I saw a stain on the last year’s snow,
Brothers! a stain of blood!
But the cold hath past, and the warm winds blow,
And the trees are in the bud.
The snow hath melted from dale and hill–
But the blood–the blood remaineth still!
I heard a voice on the winter blast,
Brothers! a voice of woe!
And it cried for vengeance as it past
O’er the cold and blood-stained snow.
That wind hath sunk over wood and hill,
But the voice–the voice–I hear it still!
I saw a spirit in my sleep,
Brothers! its hand was red!
Its eye was fierce, and its scowl was deep,
And it cried, “Revenge the dead!”
Shall we not hear what the spirit saith?
Onwards, my brothers!–revenge or death!