Go tell the savage nations Ten millions you've expended, Should pay the mighty score. I'll tell you, George, in metre, At Monmouth, too, we gainèd Surely we were your betters Hard by the Brandywine; We laid him fast in fetters Whose name was John Burgoyne; We made your Howe to tremble With terror and dismay; True heroes we resemble, Confusion to the tories, That black infernal name We'll send each foul revolter To smutty Africa, Or noose him in a halter In North America. A health to our brave footmen, O'er their heads aloft in mid-sky, "Soon," they cried, "your foes you'll banish, Scarce shall setting Phoebus vanish Quick as thought the ships were boarded, Axes, hammers, help afforded; What a glorious crash they made. Squash into the deep descended Captains! once more hoist your streamers, When they thought to cheat the brave. THE BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. [Moore's "Songs and Ballads of the American Revolution." 1856.] THE HE breezes went steadily through the tall pines, As stilly stole by a bold legion of horse, For Hale in the bush, for Hale in the bush. "Keep still!" said the thrush as she nestled her young, The brave captain heard it, and thought of his home He so gayly forsook; he so gayly forsook. Cooling shades of the night were coming apace, He warily trod on the dry rustling leaves, As he passed through the wood; as he passed through the wood; And silently gained his rude launch on the shore, As she played with the flood; as she played with the flood. The guards of the camp, on that dark, dreary night, No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer, In his heart, all was well; in his heart, all was well. An ominous owl, with his solemn bass voice, Sat moaning hard by; sat moaning hard by: "The tyrant's proud minions most gladly rejoice, For he must soon die; for he must soon die." The brave fellow told them, no thing he restrained,— His errand from camp, of the ends to be gained, They took him and bound him and bore him away, His cause did deride; his cause did deride. Five minutes were given, short moments, no more, He prayed for his mother, he asked not another, The faith of a martyr the tragedy showed, As he trod the last stage; as he trod the last stage. And Britons will shudder at gallant Hale's blood, As his words do presage, as his words do presage. "Thou pale king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 1776. BATTLE OF TRENTON. [Preserved in Griswold's "Curiosities of American Literature." 1843.] N Christmas-day in seventy-six, Our ragged troops, with bayonets fixed, For Trenton marched away. The Delaware see! the boats below! The light obscured by hail and snow! Our object was the Hessian band, That dared invade fair freedom's land, Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun, In silent march we passed the night, Though quite benumbed with frost. Who ne'er a moment lost. Their pickets stormed, the alarm was spread, Were marching into town. Some scampered here, some scampered there, But soon their arms laid down. Twelve hundred servile miscreants, Were trophies of the day. The frolic o'er, the bright canteen, Now, brothers of the patriot bands, Of arbitrary sway. And as our life is but a span, Let's touch the tankard while we can, In memory of that day. |