onset—blow on blow— | |
| They rushed upon the embattled foe, | |
| And swept his squadrons from the vale, | 15 |
| Like leaves before the autumn gale. | |
| |
| Oh! never may the purple stain | |
| Of combat blot these fields again, | |
| Nor this fair valley ever cease | |
| To wear the placid smile of peace. | 20 |
| |
| But we, beside this battlefield, | |
| Will plight the vow that ere we yield | |
| The right for which our fathers bled, | |
| Our blood shall steep the ground we tread. | |
| |
| And men shall hold the memory dear | 25 |
| Of those who fought for freedom here, | |
| And guard the heritage they won | |
| While these green hillsides feel the sun. | |
| |
