« AnteriorContinuar »
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! -
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.
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;
BATTLE OF TRENTON.
(Preserved in Griswold's “ Curiosities of American Literature.” 1843.]
Christmas-day in seventy-six,
Our ragged troops, with bayonets fixed,
But no signs of dismay.
Our object was the Hessian band,
And quarter in that place.
Had never known disgrace.
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.
But soon their arms laid down.
Twelve hundred servile miscreants,
Were trophies of the day.
Driving fatigue away.
Now, brothers of the patriot bands,
Of arbitrary sway.
In memory of that day.
THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE.
[From the Same.) WHEY 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;
Proclaimed him to the nation.
Then off he went to Canada,
Next to Ticonderoga,
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;
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,
His forces to surrender.
Brave St. Clair, when he first retired,
Knew what the fates portended;
His conduct have defended.
Thus may America's brave sons
With honor be rewarded,
The same as here recorded.
THE PROGRESS OF SIR JACK BRAG,
[McCarty's National Song Book.]
Tullalo, tullalo, tulla!o, boys!
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!
Can put to flight a rebel, as quick as other foe, boys!
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-
As to Sa-ra-tog' he came, thinking how to jo the game,
Tullalo, tullalo, tujalo, 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-
YANKEE DOODLE'S EXPEDITION TO RHODE ISLAND.
(A Tory Account of the unsuccessful attack on the British in NewportJuly, 1778
From Rirington's Gazette, 3 Oct., 1718.]
To Congress in this town, sir,
And then they all sat down, sir.
Begar, said Monsieur, one grand coup
You shall bientot behold, sir;
And Jonathan felt bold, sir,
So Yankee Doodle did forget
The sound of British drum, sir,
In spite of Yankee rum, sir.
He took his wallet on his back,
His rifle on his shoulder,
Before he was much older.
In dread array their tattered crew
Advanced with colors spread, sir,
King Hancock at their head, sir.
What numbers bravely crossed the seas
I cannot well determine,
And every other vermin.
Their mighty hearts might shrink they thought,
For all flesh only grass is,
Of whiskey and molasses.
They swore they'd make bold Pigot squeak,
So did their good ally, sir,
But that was all my eye, sir.
As Jonathan so much desired
To shine in martial story,
To leave bim all the glory.