Book VII

Thus view'd the Pair; when lo, in eastern skies,From glooms unfolding, Gallia's coasts arise.Bright o'er the scenes of state a golden throne,Instarr'd with gems and hung with purple, shone;Young Bourbon there in royal splendor sat,And fleets and moving armies round him wait.For now the contest, with increased alarms,Fill'd every court and roused the world to arms;As Hesper's hand, that light from darkness brings,And good to nations from the scourge of kings,In this dread hour bade broader beams unfold,And the new world illuminate the old.

In Europe's realms a school of sages traceThe expanding dawn that waits the Reasoning Race;On the bright Occident they fix their eyes,Thro glorious toils where struggling nations rise;Where each firm deed, each new illustrious nameCalls into light a field of nobler fame:A field that feeds their hope, confirms the planOf well poized freedom and the weal of man.They scheme, they theorize, expand their scope,Glance o'er Hesperia to her utmost cope;Where streams unknown for other oceans stray,Where suns unseen their waste of beams display,Where sires of unborn nations claim their birth,And ask their empires in those wilds of earth.While round all eastern climes, with painful eye,In slavery sunk they see the kingdoms lie,Whole states exhausted to enrich a throne,Their fruits untasted and their rights unknown;Thro tears of grief that speak the well taught mind,They hail the æra that relieves mankind.

Of these the first, the Gallic sages stand,And urge their king to lift an aiding hand.The cause of humankind their souls inspired,Columbia's wrongs their indignation fired;To share her fateful deeds their counsel moved,To base in practice what in theme they proved:That no proud privilege from birth can spring,No right divine, nor compact form a king;That in the people dwells the sovereign sway,Who rule by proxy, by themselves obey;That virtues, talents are the test of awe,And Equal Rights the only source of law.Surrounding heroes wait the monarch's word,In foreign fields to draw the patriot sword,Prepared with joy to join those infant powers,Who build republics on the western shores.

By honest guile the royal ear they bend,And lure him on, blest Freedom to defend;That, once recognised, once establisht there,The world might learn her profer'd boon to share.But artful arguments their plan disguise,Garb'd in the gloss that suits a monarch's eyes.By arms to humble Britain's haughty power,From her to sever that extended shore,Contents his utmost wish. For this he lendsHis powerful aid, and calls the opprest his friends.The league proposed, he lifts his arm to save,And speaks the borrow'd language of the brave:

Ye states of France, and ye of rising nameWho work those distant miracles of fame,Hear and attend; let heaven the witness bear,We wed the cause, we join the righteous war.Let leagues eternal bind each friendly land,Given by our voice, and stablisht by our hand;Let that brave people fix their infant sway,And spread their blessings with the bounds of day.Yet know, ye nations; hear, ye Powers above,Our purposed aid no views of conquest move;In that young world revives no ancient claimOf regions peopled by the Gallic name;Our envied bounds, already stretch'd afar,Nor ask the sword, nor fear encroaching war;But virtue, coping with the tyrant powerThat drenches earth in her best children's gore,With nature's foes bids former compact cease;We war reluctant, and our wish is peace;For man's whole race the sword of France we draw;Such is our will, and let our will be law.

He spoke; his moving armies veil'd the plain,His fleets rode bounding on the western main;O'er lands and seas the loud applauses rung,And war and union dwelt on every tongue.

The other Bourbon caught the splendid strain,To Gallia's arms he joins the powers of Spain;Their sails assemble; Crillon lifts the sword,Minorca bows and owns her ancient lord.But while dread Elliott shakes the Midland wave,They strive in vain the Calpian rock to brave.Batavia's states with equal speed prepareThro western isles to meet the naval war;For Albion there rakes rude the tortured main,And foils the force of Holland, France and Spain.

Where old Indostan still perfumes the skies,To furious strife his ardent myriads rise;Fierce Hyder there, unconquerably bold,Bids a new flag its horned moons unfold,Spreads o'er Carnatic kings his splendid force,And checks the Britons in their waiting course.

Europe's pacific powers their counsels join,The laws of trade to settle and define.The imperial Moscovite around him drawsEach Baltic state to join the righteous cause;Whose arm'd Neutrality the way preparesTo check the ravages of future wars;Till by degrees the wasting sword shall cease,And commerce lead to universal peace.

Thus all the ancient world with anxious eyesEnjoy the lights that gild Atlantic skies,Wake to new life, assume a borrow'd flame,Enlarge the lustre and partake the fame.So mounts of ice, that polar heavens invade,Tho piled unseen thro night's long wintry shade.When morn at last illumes their glaring throne,Give back the day and imitate the sun.

But still Columbus, on his war-beat shore,Sees Albion's fleets her new battalions pour;The states unconquer'd still their terrors wield,And stain with mingled gore the embattled field.On Pennsylvania's various plains they move,And adverse armies equal slaughter prove;Columbia mourns her Nash in combat slain,Britons around him press the gory plain;Skirmish and cannonade and distant fireEach power diminish and each nation tire.Till Howe from fruitless toil demands repose,And leaves despairing in a land of foesHis wearied host; who now, to reach their fleet,O'er Jersey hills commence their long retreat,Tread back the steps their chief had led before,And ask in vain the late abandon'd shore,Where Hudson meets, the main; for on their rearColumbia moves; and checks their swift career.

But where green Monmouth lifts his grassy height,They halt, they face, they dare the coming fight.Howe's proud successor, Clinton, hosting there,To tempt once more the desperate chance of war,Towers at their head, in hopes to work relief,And mend the errors of his former chief.Here shines his day; and here with loud acclaimBegins and ends his little task of fame.He vaults before them with his balanced blade,Wheels the bright van, and forms the long parade;Where Britons, Hessians crowd the glittering field,And all their powers for ready combat wield.As the dim sun, beneath the skirts of even,Crimsons the clouds that sail the western heaven;So, in red wavy rows, where spread the trainOf men and standards, shone the fateful plain.

They shone, till Washington obscured their light,And his long ranks roll'd forward to the fight.He points the charge; the mounted thunders roar,And rake the champaign to the distant shore.Above the folds of smoke that veil the war,His guiding sword illumes the fields of air;And vollied flames, bright bursting o'er the plain,Break the brown clouds, discovering far the slain:Till flight begins; the smoke is roll'd away,And the red standards open into day.Britons and Germans hurry from the field,Now wrapt in dust, and now to sight reveal'd;Behind, swift Washington his falchion drives,Thins the pale ranks, but saves submissive lives.Hosts captive bow and move behind his arm,And hosts before him wing the sounding storm;When the glad sea salutes their fainting sight,And Albion's fleet wide thundering aids their flight;They steer to sad Newyork their hasty way,And rue the toils of Monmouth's mournful day.

But Hudson still, with his interior tide,Laves a rude rock that bears Britannia's pride,Swells round the headland with indignant roar,And mocks her thunders from his murmuring shore;When a firm cohort starts from Peekskill plain,To crush the invaders and the post regain.Here, gallant Hull, again thy sword is tried,Meigs, Fleury, Butler, laboring side by side,Wayne takes the guidance, culls the vigorous band,Strikes out the flint, and bids the nervous handTrust the mute bayonet and midnight skies,To stretch o'er craggy walls the dark surprise.With axes, handspikes on the shoulder hung,And the sly watchword whisper'd from the tongue,Thro different paths the silent march they take,Plunge, climb the ditch, the palisado break,Secure each sentinel, each picket shun,Grope the dim postern where the byways run.Soon the roused garrison perceives its plight;Small time to rally and no means of flight,They spring confused to every post they know,Point their poized cannon where they hear the foe,Streak the dark welkin with the flames they pour,And rock the mountain with convulsive roar.

The swift assailants still no fire return,But, tow'rd the batteries that above them burn,Climb hard from crag to crag; and scaling higherThey pierce the long dense canopy of fireThat sheeted all the sky; then rush amain,Storm every outwork, each dread summit gain,Hew timber'd gates, the sullen drawbridge fall,File thro and form within the sounding wall.The Britons strike their flag, the fort forgo,Descend sad prisoners to the plain below.A thousand veterans, ere the morning rose,Received their handcuffs from five hundred foes;And Stonypoint beheld, with dawning day,His own starr'd standard on his rampart play.

From sack'd Savanna, whelm'd in hostile fires,A few raw troops brave Lincoln now retires; 2lWith rapid march to suffering Charleston goes,To meet the myriads of concentring foes,Who shade the pointed strand. Each fluvial floodTheir gathering fleets and floating batteries load,Close their black sails, debark the amphibious host,And with their moony anchors fang the coast.

The bold beleaguer'd post the hero gains,And the hard siege with various fate sustains.Cornwallis, towering at the British van,In these fierce toils his wild career began;He mounts the forky streams, and soon bestridesThe narrow neck that parts converging tides,Sinks the deep trench, erects the mantling tower,Lines with strong forts the desolated shore,Hems on all sides the long unsuccour'd place,With mines and parallels contracts the space;Then bids the battering floats his labors crown,And pour their bombard on the shuddering town.

High from the decks the mortar's bursting firesSweep the full streets, and splinter down the spires.Blaze-trailing fuses vault the night's dim round,And shells and langrage lacerate the ground;Till all the tented plain, where heroes tread,Is torn with crags and cover'd with the dead.Each shower of flames renews the townsmen's woe,They wail the fight, they dread the cruel foe.Matrons in crowds, while tears bedew their charms,Babes at their sides and infants in their arms,Press round their Lincoln and his hand implore,To save them trembling from the tyrant's power.He shares their anguish with a moistening eye,And bids the balls rain thicker thro the sky;Tries every aid that art and valor yield,The sap, the countermine, the battling field,The bold sortie, by famine urged afar,That dreadful daughter of earth-wasting War.But vain the conflict now; on all the shoreThe foes in fresh brigades around him pour;He yields at last the well contested prize,And freedom's banners quit the southern skies.

The victor Britons soon the champaign tread,And far anorth their fire and slaughter spread;Thro fortless realms, where unarm'd peasants fly,Cornwallis bears his bloody standard high;O'er Carolina rolls his growing force,And thousands fall and thousands aid his course;While in his march athwart the wide domain,Colonial dastards join his splendid train.So mountain streams thro slopes of melting snowSwell their foul waves and flood the world below.

Awhile the Patriarch saw, with heaving sighs,These crimson flags insult the saddening skies,Saw desolation whelm his favorite coast,His children scattered and their vigor lost,Dekalb in furious combat press the plain,Morgan and Smallwood every shock sustain,Gates, now no more triumphant, quit the field,Indignant Davidson his lifeblood yield,Blount, Gregory, Williamson, with souls of fireBut slender force, from hill to hill retire;When Greene in lonely greatness takes the ground,And bids at last the trump of vengeance sound.

A few firm patriots to the chief repair,Raise the star standard and demand the war.But o'er the regions as he turns his eyes,What foes develop! and what forts arise!Rawdon with rapid marches leads their course,From state to state Cornwallis whirls their force,Impetuous Tarleton like a torrent pours,And fresh battalions land along the shores;Where, now resurgent from his captive chain,Phillips wide storming shakes the field again;And traitor Arnold, lured by plunder o'er,Joins the proud powers his valor foil'd before.

Greene views the tempest with collected soul,Arid fates of empires in his bosom roll;So small his force, where shall he lift the steel?(Superior hosts o'er every canton wheel)Or how behold their wanton carnage spread,Himself stand idle and his country bleed?Fixt in a moment's pause the general stood,And held his warriors from the field of blood;Then points the British legions where to steer,Marks to their chief a rapid wild career,Wide o'er Virginia lets him foeless roam,To search for pillage and to find his doom,With short-lived glory feeds his sateless flame,But leaves the victory to a nobler name,Gives to great Washington to meet his way,Nor claims the honors of so bright a day.

Now to the conquer'd south he turns his force,Renerves the nation by his rapid course;Forts fall around him, hosts before him fly,And captive bands his growing train supply;A hundred leagues of coast, in one campaign,Return reconquer'd to their lords again.At last Britannia's vanguard, near the strand,Veers on her foe to make one vigorous stand.Her gallant Stuart here amass'd from farThe veteran legions of the Georgian war,To aid her hard-pusht powers, and quick restoreThe British name to that extended shore.He checks their flight, and chooses well their field,Flank'd with a marsh, by lofty woods concealed;Where Eutaw's fountains, tinged of old with gore,Still murmuring swell'd amid the bones they bore,Destined again to foul their pebbly stream,The mournful monuments of human fame;There Albion's columns, ranged in order bright,Stand like a fiery wall and wait the shock of fight.

Swift on the neighboring hill as Greene arose,He view'd, with rapid glance, the glittering foes,Disposed for combat all his ardent train,To charge, change front, each echelon sustain;Roused well their rage, superior force to prove,Waved his bright blade and bade the onset move.As hovering clouds, when morning beams arise,Hang their red curtains round our eastern skies,Unfold a space to hail the promised sun,And catch their splendors from his rising throne;Thus glow'd the opposing fronts, whose steely glareGlanced o'er the shuddering interval of war.

From Albion's left the cannonade began,And pour'd thick thunders on Hesperia's van,Forced in her dexter guards, that skirmisht wideTo prove what powers the forest hills might hide;They break, fall back, with measured quickstep tread,Form close, and flank the solid squares they led.Now roll, with kindling haste, the long stark lines,From wing to wing the sounding battle joins;Batteries and field-parks and platoons of fire,In mingled shocks their roaring blasts exspire.Each front approaching fast, with equal pace,Devours undaunted their dividing space;Till, dark beneath the smoke, the meeting ranksSlope their strong bayonets, with short firm shanksProtruded from their tubes; each bristling van,Steel fronting steel, and man encountering man,In dreadful silence tread. As, wrapt from sight,The nightly ambush moves to secret fight;So rush the raging files, and sightless closeIn plunging thrust with fierce conflicting foes.They reach, they strike, they stagger o'er the slain,Deal doubtful blows, or closing clench their man,Intwine their twisting limbs, the gun forgo,Wrench off the bayonet and dirk the foe;Then struggling back, reseize the musket bare,Club the broad breech, and headlong whirl to warRanks crush on ranks with equal slaughter gored;Warm dripping streams from every lifted swordStain the thin carnaged corps who still maintain,With mutual shocks, the vengeance of the plain.At last where Williams fought and Campbell fell,Unwonted strokes the British line repel.The rout begins; the shattered wings afarRoll back in haste and scatter from the war;They drop their arms, they scour the marshy field,Whole squadrons fall and faint battalions yield.

The great Observer, fixt in his midsky,View'd the whole combat, saw them fall and fly:He mark'd where Greene with every onset drove,Saw death and victory with his presence move,Beneath his arm saw Marion, Sumter, Gaine,Pickens and Sumner shake the astonish'd plain;He saw young Washington, the child of fame,Preserve in fight the honors of his name.Lee, Jackson, Hampton, Pinckney, matcht in might,Roll'd on the storm and hurried fast the flight:While numerous chiefs, that equal trophies raise,Wrought, not unseen, the deeds of deathless praise.

As Europe now the newborn states beheldThe shock sustain of many a hard-fought field;Swift o'er the main, with high-spread sails, advanceOur brave auxiliars from the coast of France.On the tall decks their curious chiefs explore,With optic tube, our camp-encumber'd shore;And, as the lessening wave behind them flies,Wide scenes of conflict open on their eyes.Rochambeau foremost with his gleamy brandPoints to each field and singles every band,Sees Washington the power of nations guide,And longs to toil and conquer by his side.Two brother chiefs, Viominil the name,Brothers in birth but twins in generous fame,Behold with steadfast eye the plains disclose,Uncase their arms and claim the promised foes.Biron, beneath his sail, in armor bright,Frown'd o'er the wave impatient for the fight;A fiery steed beside the hero stood,And his blue blade waved forward o'er the crowd.

With eager haste descending on the coast,Thro the glad states they march their veteran host,From sea-nursed Newport file o'er western roads,Pitch many a camp, and bridge a hundred floods,Pass the full towns, where joyful crowds admireTheir foreign speech, gay mien and gilt attire,Applaud their generous deeds, the zeal that drawsTheir swords untried in freedom's doubtful cause.Thro Hartford plains, on Litchfield hills they gleam,Wave their white flags o'er Hudson's loaded stream,Band after band with Delaware's current pour,Shade Schuylkill's wave and Elk's indented shore,Join their new friends, where allied banners lead,Demand the foe and bid the war proceed.

Again Columbus turn'd his anxious eyeWhere Britain's banner waved along the sky;And, graced with spoils of many fields of blood,Cornwallis boastful on a bulwark stood.Where York and Gloster's rocky towers bestrideTheir parent stream, Virginia's midmost tide,He camp'd his hundred nations, to regainTheir force, exhausted in the long campaign;Paused for a moment on a scene so vast,To plan the future and review the past.Thro vanquisht provinces and towns in flameHe mark'd his recent monuments of fame,His checker'd marches, long and various toils,And camp well stored with wide collected spoils.

High glittering to the sun his hands unfoldA map new drafted on a sheet of gold;There in delusive haste his burin gravedA country conquer'd and a race enslaved.Its middle realm, by fairer figures knownAnd rich with fruits, lay bounded for his own;Deep thro the centre spreads a branching bay,Full sails ascend and golden rivers stray;Bright palaces arise relieved in gold,And gates and streets the crossing lines unfold.James furrows o'er the plate with turgid tide,Young Richmond roughens on his masted side;Reviving Norfolk from her ashes springs,A golden phoenix on refulgent wings;Potowmak's yellow waves reluctant spread,And Vernon rears his rich and radiant head,Tis here the chief his pointed graver stays,The bank to burnish with a purer blaze,Gives all his art, on this bright hill to traceHis future seat and glory of his race;Deems his long line of lords the realm shall own,The kings predestined to Columbia's throne.

But while his mind thus quafft its airy food,And gazing thousands round the rampart stood,Whom future ease and golden dreams employ,The songs of triumph and the feast of joy;Sudden great Washington arose in view,And allied flags his stately steps pursue;Gaul's veteran host and young Hesperia's prideBend the long march concentring at his side,Stream over Chesapeak, like sheets of flame,And drive tempestuous to the field of fame.

Far on the wild expanse, where ocean lies,And scorns all confines but incumbent skies,Scorns to retain the imprinted paths of menTo guide their wanderings or direct their ken;Where warring vagrants, raging as they go,Ask of the stars their way to find the foe,Columbus saw two hovering fleets advance,And rival ensigns o'er their pinions dance.Graves, on the north, with Albion's flag unfurl'd,Waves proud defiance to the watery world;Degrasse, from southern isles, conducts his train,And shades with Gallic sheets the moving main.

Now Morn, unconscious of the coming frayThat soon shall storm the crystal cope of day,Glows o'er the heavens, and with her orient breezeFans her fair face and curls the summer seas.The swelling sails, as far as eye can sweep,Look thro the skies and awe the shadowy deep,Lead their long bending lines; and, ere they close,To count, recognise, circumvent their foes,Each hauls his wind, the weathergage to gainAnd master all the movements of the plain;Or bears before the breeze with loftier gait,And, beam to beam, begins the work of fate.

As when the warring winds, from each far pole,Their adverse storms across the concave roll,Thin fleecy vapors thro the expansion run,Veil the blue vault and tremble o'er the sun,Till the dark folding wings together drive,And, ridged with fire and rock'd with thunder, strive;So, hazing thro the void, at first appearWhite clouds of canvass floating on the air,Then frown the broad black decks, the sails are stay'd,The gaping portholes cast a frightful shade,Flames, triple tier'd, and tides of smoke, arise.And fulminations rock the seas and skies.

From van to rear the roaring deluge runs,The storm disgorging from a thousand guns,Each like a vast volcano, spouting wideHis hissing hell-dogs o'er the shuddering tide,Whirls high his chainshot, cleaves the mast and strewsThe shiver'd fragments on the staggering foes;Whose gunwale sides with iron globes are gored,And a wild storm of splinters sweeps the board.Husht are the winds of heaven; no more the galeBreaks the red rolls of smoke nor flaps the sail;A dark dead calm continuous cloaks the glare,And holds the clouds of sulphur on the war,Convolving o'er the space that yawns and shines,With frequent flash, between the laboring lines.Nor sun nor sea nor skyborn lightning gleams,But flaming Phlegethon's asphaltic steamsStreak the long gaping gulph; where varying glowCarbonic curls above, blue flakes of fire below.

Hither two hostile ships to contact run,Both grappling, board to board and gun to gun;Each thro the adverse ports their contents pour,Rake the lower decks, the interior timbers bore,Drive into chinks the illumined wads unseen,Whose flames approach the unguarded magazine.Above, with shrouds afoul and gunwales mann'd,Thick halberds clash; and, closing hand to hand,The huddling troops, infuriate from despair,Tug at the toils of death, and perish there;Grenados, carcasses their fragments spread,And pikes and pistols strow the decks with dead.Now on the Gallic board the Britons rush,The intrepid Gauls the rash adventurers crush;And now, to vengeance Stung, with frantic air,Back on the British maindeck roll the war.There swells the carnage; all the tar-beat floorIs clogg'd with spatter'd brains and glued with gore;And down the ship's black waist fresh brooks of bloodCourse o'er their clots, and tinge the sable flood.Till War, impatient of the lingering strifeThat tires and slackens with the waste of life,Opes with engulphing gape the astonish'd wave,And whelms the combat whole, in one vast grave.For now the imprison'd powder caught the flames,And into atoms whirl'd the monstrous framesOf both the entangled ships; the vortex wideRoars like an Ætna thro the belching tide,And blazing into heaven, and bursting high,Shells, carriages and guns obstruct the sky;Cords, timbers, trunks of men the welkin sweep,And fall on distant ships, or shower along the deep.

The matcht armadas still the fight maintain,But cautious, distant; lest the staggering mainDrive their whole lines afoul, and one dark dayGlut the proud ocean with too rich a prey.At last, where scattering fires the cloud disclose,Hulls heave in sight and blood the decks o'erflows;Here from the field tost navies rise to view,Drive hack to vengeance and the roar renew,There shatter'd ships commence their flight afar,Tow'd thro the smoke, hard struggling from the war;And some, half seen amid the gaping wave,Plunge in the whirl they make, and gorge their grave.

Soon the dark smoky volumes roll'd away,And a long line ascended into day;The pinions swell'd, Britannia's cross aroseAnd flew the terrors of triumphing foes;When to Virginia's bay, new shocks to brave,The Gallic powers their conquering banners wave.Glad Chesapeak unfolds his bosom wide,And leads their prows to York's contracting tide;Where still dread Washington directs his way,And seas and continents his voice obey;While brave Cornwallis, mid the gathering host,Perceives his glories gone, his promised empire lost.

Columbus here with silent joy beheldHis favorite sons the fates of nations wield.Here joyous Lincoln rose in arms again,Nelson and Knox moved ardent o'er the plain;Scammel alert with force unusual trod,Prepared to seal their victory with his blood;Cobb, Dearborn, Laurens, Tilghman, green in yearsBut ripe in glory, tower'd amid their peers;Death-daring Hamilton with splendor shone,And claim'd each post of danger for his own,Skill'd every arm in war's whole hell to wield,An Ithacus in camp, an Ajax in the field.

Their Gallic friends an equal ardor fires;Brisk emulation every troop inspires:Where Tarleton turns, with hopes of flight elate,Brave Biron moves and drives him back to fate,Hems in his host, to wait, on Gloster plains,Their finish'd labors and their destined chains.

Two British forts the growing siege outflank,Rake its wide works and awe the tide-beat bank;Swift from the lines two chosen bands advance,Our light-arm'd scouts, the grenadiers of France;These young Viominil conducts to fame,And those Fayette's unerring guidance claim.No cramm'd cartouch their belted back attires,No grains of sleeping thunder wait their fires;The flint, the ramrod spurn'd, away they cast;The strong bright bayonet, imbeaded fast,Stands beaming from the bore; with this they tread,Nor heed from high-wall'd foes their showers of lead.Each rival band, tho wide and distant far,Springs simultaneous to this task of war;For here a twofold force each hero draws,His own proud country and the general cause;And each with twofold energy contends,His foes to vanquish and outstrip his friends.They summon all their zeal, and wild and warmO'er flaming ramparts pour the maddening storm,The mounted cannons crush, and lead the foeTwo trains of captives to the plain below;An equal prize each gallant troop ameeds,Alike their numbers and alike their deeds.

A strong high citadel still thundering stood,And stream'd her standard o'er the field of blood,Check'd long the siege with fulminating blare,Scorn'd all the steel and every globe of war,Defied fell famine, heapt her growing store,And housed in bombproof all the host she bore.No rude assault can stretch the scale so high,In vain the battering siege-guns round her ply;Mortars well poized their deafening deluge rain,Load the red skies and shake the shores in vain;Her huge rock battlements rebound the blow,And roll their loose crags on the men below.

But while the fusing fireballs scorch the sky,Their mining arts the staunch besiegers ply,Delve from the bank of York, and gallery far,Deep subterranean, to the mount of war;Beneath the ditch, thro rocks and fens they go,Scoop the dark chamber plumb beneath the foe;There lodge their tons of powder and retire,Mure the dread passage, wave the fatal fire,Send a swift messenger to warn the foeTo seek his safety and the post forgo.A taunting answer comes; he dares defyTo spring the mine and all its Ætnas try;When a black miner seized the sulphur'd brand,Shriek'd high for joy, and with untrembling handTouch'd quick the insidious train; lest here the chiefShould change his counsel and afford relief:For hard the general's task, to speak the doomThat sends a thousand heroes to the tomb;Heroes who know no wrong; who thoughtless speedWhere kings command or where their captains lead,--Burst with the blast, the reeling mountain roars,Heaves, labors, boils, and thro the concave poursHis flaming contents high; he chokes the airWith all his warriors and their works of war;Guns, bastions, magazines confounded fly,Vault wide their fresh explosions o'er the sky,Encumber each far camp, and plough profoundWith their rude fragments every neighboring ground.

Britain's brave leader, where he sought repose,And deem'd his hill-fort still repulsed the foes,Starts at the astounding earthquake, and descriesHis chosen veterans whirling down the skies.Their mangled members round his balcon fall,Scorch'd in the flames, and dasht on every wall:Sad field of contemplation! Here, ye great,Kings, priests of God, and ministers of state,Review your system here! behold and scanYour own fair deeds, your benefits to man!You will not leave him to his natural toil,To tame these elements and till the soil.To reap, share, tithe you what his hand has sown,Enjoy his treasures and increase your own,Build up his virtues on the base design'd,The well-toned harmonies of humankind.You choose to check his toil, and band his eyesTo all that's honest and to all that's wise;Lure with false fame, false morals and false lore,To barter fields of corn for fields of gore,To take by bands what single thieves would spare,And methodise his murders into war.

Now the prest garrison fresh danger warms;They rush impetuous to each post of arms,Man the long trench, each embrasure sustain,And pour their langrage on the allied train;Whose swift approaches, crowding on the line,Each wing envelop and each front confine.O'er all sage Washington his arm extends,Points every movement, every work defends,Bids closer quarters, bloodier strokes proceed,New batteries blaze and heavier squadrons bleed.Line within line fresh parallels enclose;Here runs a zigzag, there a mantlet grows,Round the pent foe approaching breastworks rise,And bombs, like meteors, vault the flaming skies.Night, with her hovering wings, asserts in vainThe shades, the silence of her rightful reign;High roars her canopy with fiery flakes,And War stalks wilder thro the glare he makes.

With dire dismay the British chief beheldThe foe advance, his veterans shun the field,Despair and slaughter where he turns his eye,No hope in combat and no power to fly;Degrasse victorious shakes the shadowy tide,Imbodied nations all the champaign hide,Fosses and batteries, growing on the sight,Still pour new thunders and increase the fight;Shells rain before him, rending every mound,Crags, gunstones, balls o'erturn the tented ground,From post to post his driven ranks retire,The earth in crimson and the skies on fire.

Death wantons proud in this decisive round,For here his hand its favorite victim found;Brave Scammel perisht here. Ah! short, my friend,Thy bright career, but glorious to its end.Go join thy Warren's ghost, your fates compare,His that commenced, with thine that closed the war;Freedom, with laurel'd brow but tearful eyes,Bewails her first and last, her twinlike sacrifice.

Now grateful truce suspends the burning war,And groans and shouts promiscuous load the air;When the tired Britons, where the smokes decay,Quit their strong station and resign the day.Slow files along the immeasurable train,Thousands on thousands redden all the plain,Furl their torn bandrols, all their plunder yield.And pile their muskets on the battle field.Their wide auxiliar nations swell the crowd,And the coop'd navies, from the neighboring flood,Repeat surrendering signals, and obeyThe landmen's fate on this concluding day.

Cornwallis first, their late all-conquering lord,Bears to the victor chief his conquer'd sword,Presents the burnisht hilt, and yields with painThe gift of kings, here brandisht long in vain.Then bow their hundred banners, trailing farTheir wearied wings from all the skirts of war.Battalion'd infantry and squadron'd horseDash the silk tassel and the golden torse;Flags from the forts and ensigns from the fleetRoll in the dust, and at Columbia's feetProstrate the pride of thrones; they firm the baseOf Freedom's temple, while her arms they grace.Here Albion's crimson Cross the soil o'erspreads,Her Lion crouches and her Thistle fades;Indignant Erin rues her trampled Lyre,Brunswick's pale Steed forgets his foamy fire,Proud Hessia's Castle lies in dust o'erthrown,And venal Anspach quits her broken Crown.

Long trains of wheel'd artillery shade the shore,Quench their blue matches and forget to roar;Along the encumber'd plain, thick planted riseHigh stacks of muskets glittering to the skies,Numerous and vast. As when the toiling swainsHeap their whole harvest on the stubbly plains,Gerb after gerb the bearded shock expands,Shocks, ranged in rows, hill high the burden'd lands;The joyous master numbers all the piles,And o'er his well-earn'd crop complacent smiles:Such growing heaps this iron harvest yield,So tread the victors this their final field.

Triumphant Washington, with brow serene,Regards unmoved the exhilarating scene,Weighs in his balanced thought the silent griefThat sinks the bosom of the fallen chief.With all the joy that laurel crowns bestow,A world reconquer'd and a vanquished foe.Thus thro extremes of life, in every state,Shines the clear soul, beyond all fortune great;While smaller minds, the dupes of fickle chance,Slight woes o'erwhelm and sudden joys entrance.So the full sun, thro all the changing sky,Nor blasts nor overpowers the naked eye;Tho transient splendors, borrowed from his light,Glance on the mirror and destroy the sight.

He bids brave Lincoln guide with modest airThe last glad triumph of the finish'd war;Who sees, once more, two armies shade one plain,The mighty victors and the captive train.