SONG OF MARION'S MEN

OUR band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good green wood,

Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands

Within the dark morass.

Wo to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear :

When waking to their tents on fire
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

123

And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil:

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly,
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads-

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life our fiery barbs to guide Across the moonlight plains; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind That lifts their tossing manes. A moment in the British campA moment-and away

Back to the pathless forest,

124

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band,
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
For ever, from our shore.

SONG.

Dost thou idly ask to hear
At what gentle seasons
Nymphs relent, when lovers near
Press the tenderest reasons?
Ah, they give their faith too oft
To the careless wooer ;
Maidens' hearts are always soft;
Would that men's were truer !

Woo the fair one, when around
Early birds are singing ;
When, o'er all the fragrant ground,
Early herbs are springing:

When the brookside, bank, and grove,

All with blossoms laden,

Shine with beauty, breathe of love,

Woo the timid maiden.

Woo her when, with rosy blush,

Summer eve is sinking;

When, on rills that softly gush,

Stars are softly winking;

When, through boughs that knit the bower,

Moonlight gleams are stealing;

Woo her, till the gentle hour
Wake a gentler feeling.

Woo her, when autumnal dies
Tinge the woody mountain;
When the dropping foliage lies,
In the weedy fountain;
Let the scene, that tells how fast

Youth is passing over,

Warn her, ere her bloom is past,
To secure her lover.

Woo her, when the northwinds call

At the lattice nightly;
When, within the cheerful hall,

Blaze the fagots brightly;

While the wintry tempest round

Sweeps the landscape hoary
Sweeter in her ear shall sound

Love's delightful story.