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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,
Had a murderous will; had a murderous will.
They took him and bore him afar from the shore,
To a hut on the hill; to a hut on the hill.

No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer,
In that little stone cell; in that little stone cell.
But he trusted in love, from his Father above.
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,—
The cruel general! the cruel general!—

His errand from camp, of the ends to be gained,
And said that was all; and said that was all.

They took him and bound him and bore him away,
Down the hill's grassy side; down the hill's grassy side.
"Twas there the base hirelings, in royal array,

His cause did deride; his cause did deride.

Five minutes were given, short moments, no more,
For him to repent; for him to repent.

He prayed for his mother, he asked not another,
To Heaven he went; to Heaven he went.

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,
Go frighten the slave, go frighten the slave;
Tell tyrants, to you their allegiance they owe.
No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave."

1776.

BATTLE OF TRENTON.

[Preserved in Griswold's " Curiosities of American Literature." 1843.]

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THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE.

[From the Same.]

WHEN Jack the king's commander

Was going to his duty,

Through all the crowd he smiled and bowed To every blooming beauty.

The city rung with feats he'd done

In Portugal and Flanders,

And all the town thought he'd be crowned The first of Alexanders.

To Hampton Court he first repairs
To kiss great George's hand, sirs;
Then to harangue on state affairs
Before he left the land, sirs.

The "Lower House" sat mute as mouse
To hear his grand oration;

And "all the peers," with loudest cheers,
Proclaimed him to the nation.

Then off he went to Canada,

Next to Ticonderoga,

And quitting those away he goes
Straightway to Saratoga.

With great parade his march he made
To gain his wished-for station,
While far and wide his minions hied
To spread his "Proclamation."

To such as stayed he offers made
Of "pardon on submission;

But savage bands should waste the lands
Of all in opposition."

But ah, the cruel fates of war!

This boasted son of Britain,

When mounting his triumphal car,
With sudden fear was smitten.

The sons of Freedom gathered round,
His hostile bands confounded,

And when they'd fain have turned their back
They found themselves surrounded!

In vain they fought, in vain they fled;
Their chief, humane and tender,
To save the rest soon thought it best
His forces to surrender.

Brave St. Clair, when he first retired,
Knew what the fates portended;
And Arnold and heroic Gates

His conduct have defended.

Thus may America's brave sons
With honor be rewarded,
And be the fate of all her foes

The same as here recorded.

SAID

THE PROGRESS OF SIR JACK BRAG.

[McCarty's National Song Book.]

AID Burgoyne to his men, as they passed in review,
Tullalo, tullalo, tulla!o, boys!

These rebels their course very quickly will rue,

And fly as the leaves 'fore the autumn tempest flew,
When him who is your leader they know, boys!
They with men have now to deal,

And we soon will make them feel-
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys!

That a loyal Briton's arm, and a loyal Briton's steel,
Can put to flight a rebel, as quick as other foe, boys!
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-o-o-o, boys!

As to Sa-ra-tog' he came, thinking how to jo the game,
Tullalo, tullalo, tu.lalo, boys!

He began to see the grubs, in the branches of his fame,
He began to have the trembles, lest a flash should be the flame
For which he had agreed his perfume to forego, boys!

No lack of skill, but fates,

Shall make us yield to Gates,
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys!

The devils may have leagued, as you know, with the States,
But we never will be beat by any mortal foe, boys!

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-0-0-0, boys!

YANKEE DOODLE'S EXPEDITION TO RHODE ISLAND.

[A Tory Account of the unsuccessful attack on the British in Newport: July, 1778. From Rivington's Gazette, 3 Oct., 1778.]

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