Part 7 — THE OLD CONTINENTALS
Reading edition
By Guy Humphreys 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 gun-powder, 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 horseguards’ 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!