Act 4 — THE OLD CONTINENTALS

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 St. George's Cannoneers, And the villainous saltpetre Rung a fierce, discordant meter Round their ears; As the swift Storm drift, With hot sweeping anger, came the horseguards' clangor On our flanks; Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks! Then the bareheaded colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder cloud; And his broadsword 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! Guy Humphreys McMaster