Chapter XI: Canto II

Near his meridian pomp the sun
Had journeyed from th' horizon,
When fierce the dusky tribe moved on,
Of heroes drunk as poison.

The sounds confused, of boasting oaths,
Re-echoed through the wood:
Some vowed to sleep in dead men's clothes,
And some to swim in blood.

At Irvine's nod, 'twas fine to see
The left prepared to fight,
The while the drovers, Wayne and Lee
Drew off upon the right.

Which Irvine 'twas Fame don't relate,
Nor can the Muse assist her--
Whether 'twas he that cocks a hat,
Or he that gives a glister.

For greatly one was signalized,
That fought at Chestnut Hill,
And Canada immortalized
The vender of the pill.[34]

Yet the attendance upon Proctor
They both might have to boast of;
For there was business for the doctor,
And hats to be disposed of.

Let none uncandidly infer
That Stirling wanted spunk,
The self-made Peer[35] had sure been there,
But that the Peer was drunk.

But turn we to the Hudson's banks,
Where stood the modest train,
With purpose firm, though slender ranks,
Nor cared a pin for Wayne.

For then the unrelenting hand
Of rebel fury drove,
And tore from ev'ry genial hand
Of friendship and of love.

And some within a dungeon's gloom,
By mock tribunals laid,
Had waited long a cruel doom,
Impending o'er their head.

Here one bewails a brother's fate,
There one a sire demands,
Cut off, alas! before their date,
By ignominious hands.

And silvered grandsires here appeared
In deep distress serene,
Of reverend manners that declared
The better days they'd seen.

Oh! cursed rebellion, these are thine,
Thine are these tales of woe;
Shall at thy dire, insatiate shrine
Blood never cease to flow?

And now the foe began to lead
His forces to the attack;
Balls whistling unto balls succeed,
And make the block-house crack.

No shot could pass, if you will take
The gen'ral's word for true;[36]
But 'tis a d----le mistake,
For ev'ry shot went through.

The firmer as the rebels pressed,
The loyal heroes stand;
Virtue had nerved each honest breast,
And industry each hand.

In valor's frenzy, Hamilton[37]
Rode like a soldier big,
And Secretary Harrison[38]
With pen stuck in his wig.

But, lest chieftain Washington
Should mourn them in the mumps,[39]
The fate of Withington to shun,
They fought _behind_ the stumps.[40]

But ah! Thaddeus Posset, why
Should thy poor soul elope?
And why should Titus Hooper die--
Ah! die without a rope?

Apostate Murphy, thou to whom
Fair Shela ne'er was cruel;
_In death shalt hear her_ mourn thy doom,
"Och! would ye die, my jewel?"

Thee, Nathan Pumpkin, I lament,
Of melancholy fate;
The gray goose, stolen as he went,
In his heart's blood was wet.

Now, as the fight was further fought,
And balls began to thicken,
The fray assumed, the gen'rals thought,
The color of a licking.

Yet undismayed, the chiefs command,
And, to redeem the day,
Cry, "Soldiers, charge!" They hear, they stand--
They turn and run away!