Chapter II: Part 2

We've Greene, and Gates, and Putnam,
To manage in the field,
A gallant train of footmen,
Who'd rather die than yield;
A stately troop of horsemen
Trained in a martial way,
For to augment our forces
In North America.

Proud George, you are engagèd
All in a dirty cause,
A cruel war have wagèd
Repugnant to all laws.
Go tell the savage nations
You're crueler than they,
To fight your own relations
In North America.

Ten millions you've expended,
And twice ten millions more;
Our riches you intended
Should pay the mighty score.
Who now will stand your sponsor,
Your charges to defray?
For sure you cannot conquer
This North America.

I'll tell you, George, in metre,
If you'll attend awhile;
We've forced your bold Sir Peter
From Sullivan's fair isle.
At Monmouth, too, we gainèd
The honors of the day--
The victory we obtainèd
For North America.

Surely we were your betters
Hard by the Brandywine;
We laid him fast in fetters
Whose name was John Burgoyne;
We made your Howe to tremble
With terror and dismay;
True heroes we resemble,
In North America.

Confusion to the tories,
That black infernal name
In which Great Britain glories,
Forever to her shame;
We'll send each foul revolter
To smutty Africa,
Or noose him in a halter
In North America.

A health to our brave footmen,
Who handle sword and gun,
To Greene, and Gates, and Putnam,
And conquering Washington;
Their names be wrote in letters
Which never will decay,
While sun and moon do glitter
On North America.

Success unto our allies
In Holland, France, and Spain,
Who man their ships and galleys,
Our freedom to maintain;
May they subdue the rangers
Of proud Britannia,
And drive them from their anchors
In North America.

Success unto the Congress
Of these United States,
Who glory in the conquests
Of Washington and Gates;
To all, both land and seamen,
Who glory in the day
When we shall all be freemen
In North America.

Success to legislation,
That rules with gentle hand,
To trade and navigation
By water and by land.
May all with one opinion
Our wholesome laws obey,
Throughout this vast dominion
Of North America.

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS.

BY FRANCIS HOPKINSON.

(From "The Miscellaneous Essays and Occasional Writings," 1792.)

[This ballad was occasioned by a real incident. Certain machines in the form of kegs, charged with gunpowder, were sent down the river to annoy the British shipping then at Philadelphia. The danger of these machines being discovered, the British manned the wharfs and shipping, and discharged their small-arms and cannons at every thing they saw floating in the river during the ebb tide.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]

Gallants attend and hear a friend
Trill forth harmonious ditty,
Strange things I'll tell which late befell
In Philadelphia city.

'T was early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood,
And saw a thing surprising.

As in amaze he stood to gaze,
The truth can't be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,
This strange appearance viewing,
First damned his eyes, in great surprise,
Then said: "Some mischief's brewing.

"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,
Packed up like pickled herring;
And they're come down to attack the town,
In this new way of ferrying."

The soldier flew, the sailor too,
And scared almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cried, which some denied,
But said the earth had quakèd;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the streets half nakèd.

Sir William he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a snoring,
Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm,

* * * * *

Now in a fright, he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries:
For God's sake, what's the matter?

At his bedside he then espied,
Sir Erskine at command, sir,
Upon one foot he had one boot,
And th' other in his hand, sir.

"Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries,
"The rebels--more's the pity,
Without a boat are afloat,
And ranged before the city.

"The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.

"Therefore prepare for bloody war,
These kegs must all be routed
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted."

The royal band now ready stand
All ranged in dread array, sir,
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,
Attacked from every quarter;
Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay,
'Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, 't is said, though strongly made,
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sir.

From morn to night these men of might
Displayed amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.

A hundred men with each a pen,
Or more upon my word, sir,
It is most true would be too few,
Their valor to record, sir.

Such feats did they perform that day,
Against these wicked kegs, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.

CARMEN BELLICOSUM.

BY GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER.

In their ragged regimentals
Stood the old Continentals,
Yielding not,
When the grenadiers were lunging,
And like hail fell the plunging
Cannon shot;
When the files
Of the isles
From the smoky night-encampment bore the banner of the rampant
Unicorn,
And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer,
Through the morn!

Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal
Stood our sires;
And the balls whistled deadly,
And in streams flashing redly
Blazed the fires;
As the roar
On the shore,
Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green sodded acres
Of the plain;
And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder,
Cracking amain!

Now like smiths at their forges
Worked the red Saint George's
Cannoneers;
And the "villainous saltpetre"
Rung a fierce, discordant metre
Round their ears;
As the swift
Storm drift,
With hot, sweeping anger, came the horse guard's clangor
On our flanks.
Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire
Through the ranks!

Then the old-fashioned colonel
Galloped through the white, infernal
Powder cloud;
And his broad sword was swinging,
And his brazen throat was ringing
Trumpet loud.
Then the blue
Bullets flew
And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden
Rifle breath;
And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six-pounder
Hurling death!

THE YANKEE MAN-OF-WAR.

[Descriptive of the daring bravery of Captain John Paul Jones, in his cruise in the Irish Channel in 1778.]

(From Admiral Luce's "Naval Songs.")

'Tis of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the stripes and stars,
And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west blew through the pitch-pine spars,--
With her starboard tacks a-board, my boys, she hung upon the gale,
On an autumn night we raised the light on the old head of Kinsale.

It was a clear and cloudless night, and the wind blew steady and strong,
As gaily over the sparkling deep our good ship bowled along;
With the foaming seas beneath her bow the fiery waves she spread,
And bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cat-head.

There was no talk of shortening sail by him who walked the poop,
And under the press of her pond'ring jib, the boom bent like a hoop!
And the groaning water-ways told the strain that held her stout main-tack,
But he only laughed as he glanced aloft at a white and silv'ry track.

The mid-tide meets in the channel waves that flow from shore to shore,
And the mist hung heavy upon the land from Featherstone to Dunmore,
And that sterling light in Tusker Rock where the old bell tolls each hour,
And the beacon light that shone so bright was quench'd on Waterford Tower.

The nightly robes our good ship wore were her three topsails set
Her spanker and her standing jib--the courses being fast;
"Now, lay aloft! my heroes bold, let not a moment pass!"
And royals and top-gallant sails were quickly on each mast.

What looms upon our starboard bow? What hangs upon the breeze?
'Tis time our good ship hauled her wind a-breast the old Saltee's,
For by her ponderous press of sail and by her consorts four
We saw our morning visitor was a British man-of-war.

Up spake our noble Captain then, as a shot ahead of us past--
"Haul snug your flowing courses! lay your topsail to the mast!"
Those Englishmen gave three loud hurrahs from the deck of their covered ark,
And we answered back by a solid broadside from the decks of our patriot bark.

"Out booms! out booms!" our skipper cried, "out booms and give her sheet,"
And the swiftest keel that was ever launched shot ahead of the British fleet,
And a-midst a thundering shower of shot with stun'-sails hoisting away,
Down the North Channel Paul Jones did steer just at the break of day.

PAUL JONES' VICTORY]

(Battle between the _Bon Homme Richard_ and the _Serapis_, September 23, 1779.)

An American Frigate:--a frigate of fame,
With guns mounting forty, _The Richard_ by name,
Sailed to cruise in the channels of old England,
With a valiant commander, Paul Jones was his name.
Hurrah! Hurrah! Our country forever, Hurrah!

We had not cruised long, before he espies
A large forty-four, and a twenty likewise;
Well manned with bold seamen, well laid in with stores,
In consort to drive us from old England's shores.
Hurrah! Hurrah! Our country forever, Hurrah!

About twelve at noon, Pearson came alongside,
With a loud speaking trumpet, "Whence came you?" he cried:
"Return me an answer--I hailed you before,
Or if you do not, a broadside I'll pour." Hurrah!

Paul Jones then said to his men, every one,
"Let every true seaman stand firm to his gun!
We'll receive a broadside from this bold Englishman,
And like true Yankee sailors, return it again." Hurrah!

The contest was bloody, both decks ran with gore,
And the sea seemed to blaze, while the cannon did roar.
"Fight on, my brave boys," then Paul Jones he cried,
"And soon we will humble this bold Englishman's pride." Hurrah!

"Stand firm to your quarters--your duty don't shun,
The first one that shrinks, through the body I'll run,
Though their force is superior, yet they shall know,
What true, brave American seamen can do." Hurrah!

The battle rolled on, till bold Pearson cried:
"Have you yet struck your colors? then come alongside!"
But so far from thinking that the battle was won,
Brave Paul Jones replied: "I've not yet begun!" Hurrah!

We fought them eight glasses, eight glasses so hot,
Till seventy bold seamen lay dead on the spot.
And ninety brave seamen lay stretched in their gore,
While the pieces of cannon most fiercely did roar.

Our gunner, in great fright to Captain Jones came,
"We gain water quite fast and our side's in a flame."
Then Paul Jones said in the height of his pride:
"If we cannot do better, boys, sink alongside!"

The _Alliance_ bore down, and the _Richard_ did rake,
Which caused the bold hearts of our seamen to ache:
Our shots flew so hot that they could not stand us long,
And the undaunted Union-of-Britain came down.

To us they did strike and their colors hauled down;
The fame of Paul Jones to the world shall be known,
His name shall rank with the gallant and brave,
Who fought like a hero--our freedom to save.

Now all valiant seamen where'er you may be,
Who hear of this combat that's fought on the sea,
May you all do like them, when called to do the same,
And your names be enrolled on the pages of fame.

Your country will boast of her sons that are brave,
And to you she will look from all dangers to save,
She'll call you dear sons, in her annals you'll shine,
And the brows of the brave shall green laurels entwine.

So now, my brave boys, have we taken a prize--
A large 44, and a 20 likewise!
Then God bless the mother whose doom is to weep
The loss of her sons in the ocean so deep.

1813.

THE ROYAL ADVENTURER.

BY PHILIP FRENEAU.

[In the year 1781, Prince William Henry (afterward William IV.), third son of George III., came to New York as a midshipman, accompanied by Admiral Digby. The tory authorities of the city overwhelmed the boy--he was just sixteen years old--with adulation, recording it as their conviction that his gracious presence in the country would shame the patriots out of their rebellion and win them to submission and loyalty.--EDITOR.]

Prince William, of the Brunswick race,
To witness George's sad disgrace
The royal lad came over,
Rebels to kill, by right divine--
Derived from that industrious line,
The beggars of Hanover.

So many chiefs got broken pates
In vanquishing the rebel states,
So many nobles fell,
That George the Third in passion cried:
"Our royal blood must now be tried;
'Tis that must break the spell;

"To you [the fat pot-valiant swain
To Digby said], dear friend of mine,
To you I trust my boy;
The rebel tribes shall quake with fears,
Rebellion die when he appears,
My tories leap with joy."

So said, so done--the lad was sent,
But never reached the continent,
An island held him fast--
Yet there his friends danced rigadoons,
The Hessians sung in high Dutch tunes,
"Prince William's come at last!"

"Prince William's come!"--the Briton cried--
"Our labors now will be repaid--
Dominion be restored--
Our monarch is in William seen,
He is the image of our queen,
Let William be adored!"

The tories came with long address,
With poems groaned the royal press,
And all in William's praise--
The youth, astonished, looked about
To find their vast dominions out,
Then answered in amaze:

"Where all your vast domain can be,
Friends, for my soul I cannot see;
'Tis but an empty name;
Three wasted islands and a town
In rubbish buried--half burnt down,
Is all that we can claim;

"I am of royal birth, 'tis true,
But what, my sons, can princes do,
No armies to command?
Cornwallis conquered and distrest--
Sir Henry Clinton grown a jest--
I curse--and quit the land."

EUTAW SPRINGS.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS, UNDER GENERAL GREENE, IN
SOUTH CAROLINA, WHO FELL IN THE ACTION OF SEPTEMBER 8, 1781, AT
EUTAW SPRINGS.

BY PHILIP FRENEAU.

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 a tear,
O smite thy gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!

Thou who shalt trace this bloody 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 injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear,--but left the shield.

Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None distant viewed the fatal plain,
None grieved, in such a cause to die--

But, like the Parthian, famed 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 sunshine of their own.

AN ANCIENT PROPHECY.

BY PHILIP FRENEAU.

(Written soon after the surrender of Cornwallis.)

When a certain great King, whose initial is G.,
Forces stamps upon paper and folks to drink tea;
When these folks burn his tea and stampt-paper, like stubble,
You may guess that this King is then coming to trouble.

But when a Petition he treads under feet,
And sends over the ocean an army and fleet,
When that army, half famished, and frantic with rage,
Is cooped up with a leader whose name rhymes to _cage_;
When that leader goes home, dejected and sad;
You may then be assur'd the King's prospects are bad.

But when B. and C. with their armies are taken
This King will do well if he saves his own bacon:
In the year Seventeen hundred and eighty and two
A stroke he shall get, that will make him look blue;
And soon, very soon, shall the season arrive,
When Nebuchadnezzar to pasture shall drive.

In the year eighty-three, the affair will be over
And he shall eat turnips that grow in Hanover;
The face of the Lion will then become pale,
He shall yield fifteen teeth and be sheared of his tail--
O King, my dear King, you shall be very sore,
From the _Stars_ and the _Stripes_ you will mercy implore,
And your Lion shall growl, but hardly bite more.--

THE DANCE.

(Published soon after the surrender of Cornwallis.)

Cornwallis led a country dance,
The like was never seen, sir,
Much retrograde and much advance,
And all with General Greene, sir.

They rambled up and rambled down,
Joined hands, then off they run, sir,
Our General Greene to Charlestown,
The earl to Wilmington, sir.

Greene in the South then danced a set,
And got a mighty name, sir,
Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette,
But suffered in his fame, sir.

Then down he figured to the shore,
Most like a lordly dancer,
And on his courtly honor swore
He would no more advance, sir.

Quoth he, my guards are weary grown
With footing country dances,
They never at St. James's shone,
At capers, kicks or prances.

Though men so gallant ne'er were seen,
While sauntering on parade, sir,
Or wriggling o'er the park's smooth green,
Or at a masquerade, sir.

Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts,
For stumps and briars meet, sir?
Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts,
Or hardy veteran feet, sir?

Now housed in York, he challenged all,
At minuet or all 'amande,
And lessons for a courtly ball
His guards by day and night conned.

This challenge known, full soon there came,
A set who had the bon ton,
De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame
Fut brillant pour un long tems.

And Washington, Columbia's son,
Whom easy nature taught, sir,
That grace which can't by pains be won,
Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir.

Now hand in hand they circle round
This ever-dancing peer, sir;
Their gentle movements soon confound
The earl as they draw near, sir.

His music soon forgets to play--
His feet can move no more,[1] sir,
And all his bands now curse the day
They jiggèd to our shore, sir.

Now Tories all, what can ye say?
Come--is not this a griper,
That while your hopes are danced away,
'Tis you must pay the piper?

1781.

[1] In all the versions of this poem examined by the editor this
line reads "His feet can no more move, sir"; but the reading is
so clearly wrong that it seems proper to amend it so that the
obviously intended rhyme between "more, sir" and "shore, sir"
shall appear. There is the greater justification for the taking of
this liberty of correction because the poem originally appeared in
carelessly edited contemporary prints.--EDITOR.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

[A very interesting bit of literary history attaches to this poem. The piece appeared in Mr. Bryant's first collected volume of poems about 1831. Mr. Bryant sent the volume, with a letter, to Washington Irving, then in London, with whom he had no personal acquaintance, and invoked his good offices in inducing Murray to bring out an English edition of the work. The time being peculiarly unpropitious, Murray declined to undertake the venture, but Irving found another publisher, and himself introduced the volume in the most favorable manner, with a dedicatory letter of his own. While passing the book through the press the publisher observed in this poem the lines:

"The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told,"

and assured Irving that he could not offer a work containing such a statement to a British public. It was impossible to consult the author, three thousand miles away, and Irving ventured to change the objectionable passage so that it should read:

"The foeman trembles in his camp
When Marion's name is told."

There is no reason to believe that Mr. Bryant ever resented the liberty or regarded it otherwise than as an act of friendly intervention; but some years later William Leggett, who had long been Mr. Bryant's editorial associate in the office of the _Evening Post_, but had severed his connection with that paper, made a virulent assault upon Irving in the _Plaindealer_ on account of the change he had made, even going so far as to intimate that both that and his dealings with one of his own works were dictated by mean sycophancy and cowardice on Irving's part.--EDITOR.]

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 greenwood,
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.

Woe 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;
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 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
Forever from our shore.

HAIL COLUMBIA.

BY JOSEPH HOPKINSON.

(First sung at the Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, in 1798.)

[This song was inspired by the troubles with France, which threatened but did not actually result in open war. For convenience it is classed with the ballads and lyrics of the Revolution, to the actors in which its references point, though, strictly speaking, it belongs to none of the groups into which this collection is divided.--EDITOR.]

Hail! Columbia, happy land!
Hail! ye heroes, heav'n-born band,
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoyed the peace your valor won;
Let independence be your boast,
Ever mindful what it cost,
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.

_Chorus._

Firm, united let us be,
Rallying round our liberty,
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots, rise once more!
Defend your rights, defend your shore;
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Let no rude foe with impious hand
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize;
While offering peace, sincere and just,
In heav'n we place a manly trust,
That truth and justice may prevail,
And ev'ry scheme of bondage fail.--_Chorus._

Sound, sound the trump of fame!
Let Washington's great name
Ring thro' the world with loud applause!
Ring thro' the world with loud applause!
Let ev'ry clime to freedom dear
Listen with a joyful ear;
With equal skill, with steady pow'r,
He governs in the fearful hour
Of horrid war, or guides with ease
The happier time of honest peace.--_Chorus._

Behold the chief, who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,
The rock on which the storm will beat!
The rock on which the storm will beat!
But armed in virtue, firm and true,
His hopes are fixed on heav'n and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
When gloom obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.--_Chorus._

THE WAR OF 1812-15]

_TRUXTON'S VICTORY_]

(Action between the _Constellation_ and the _Insurgente_, 9 Feb., 1799.)

[This song and the one that follows it relate to a naval conflict of 1799, during the troubles which for a time threatened war between France and the United States. As the second of the two songs was written in 1813, and both were much sung at that period, it has been thought best to present both of them where one properly belongs, namely, among the poems of the last war with Great Britain.--EDITOR.]

When Freedom, fair Freedom, her banner display'd,
Defying each foe whom her rights would invade,
Columbia's brave sons swore those rights to maintain,
And o'er ocean and earth to establish her reign;
United they cry,
While that standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Tho' Gallia through Europe has rushed like a flood,
And deluged the earth with an ocean of blood:
While by faction she's led, while she's governed by knaves,
We court not her smiles, and will ne'er be her slaves;
Her threats we defy,
While our standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Tho' France with caprice dares our Statesmen upbraid,
A tribute demands, or sets bounds to our trade;
From our young rising Navy our thunders shall roar,
And our Commerce extend to the earth's utmost shore.
Our cannon we'll ply,
While our standard shall fly;
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

To know we're resolved, let them think on the hour,
When Truxton, brave Truxton off Nevis's shore,
His ship mann'd for battle, the standard unfurl'd,
And at the _Insurgente_ defiance he hurled;
And his valiant tars cry,
While our standard shall fly,
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Each heart beat exulting, inspir'd by the cause;
They fought for their country, their freedom and laws;
From their cannon loud volleys of vengeance they pour'd,
And the standard of France to Columbia was lower'd.
Huzza! they now cry,
Let the Eagle wave high;
Resolved, firm, and steady,
We always are ready
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

Then raise high the strain, pay the tribute that's due
To the fair _Constellation_, and all her brave Crew;
Be Truxton revered, and his name be enrolled,
'Mongst the chiefs of the ocean, the heroes of old.
Each invader defy,
While such heroes are nigh,
Who always are ready,
Resolved, firm, and steady
To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.

THE "CONSTELLATION" AND THE "INSURGENTE."

(Action of 9 February, 1799.)

Come all ye Yankee sailors, with swords and pikes advance,
'Tis time to try your courage and humble haughty France,
The sons of France our seas invade,
Destroy our commerce and our trade,
'Tis time the reckoning should be paid!
To brave Yankee boys.

On board the _Constellation_, from Baltimore we came,
We had a bold commander and Truxton was his name!
Our ship she mounted forty guns,
And on the main so swiftly runs,
To prove to France Columbia's sons
Are brave Yankee boys.

We sailed to the West Indies in order to annoy
The invaders of our commerce, to burn, sink, and destroy;
Our _Constellation_ shone so bright,
The Frenchmen could not bear the sight,
And away they scamper'd in affright,
From the brave Yankee boys.

'Twas on the 9th of February, at Montserrat we lay,
And there we spy'd the _Insurgente_ just at the break of day,
We raised the orange and the blue,
To see if they our signals knew,
The _Constellation_ and her crew
Of brave Yankee boys.

Then all hands were called to quarters, while we pursued in chase,
With well prim'd guns, our tompions out, well spliced the main brace.
Soon to the French we did draw nigh,
Compelled to fight, they were, or fly,
The word was passed, "CONQUER OR DIE,"
My brave Yankee boys.

Lord! our Cannons thunder'd with peals tremendous roar,
And death upon our bullets' wings that drenched their decks with gore,
The blood did from their scuppers run,
Their chief exclaimed, "We are undone!"
Their flag they struck, the battle won,
By the brave Yankee boys.

Then to St. Kitts we steered, we bro't her safe in port,
The grand salute was fired and answered from the fort,
John Adams in full bumpers toast,
George Washington, Columbia's boast,
And now "the girl we love the most!"
My brave Yankee boys.

1813.

THE WASP'S FROLIC.

(Action of 18 October, 1812.)

[From "Naval Songster," 1815.]

'Twas on board the sloop-of-war _Wasp_ boys,
We set sail from Delaware Bay,
To cruise on Columbia's fair coast, sirs,
Our rights to maintain on the sea.

Three days were not passed on our station,
When the _Frolic_ came up to our view;
Says Jones, "Show the flag of our nation";
Three cheers were then gave by our crew.

We boldly bore up to this Briton,
Whose cannon began for to roar;
The _Wasp_ soon her stings from her side ran,
When we on them a broadside did pour.

Each sailor stood firm at his quarters,
'Twas minutes past forty and three,
When fifty bold Britons were slaughter'd,
Whilst our guns swept their masts in the sea.

Their breasts then with valor still glowing,
Acknowledged the battle we'd won,
On us then bright laurels bestowing,
When to leeward they fired a gun.

On their decks we the twenty guns counted,
With a crew for to answer the same;
Eighteen was the number we mounted,
Being served by the lads of true game.

With the _Frolic_ in tow, we were standing,
All in for Columbia's fair shore;
But fate on our laurels was frowning,
We were taken by a seventy-four.

"CONSTITUTION" AND "GUERRIÈRE."

(Action of 19 August, 1812.)

It oft times has been told,
That the British seamen bold,
Could flog the tars of France so neat and handy, oh!
But they never found their match,
Till the Yankees did them catch,
Oh, the Yankee boys for fighting are the dandy, oh!

The _Guerrière_ a frigate bold,
On the foaming ocean rolled,
Commanded by proud Dacres, the grandee, oh!
With as choice a British crew,
As a rammer ever drew,
Could flog the Frenchmen two to one so handy, oh!

When this frigate hove in view,
Says proud Dacres to his crew,
"Come clear ship for action and be handy, oh!
To the weather gage, boys, get her,"
And to make his men fight better,
Gave them to drink gun-powder mixed with brandy, oh!

Then Dacres loudly cries,
"Make this Yankee ship your prize,
You can in thirty minutes, neat and handy, oh!
Twenty-five's enough I'm sure,
And if you'll do it in a score,
I'll treat you to a double share of brandy, oh!"

The British shot flew hot,
Which the Yankees answered not,
Till they got within the distance they called handy, oh!
"Now," says Hull unto his crew,
"Boys, let's see what we can do,
If we take this boasting Briton we're the dandy, oh!"

The first broadside we pour'd
Carried her mainmast by the board,
Which made this loftly frigate look abandon'd, oh!
Then Dacres shook his head,
And to his officers said,
"Lord! I didn't think those Yankees were so handy, oh!"

Our second told so well
That their fore and mizzen fell,
Which dous'd the Royal ensign neat and handy, oh!
"By George!" says he, "we're done,"
And they fired a lee gun,
While the Yankees struck up Yankee Doodle Dandy, oh!

Then Dacres came on board,
To deliver up his sword,
Tho' loth was he to part with it, it was so handy, oh!
"Oh keep your sword," says Hull,
"For it only makes you dull,
"Cheer up and take a little drink of brandy, oh!"

Now, fill your glasses full,
And we'll drink to Captain Hull,
And so merrily we'll push about the brandy, oh!
John Bull may toast his fill,
But let the world say what they will,
The Yankee boys for fighting are the dandy, oh!

THE "UNITED STATES" AND "MACEDONIAN."

(Action 25 of October, 1812.)

How glows each patriot bosom that boasts a Yankee heart,
To emulate such glorious deeds and nobly take a part;
When sailors with their thund'ring guns,
Prove to the English, French, and Danes
That Neptune's chosen fav'rite sons
Are brave Yankees boys.

The twenty-fifth of October, that glorious happy day,
When we beyond all precedent, from Britons bore the sway,--
'Twas in the ship _United States_,
Four and forty guns the rates,
That she should rule, decreed the Fates,
And brave Yankee boys.

Decatur and his hardy tars were cruising on the deep,
When off the Western Islands they to and fro did sweep,
The _Macedonian_ they espied,
"Huzza! bravo!" Decatur cried,
"We'll humble Britain's boasted pride,
My brave Yankee boys."

The decks were cleared, the hammocks stowed, the boatswain pipes all hands,
The tompions out, the guns well sponged, the Captain now commands;
The boys who for their country fight,
Their words, "Free Trade and Sailor's Rights!"
Three times they cheered with all their might,
Those brave Yankee boys.

Now chain-shot, grape, and langrage pierce through her oaken sides,
And many a gallant sailor's blood runs purpling in the tides;
While death flew nimbly o'er their decks,
Some lost their legs, and some their necks,
And Glory's wreath our ship be-decks,
For brave Yankee boys.

My boys, the proud St. George's Cross, the stripes above it wave,
And busy are our gen'rous tars, the conquered foe to save,
Our Captain cries "Give me your hand,"
Then of the ship who took command
But brave Yankee boys?

Our enemy lost her mizzen, her main and fore-top-mast,
For ev'ry shot with death was winged, which slew her men so fast,
That they lost five to one in killed,
And ten to one their blood was spilled,
So Fate decreed and Heaven had willed,
For brave Yankee boys.

Then homeward steered the captive ship, now safe in port she lies,
The old and young with rapture viewed our sailors' noble prize;
Through seas of wine their health we'll drink,
And wish them sweet-hearts, friends, and chink,
Who 'fore they'd strike, will nobly sink
Our brave Yankee boys.

1813.

THE "UNITED STATES" AND "MACEDONIAN."

(Action of 25 October, 1812.)

The banner of Freedom high floated unfurled,
While the silver-tipt surges in low homage curled,
Flashing bright round the bow of Decatur's brave bark,
In contest, an "eagle"--in chasing a "lark."
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

All canvas expanded to woo the coy gale,
The ship cleared for action, in chase of a sail;
The foemen in view, every bosom beats high,
All eager for conquest, or ready to die.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly.
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

Now havoc stands ready, with optics of flame,
And battle-hounds "strain on the start" for the game;
The blood demons rise on the surge for their prey,
While Pity, rejected, awaits the dread fray.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

The gay floating streamers of Britain appear,
Waving light on the breeze as the stranger we near;
And now could the quick-sighted Yankee discern
"_Macedonian_," emblazoned at large on her stern.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

She waited our approach, and the contest began,
But to waste ammunition is no Yankee plan;
In awful suspense every match was withheld,
While the bull-dogs of Britain incessantly yelled.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

Unawed by her thunders, alongside we came,
While the foe seemed enwrapped in a mantle of flame;
When, prompt to the word, such a flood we return,
That Neptune aghast, thought his trident would burn.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

Now the lightning of battle gleams horridly red,
With a tempest of iron and hail-storm of lead;
And our fire on the foe we so copiously poured,
His mizzen and topmasts soon went by the board.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

So fierce and so bright did our flashes aspire,
They thought that their cannon had set us on fire,
"The Yankee's in flames!"--every British tar hears,
And hails the false omen with three hearty cheers.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

In seventeen minutes they found their mistake,
And were glad to surrender and fall in our wake;
Her decks were with carnage and blood deluged o'er,
Where welt'ring in blood lay an hundred and four.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

But though she was made so completely a wreck,
With blood they had scarcely encrimsoned our deck;
Only five valiant Yankees in the contest were slain,
And our ship in five minutes was fitted again.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

Let Britain no longer lay claim to the seas,
For the trident of Neptune is ours, if we please,
While Hull and Decatur and Jones are our boast,
We dare their whole navy to come on our coast.
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

Rise, tars of Columbia!--and share in the fame,
Which gilds Hull's, Decatur's and Jones's bright name;
Fill a bumper, and drink, "Here's success to the cause,
But Decatur supremely deserves our applause."
The bold _United States_,
Which four-and-forty rates,
Shall ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly,
Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."

1813.

PERRY'S VICTORY.

(Battle of Lake Erie, 10 September, 1813.)

[This ballad, clumsy as it is in construction, was very popular in its day, mainly, perhaps, because of the peculiarly dramatic character of the action it was written to celebrate.--EDITOR.]

We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake,
To find British bullies or get into their wake,
When we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed,
And the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead.

We sailed thro' the lake, boys, in search of the foe,
In the cause of Columbia our brav'ry to show,
To be equal in combat was all our delight,
As we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight.

And whether like Yeo, boys, they'd taken affright,
We could see not, nor find them by day or by night;
So cruising we went in a glorious cause,
In defence of our rights, our freedom, and laws.

At length to our liking six sails hove in view,
Huzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew,
And then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew,
We fell in with the bullies and gave them "burgoo."

Though the force was unequal, determined to fight,
We brought them to action before it was night;
We let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly,
"Now give them your shot, boys," our commander did cry.

We gave them a broadside, our cannon to try,
"Well done," says brave Perry, "for quarter they'll cry,
Shot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see,
That quite brave as they are, still braver are we."

Then we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight,
And put the proud Britons in a terrible plight,
The brave Perry's movements will prove fully as bold,
As the fam'd Admiral Nelson's prowess of old.

The conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his guns,
For our country, her glory, the vict'ry was won,
So six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take,
Here's a health to brave Perry, who governs the Lake.

1813.

YANKEE THUNDERS.

Britannia's gallant streamers,
Float proudly o'er the tide,
And fairly wave Columbia's stripes,
In battle side by side.
And ne'er did bolder seamen meet,
Where ocean's surges pour;
O'er the tide now they ride,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.

When Yankee meets the Briton,
Whose blood congenial flows,
By Heav'n created to be friends,
By fortune rendered foes;
Hard then must be the battle fray,
Ere well the fight is o'er;
Now they ride, side by side,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.

Still, still, for noble England
Bold D'Acres' streamers fly;
And for Columbia, gallant Hull's
As proudly and as high;
Now louder rings the battle din,
And thick the volumes pour;
Still they ride, side by side,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.

Why lulls Britannia's thunder,
That waked the wat'ry war?
Why stays the gallant _Guerrière_,
Whose streamers waved so fair?
That streamer drinks the ocean wave,
That warrior's fight is o'er!
Still they ride, side by side,
While the bell'wing thunders roar,
While the cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And the bell'wing thunders roar.

Hark! 'tis the Briton's lee gun!
Ne'er bolder warrior kneeled!
And ne'er to gallant mariners
Did braver seamen yield.
Proud be the sires, whose hardy boys
Then fell to fight no more:
With the brave, mid the wave;
When the cannon's thunders roar,
Their spirits then shall trim the blast,
And swell the thunder's roar.

Vain were the cheers of Britons,
Their hearts did vainly swell,
Where virtue, skill, and bravery
With gallant Morris fell.
That heart so well in battle tried,
Along the Moorish shore,
And again o'er the main,
When Columbia's thunders roar,
Shall prove its Yankee spirit true,
When Columbia's thunder's roar.

Hence be our floating bulwark
Those oaks our mountains yield;
'Tis mighty Heaven's plain decree--
Then take the wat'ry field!
To ocean's farthest barrier then
Your whit'ning sail shall pour;
Safe they'll ride o'er the tide,
While Columbia's thunders roar,
While her cannon's fire is flashing fast,
And her Yankee thunders roar.

1813.

YE PARLIAMENT OF ENGLAND.

[This rudely constructed song--evidently composed in the forecastle, where poets are not exigent in the matter of rhymes, is included in this collection, notwithstanding its imperfections, because of the hold it took upon the minds of patriotic people. It was still a favorite song in many parts of the country as late as 1859, and it is valuable as a reflection of the spirit in which the War of 1812-14 was regarded by those who fought it.--EDITOR.]

Ye parliament of England,
You lords and commons, too,
Consider well what you're about,
And what you're going to do;
You're now to fight with Yankees,
I'm sure you'll rue the day,
You roused the sons of liberty,
In North America.

You first confined our commerce,
And said our ships shant trade,
You next impressed our seamen,
And used them as your slaves;
You then insulted Rogers,
While ploughing o'er the main,
And had not we declarèd war,
You'd have done it o'er again.

You thought our frigates were but few,
And Yankees could not fight,
Until brave Hull your _Guerrière_ took
And banished her from your sight.
The _Wasp_ then took your _Frolic_,
We'll nothing say to that,
The _Poictiers_ being of the line,
Of course she took her back.

The next, your _Macedonian_,
No finer ship could swim,
Decatur took her gilt-work off,
And then he sent her in.
The _Java_, by a Yankee ship
Was sunk, you all must know;
The _Peacock_ fine, in all her plume,
By Lawrence down did go.

Then next you sent your _Boxer_,
To box us all about,
But we had an _Enterprising_ brig
That beat your _Boxer_ out;
We boxed her up to Portland,
And moored her off the town,
To show the sons of liberty
The _Boxer_ of renown.

The next upon Lake Erie,
Where Perry had some fun,
You own he beat your naval force,
And caused them for to run;
This was to you a sore defeat,
The like ne'er known before--
Your British squadron beat complete--
Some took, some run ashore.

There's Rogers in the _President_,
Will burn, sink, and destroy;
The _Congress_, on the Brazil coast,
Your commerce will annoy;
The _Essex_, in the South Seas,
Will put out all your lights,
The flag she waves at her mast-head--
"Free Trade and Sailor's Rights."

Lament, ye sons of Britain,
Far distant is the day,
When you'll regain by British force
What you've lost in America;
Go tell your king and parliament,
By all the world 'tis known,
That British force, by sea and land,
By Yankees is o'erthrown.

Use every endeavor,
And strive to make a peace,
For Yankee ships are building fast,
Their navy to increase;
They will enforce their commerce,
The laws by heaven are made,
That Yankee ships in time of peace,
To any port may trade.

1813.

COMRADES! JOIN THE FLAG OF GLORY.

Comrades! join the flag of glory,
Cheerily tread the deck of fame,
Earn a place in future story,
Seek and win a warrior's name.

Yankee tars can laugh at dangers,
While the roaring mountain wave
Teems with carnage--they are strangers
To a deed that is not brave.

May our bannered stars as ever
Splendidly o'er freemen burn,
Till the night of war is over,
Till the dawn of peace return.

1813.

OUR NAVY.

On wings of glory, swift as light,
The sound of battle came,
The gallant Hull in glorious fight
Has won the wreaths of fame.

_Chorus._--Let brave Columbia's noble band
With hearts united rise,
Swear to protect their native land
Till sacred freedom dies.

Let brave Decatur's dauntless breast
With patriot ardor glow,
And in the garb of vict'ry drest
Triumphant blast the foe.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.

And Rogers with his gallant crew
O'er the wide ocean ride,
To prove their loyal spirits true,
And crush old Albion's pride.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.

Then hail another Guerrière there,
With roaring broadsides hail;
And while the thunder rends the air
See Briton's sons turn pale.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.

"The day is ours, my boys, huzza!"
The great commander cries,
While all responsive roar huzza!
With pleasure-sparkling eyes.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.

Thus shall Columbia's fame be spread,
Her heaven-born eagle soar;
Her deeds of glory shall be read
When tyrants are no more.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.

1813.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

BY FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

[Written during the bombardment of Fort McHenry, below Baltimore, by the British fleet, 1814, the author being at the time forcibly detained on board one of the British ships.--EDITOR.]

O 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,
On 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.
O say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore 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,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream.
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country shall leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of death and the gloom of the grave.
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation;
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heaven-rescued land,
Praise the power that has made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just.
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

SEA AND LAND VICTORIES.

(From "The Naval Songster," 1815.)

With half the Western world at stake,
See Perry on the midland lake,
The unequal combat dare;
Unawed by vastly stronger pow'rs,
He met the foe and made him ours,
And closed the savage war.

Macdonough, too, on Lake Champlain,
In ships outnumbered, guns, and men,
Saw dangers thick increase;
His trust in God and virtue's cause
He conquer'd in the lion's jaws,
And led the way to peace.

To sing each valiant hero's name
Whose deeds have swelled the files of fame,
Requires immortal powers;
Columbia's warriors never yield
To equal force by sea or field,
Her eagle never cowers.

Long as Niagara's cataract roars
Or Erie laves our Northern shores,
Great Brown, thy fame shall rise;
Outnumber'd by a veteran host
Of conquering heroes, Britain's boast--
Conquest was there thy prize.

At Plattsburg, see the Spartan band,
Where gallant Macomb held command,
The unequal host oppose;
Provost confounded, vanquished flies,
Convinced that numbers won't suffice
Where Freemen are the foes.

Our songs to noblest strains we'll raise
While we attempt thy matchless praise,
Carolina's godlike son;
While Mississippi rolls his flood,
Or Freemen's hearts move patriots' blood,
The palm shall be thine own.

At Orleans--lo! a savage band,
In countless numbers gain the strand,
"Beauty and spoil" the word--
There Jackson with his fearless few,
The invincibles by thousands slew,
And dire destruction poured.

O Britain! when the tale is told
Of Jackson's deeds by fame enrolled,
Should grief and madness rise,
Remember God, the avenger, reigns,
Who witnessed Havre's smoking plains,
And Hampton's female cries.

OLD IRONSIDES.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

[This poem was inspired by the announcement that the frigate _Constitution_ was to be dismantled. Though written later it belongs among the poems of the War of 1812, as the _Constitution's_ fame was won in that war.--EDITOR.]

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has dimmed to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;--
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;--
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!