Poems of American Patriotism Part 5

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 to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane.

A moment in the British camp-- A moment--and away Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with h.o.a.ry 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, Forever, from our sh.o.r.e.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE AMERICANS WHO FELL AT EUTAW

PHILIP FRENEAU

[Sidenote: Sept. 8, 1781]

_The fight of Eutaw Springs, although called a drawn battle, resulted in the withdrawal of the British troops from South Carolina._

At Eutaw Springs the valiant died: Their limbs with dust are covered o'er-- Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide; How many heroes are no more!

If, in this wreck of ruin, they Can yet be thought to claim the tear, Oh, smite your gentle breast, and say, The friends of freedom slumber here!

Thou, who shalt trace this b.l.o.o.d.y plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, Sigh for the wasted rural reign; Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!

Stranger, their humble graves adorn; You too may fall, and ask a tear; 'Tis not the beauty of the morn That proves the evening shall be clear,--

They saw their injur'd country's woe; The flaming town, the wasted field; Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear--but left the s.h.i.+eld.

Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, The Britons they compell'd to fly: None distant view'd the fatal plain, None griev'd, in such a cause, to die,--

But, like the Parthians, fam'd of old, Who, flying, still their arrows threw; These routed Britons, full as bold Retreated, and retreating slew.

Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from Nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A brighter suns.h.i.+ne of their own.

GEORGE WAs.h.i.+NGTON

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

[Sidenote: July 8, 1775]

_This is a fragment from the ode for the centenary of Was.h.i.+ngton's taking command of the American army at Cambridge._

Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn As life's indifferent gifts to all men born; Dumb for himself, unless it were to G.o.d, But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed Save by the men his n.o.bler temper shamed; Never seduced through show of present good By other than unsetting lights to steer New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear, Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will; Not honored then or now because he wooed The popular voice, but that he still withstood; Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one Who was all this and ours, and all men's--WAs.h.i.+NGTON.

PERRY'S VICTORY ON LAKE ERIE

JAMES GATES PERCIVAL

[Sidenote: Sept. 10, 1813]

_Throughout the war of 1812 with Great Britain, the navy was more successful than the army. In the battle on Lake Erie, Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry captured six British vessels._

Bright was the morn,--the waveless bay Shone like a mirror to the sun; 'Mid greenwood shades and meadows gay, The matin birds their lays begun: While swelling o'er the gloomy wood Was heard the faintly-echoed roar,-- The das.h.i.+ng of the foaming flood, That beat on Erie's distant sh.o.r.e.

The tawny wanderer of the wild Paddled his painted birch canoe, And, where the wave serenely smiled, Swift as the darting falcon, flew; He rowed along that peaceful bay, And glanced its polished surface o'er, Listening the billow far away, That rolled on Erie's lonely sh.o.r.e.

What sounds awake my slumbering ear, What echoes o'er the waters come?

It is the morning gun I hear, The rolling of the distant drum.

Far o'er the bright illumined wave I mark the flash,--I hear the roar, That calls from sleep the slumbering brave, To fight on Erie's lonely sh.o.r.e.

See how the starry banner floats, And sparkles in the morning ray: While sweetly swell the fife's gay notes In echoes o'er the gleaming bay: Flash follows flash, as through yon fleet Columbia's cannons loudly roar, And valiant tars the battle greet, That storms on Erie's echoing sh.o.r.e.

O, who can tell what deeds were done, When Britain's cross, on yonder wave, Sunk 'neath Columbia's dazzling sun, And met in Erie's flood its grave?

Who tell the triumphs of that day, When, smiling at the cannon's roar, Our hero, 'mid the b.l.o.o.d.y fray, Conquered on Erie's echoing sh.o.r.e.

Though many a wounded bosom bleeds For sire, for son, for lover dear, Yet Sorrow smiles amid her weeds,-- Affliction dries her tender tear; Oh! she exclaims, with glowing pride, With ardent thoughts that wildly soar, My sire, my son, my lover died, Conquering on Erie's b.l.o.o.d.y sh.o.r.e.

Long shall my country bless that day, When soared our Eagle to the skies; Long, long in triumph's bright array, That victory shall proudly rise: And when our country's lights are gone, And all its proudest days are o'er, How will her fading courage dawn, To think on Erie's b.l.o.o.d.y sh.o.r.e!

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY

[Sidenote: Sept. 14, 1813]

_After the British had burned the Capitol at Was.h.i.+ngton, in August, 1813, they retired to their s.h.i.+ps, and on September 12th and 13th, they made an attack on Baltimore. This poem was written on the morning after the bombardment of Fort McHenry, while the author was a prisoner on the British fleet._

Oh! say can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the sh.o.r.e, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam; Its full glory reflected now s.h.i.+nes on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh! long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is the band who so vauntingly swore, 'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, A home and a country they'd leave us no more?