Part 3 — CHAPTER II

Ye brave sons of Freedom, come join in the chorus, At the dangers of war do not let us repine, But sing and rejoice at the prospect before us, And drink it success in a bumper of wine. At the call of the nation, Let each to his station, And resist depredation, Which our country degrades; Ere the conflict is over, Our rights we'll recover, Or punish whoever Our honor invades. We're abused and insulted, our country's degraded, Our rights are infringed both by land and by sea; Let us rouse up, indignant, when those rights are invaded, And announce to the world, "We're united and free!" By our navy's protection We'll make our election, And in every direction Our trade shall be free; No British oppression, No Gallic aggression Shall disturb the possession We claim to the sea. Then Columbia's ships shall sail on the ocean, And the nations of Europe respect us at last: Our stars and our stripes shall command their devotion, And Liberty perch on the top of the mast. Though Bona and John Bull Continue their long pull, Till ambition's cup-full Be drain'd to the lees; By wisdom directed, By tyrants respected, By cannon protected, We'll traverse the seas. Though vile combinations to sever the Union Be projected with caution and managed with care, Though traitors and Britons, in sweetest communion, Their patriot virtue unite and compare, American thunder Shall rend it asunder, And ages shall wonder At the deeds we have done: And every Tory When he hears of the story, Shall repine at the glory Our heroes have won. Let local attachments be condemn'd and discarded, Distrust and suspicion be banish'd the mind, Let union, our safety, be ever regarded, When improved by example, by virtue refined. Our ancestors brought it, Our sages have taught it, Our Washington bought it, 'Tis our glory and boast! No factions shall ever Our government sever, But "Union forever," Shall be our last toast.

Rejoice, rejoice, brave patriots, rejoice! Our martial sons take a bold and manly stand! Rejoice, rejoice, exulting raise your voice, Let union pervade our happy land. The altar of Liberty shall never be polluted, But freedom expand and flourish, firm and deeply rooted. Our eagle, towering high, Triumphantly shall fly, While men like Jefferson preside to serve their country! Huzza! huzza! boys, etc., etc. With firmness we'll resent our wrongs sustain'd at sea; Huzza! huzza! etc., etc. For none but slaves will bend to tyranny. To arms, to arms, with ardor rush to arms, Our injured rights have long for vengeance cried. To arms, to arms, prepare for war's alarms, If honest reparation be denied. Though feeble counteracting plans, or foreign combinations, May interdict awhile our trade, against the law of nations, The embargo on supplies Shall open Europe's eyes; Proclaiming unto all the world, "Columbia will be free." Huzza! huzza! etc., etc. With honor we'll maintain a just neutrality. Huzza! huzza! etc., etc. For none but slaves will bend to tyranny. Defend, defend, ye heroes and ye sages, The gift divine—your independency! Transmit with joy, down to future ages, How Washington achieved your liberty. When freemen are insulted, they send forth vengeful thunder, Determined to maintain their rights, strike the foe with wonder. They cheerfully will toil, To cultivate the soil, And rather live on humble fare than feast ignobly. Huzza! huzza! etc., etc. United, firm we stand, invincible and free, Huzza! huzza! etc., etc. Then none but slaves shall bend to tyranny.

Huzza for our liberty, boys, These are the days of our glory— The days of true national joys, When terrapins gallop before ye! There's Porter and Grundy and Rhea, In Congress who manfully vapor, Who draw their six dollars a day, And fight bloody battles on paper! Ah! this is true Terrapin war. Poor Madison the tremors has got, 'Bout this same arming the nation; Too far to retract, he cannot Go on—and he loses his station. Then bring up your "regulars," lads, In "attitude" nothing ye lack, sirs, Ye'll frighten to death the Danads, With fire-coals blazing aback, sirs! Oh, this is true Terrapin war! As to powder and bullets and swords, For, as they were never intended, They're a parcel of high-sounding words, But never to action extended. Ye must frighten the rascals away, In "rapid descent" on their quarters; Then the plunder divide as ye may, And drive them headlong in the waters. Oh, this is great Terrapin war!

Farewell, Peace! another crisis Calls us to "the last appeal," Made when monarchs and their vices Leave no argument but steel. When injustice and oppression Dare avow the tyrant's plea. Who would recommend submission? Virtue bids us to be free. History spreads her page before us, Time unrolls his ample scroll; Truth unfolds them, to assure us, States, united, ne'er can fall. See, in annals Greek and Roman, What immortal deeds we find; When those gallant sons of woman In their country's cause combined. Sons of Freedom! brave descendants From a race of heroes tried, To preserve our independence Let all Europe be defied. Let not all the world, united, Rob us of one sacred right: Every patriot heart's delighted In his country's cause to fight. Come then, War! with hearts elated To thy standard we will fly; Every bosom animated Either to live free or die. May the wretch that shrinks from duty, Or deserts the glorious strife, Never know the smile of beauty, Nor the blessing of a wife.

Come, ye lads, who wish to shine Bright in future story, Haste to arms, and form the line That leads to martial glory. Beat the drum, the trumpet sound, Manly and united, Danger face, maintain your ground, And see your country righted. Columbia, when her eagle's roused, And her flag is rearing Will always find her sons disposed To drub the foe that's daring. Beat the drum, etc. Hearts of oak, protect the coast, Pour your naval thunder, While on shore a mighty host Shall strike the world with wonder. Beat the drum, etc. Haste to Quebec's towering walls, Through the British regions; Hark! Montgomery's spirit calls, Drive the hostile legions. Beat the drum, etc. Honor for the brave to share Is the noblest booty; Guard your rights, protect the fair, For that's a soldier's duty. Beat the drum, etc. Charge the musket, point the lance, Brave the worst of dangers; Tell to Britain and to France, That we to fear are strangers. Beat the drum, etc.

Ye Columbians so bold, attend while I sing; Sure treason and treachery's not quite the thing, At a time like the present, we ought, one and all, In defence of our rights, to stand nobly or fall. Chorus Then let traitors be banish'd Columbia's fair shore, And treason be known in her borders no more. With a brave, gallant army Hull went to Detroit, And swore he'd accomplish a noble exploit; That the British and Indians he'd conquer outright, And give cause to his country of joy and delight. Chorus But if traitors still dwell on Columbia's fair shore, O let it be known in her borders no more. Ah! quickly alas! defeat and disgrace Star'd our brave noble soldiers quite full in the face, When they thought that the victory was sure to be won, Their general gave up, without firing a gun. Chorus Then do traitors still dwell on Columbia's fair shore, If they do, let them dwell in her borders no more! Those heroes, who bravely on the Wabash had fought, Who for glory successfully nobly had sought, Where the favor denied of asserting their wrongs, And deprived of that right which to freemen belongs. Chorus Then if treason still dwell on Columbia's fair shore, O let it be known in her borders no more! Is it true that our soldiers were wrongfully us'd? Is it true that they've been by their General abus'd? Is it true that an army so gallant were sold? Is it true that Columbians were barter'd for gold? Chorus If it is, then does treason still dwell on our shore, But let it be known in our country no more! Ye heroes who fought by the side of brave Floyd, Ye heroes, conducted to glory by Boyd, Think not that your brethren will quietly bear, From your brows that a traitor your laurels should tear. Chorus No—if treason still dwell on Columbia's fair shore, It shall soon be expell'd to reside here no more. Then rouse ye brave freemen, and heed no alarms, Your dear native country now calls you to arms, Away to the battle, and count not the cost Till the glory you gain, which so basely was lost. Chorus For if treason still dwell on Columbia's fair shore, By our fathers we swear it shall dwell here no more.

I often have been told That the British seamen bold Could beat the tars of France neat and handy O; But they never found their match, Till the Yankees did them catch, For the Yankee tars for fighting are the dandy O. O, the Guerrière so bold On the foaming ocean rolled, Commanded by Dacres the grandee O; For the choice of British crew That a rammer ever drew Could beat the Frenchmen two to one quite handy O. When the frigate hove in view, "O," said Dacres to his crew, "Prepare ye for action and be handy O; On the weather-gauge we'll get her." And to make his men fight better, He gave to them gunpowder and good brandy O. Now this boasting Briton cries, "Make that Yankee ship your prize, You can in thirty minutes do it handy O, Or twenty-five, I'm sure You'll do it in a score, I will give you a double share of good brandy O. "When prisoners we've made them, With switchell we will treat them, We will treat them with 'Yankee Doodle Dandy' O;" The British balls flew hot, But the Yankees answered not, Until they got a distance that was handy O. "O," cried Hull unto his crew, "We'll try what we can do; If we beat those boasting Britons we're the dandy O." The first broadside we poured Brought the mizzen by the board, Which doused the royal ensign quite handy O. O Dacres he did sigh, And to his officers did cry, "I did not think these Yankees were so handy O." The second told so well That the fore and main-mast fell, Which made this lofty frigate look quite handy O. "O," says Dacres, "we're undone," So he fires a lee gun. Our drummer struck up "Yankee Doodle Dandy" O; When Dacres came on board To deliver up his sword, He was loth to part with it, it looked so handy O. "You may keep it," says brave Hull. "What makes you look so dull? Cheer up and take a glass of good brandy O;" O Britons now be still, Since we've hooked you in the gill, Don't boast upon Dacres the grandee O.

From Halifax station a bully there came, To take or be taken, call'd Dacres by name: But 'twas who but a Yankee he met on his way— Says the Yankee to him, "Will you stop and take tea?" Then Dacres steps up, thus addressing his crew:— "Don't you see that d—d flag that is red, white, and blue; Let us drum all to quarters, prepare for to fight, For in taking that ship boys, it will make me a knight." Then up to each mast-head he straight sent a flag, Which shows, on the ocean, a proud British brag; But Hull, being pleasant, he sent up but one, And told every seaman to stand true to his gun. Then Hull, like a hero, before them appears, And with a short speech his sailors he cheers, Saying, "We'll batter their sides, and we'll do the neat thing: We'll conquer their bully, and laugh at their king." Then we off with our hats and gave him a cheer, Swore we'd stick by brave Hull, while a seaman could steer; And at it we went with mutual delight, For to fight and to conquer's a sailor's free right. Then we crowded all sail, and we ran alongside, And we wellfed our bull-dogs with true Yankee pride. 'Twas broadside for broadside we on them did pour, While cannon's loud mouths at each other did roar. Says Dacres, "Fight on, and we'll have her in tow, We will drink to Great Britain, and the cans they shall flow; So strike, you d—d Yankee, I'll make you with ease:" But the man they call Hull, says, "O no, if you please." Then Dacres wore ship, expecting to rake; But quite in a hurry, found out his mistake; For we luff'd round his bow, boys, and caught his jib-boom, And, in raking them aft, we soon gave him his doom. Then Dacres look'd wild, and then sheath'd his sword, When he found that his masts were all gone by the board, And dropping astern cries out to the steward, "Come up and be d—d, fire a gun to the leeward." Then we off with our hats, and we gave them three cheers, Which bitterly stung all those Englishmen's ears; Saying, "We'll fight for our country, do all things that's right, And let the world know, that green Yankees can fight."

Long the tyrant of our coast Reigned the famous Guerrière; Our little navy she defied, Public ship and privateer: On her sails in letters red, To our captains were displayed Words of warning, words of dread, "All who meet me, have a care! I am England's Guerrière." On the wide, Atlantic deep (Not her equal for the fight) The Constitution, on her way, Chanced to meet these men of might; On her sails was nothing said, But her waist the teeth displayed That a deal of blood could shed, Which, if she would venture near, Would stain the decks of the Guerrière. Now our gallant ship they met— And, to struggle with John Bull— Who had come, they little thought, Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull: Better soon to be acquainted: Isaac hailed the Lord's anointed— While the crew the cannon pointed, And the balls were so directed With a blaze so unexpected; Isaac so did maul and rake her That the decks of Captain Dacre Were in such a woful pickle As if death with scythe and sickle, With his sling, or with his shaft Had cut his harvest fore and aft. Thus, in thirty minutes ended, Mischiefs that could not be mended; Masts, and yards, and ship descended, All to David Jones's locker— Such a ship in such a pucker! Drink a bout to the Constitution! She performed some execution, Did some share of retribution For the insults of the year When she took the Guerrière. May success again await her, Let who will again command her, Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur— Nothing like her can withstand her. With a crew like that on board her Who so boldly called "to order" One bold crew of English sailors, Long, too long our seamen's jailors, Dacre and the Guerrière! Philip Freneau.

What is that a-billowing there Like a thunderhead in air? Why should such a sight be whitening the seas? That's a Yankee man-o'-war, And three things she's seeking for— For a prize, and for a battle, and a breeze. When the war blew o'er the sea Out went Hull and out went we In the Constitution, looking for the foe; But five British ships came down— And we got to Boston-town By a mighty narrow margin, you must know! Captain Hull can't fight their fleet, But he fairly aches to meet Quite the prettiest British ship of all there were; So he stands again to sea In the hope that on his lee He'll catch Dacres and his pretty Guerrière. 'Tis an August afternoon Not a day too late or soon, When we raise a ship whose lettered mainsail reads: All who meet me have a care, I am England's Guerrière; So Hull gayly clears for action as he speeds. Cheery bells had chanted five On the happiest day alive When we Yankees dance to quarters at his call; While the British bang away With their broadsides' screech and bray; But the Constitution never fires a ball. We send up three times to ask If we sha'n't begin our task? Captain Hull sends back each time the answer No; Till to half a pistol-shot The two frigates he had brought, Then he whispers, Lay along!—and we let go. Twice our broadside lights and lifts, And the Briton, crippled, drifts With her mizzen dangling hopeless at her poop: Laughs a Yankee, She's a brig! Says our Captain, That's too big; Try another, so we'll have her for a sloop! We hurrah, and fire again, Lay aboard of her like men, And, like men, they beat us off, and try in turn; But we drive bold Dacres back With our muskets' snap and crack— All the while our crashing broadsides boom and burn. 'Tis but half an hour, bare, When that pretty Guerrière Not a stick calls hers aloft or hers alow, Save the mizzen's shattered mast, Where her "meteor flag" 's nailed fast Till, a fallen star, we quench its ruddy glow. Dacres, injured, o'er our side Slowly bears his sword of pride, Holds it out, as Hull stands there in his renown: No, no! says th' American, Never, from so brave a man— But I see you're wounded, let me help you down. All that night we work in vain Keeping her upon the main, But we've hulled her far too often, and at last In a blaze of fire there Dies the pretty Guerrière; While away we cheerly sail upon the blast. Oh, the breeze that blows so free! Oh, the prize beneath the sea! Oh, the battle!—was there ever better won? Still the happy Yankee cheers Are a-ringing in our ears From old Boston, glorying in what we've done. What is that a-billowing there Like a thunderhead in air? Why should such a sight be whitening the seas? That's Old Ir'nsides, trim and taut, And she's found the things she sought— Found a prize, a bully battle, and a breeze! Wallace Rice.

When brave Van Rensselaer cross'd the stream, Just at the break of day, Distressing thoughts, a restless dream, Disturb'd me where I lay. But all the terrors of the night Did quickly flee away: My opening eyes beheld the light, And hail'd the new-born day. Soon did the murdering cannon's roar Put blood in all my veins; Columbia's sons have trod the shore Where the proud Britain reigns. To expose their breast to cannon's ball, Their country's rights to save, O what a grief to see them fall! True heroes, bold and brave! The musket's flash, the cannon's glow, Thunder'd and lighten'd round, Struck dread on all the tawny foe, And swept them to the ground. I thought what numbers must be slain, What weeping widows left! And aged parents full of pain, Of every joy bereft. The naked savage yelling round Our heroes where they stood, And every weapon to be found Was bathed in human blood. But bold Van Rensselaer, full of wounds, Was quickly carried back; Brave Colonel Bloom did next command The bloody fierce attack. Where Brock, the proud insulter, rides In pomp and splendor great; Our valiant heroes he derides, And dared the power of fate. "Here is a mark for Yankee boys, So shoot me if you can:" A Yankee ball soon closed his eyes, Death found him but a man. They slaughter'd down the tawny foe, And Britons that were near; They dealt out death at every blow, The battle was severe. Five battles fought all in one day, Through four victorious stood, But ah! the fifth swept all away, And spilt our heroes' blood. The tomahawk and scalping-knife On them did try their skill; Some wounded, struggling for their life, Did black barbarians kill. Brave Wadsworth boldly kept the field Till their last bullets flew; Then all were prisoners forced to yield, What could the general do? Militia men! O fie for shame! Thus you your country flee. 'Tis you at last will bear the blame For loss of victory. When mild Van Rensselaer did command, You would not him obey; But stood spectators on the strand, To see the bloody fray. The number kill'd was seventy-four, Prisoners, seven hundred sixty-nine, Wounded, two hundred or more, Who languish'd in great pain. Some have already lost their lives, And others like to go; But few, I fear, will tell their wives The doleful tale of wo. William Banker, Jr.

'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 forth and three, When fifty bold Britons were slaughtered, 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.

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 Yankee 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, To Carden then, in tones so bland, 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-topmast, 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.

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. 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 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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."

The boarding nettings are triced for fight; Pike and cutlass are shining bright; The boatswain's whistle pipes loud and shrill; Gunner and topman work with a will; Rough old sailor and reefer trim Jest as they stand by the cannon grim; There's a fighting glint in Decatur's eye, And brave Old Glory floats out on high. But many a heart beats fast below The laughing lips as they near the foe; For the pluckiest knows, though no man quails, That the breath of death is filling the sails. Only one little face is wan; Only one childish mouth is drawn; One little heart is sad and sore To the watchful eye of the Commodore. Little Jack Creamer, ten years old, In no purser's book or watch enrolled, Must mope or skulk while his shipmates fight,— No wonder his little face is white! "Why, Jack, old man, so blue and sad? Afraid of the music?" The face of the lad With mingled shame and anger burns. Quick to the Commodore he turns: "I'm not a coward, but I think if you— Excuse me, Capt'n, I mean if you knew (I s'pose it's because I'm young and small) I'm not on the books! I'm no one at all! And as soon as this fighting work is done, And we get our prize-money, every one Has his share of the plunder—I get none." "And you're sure we shall take her?" "Sure? Why, sir, She's only a blessed Britisher! We'll take her easy enough, I bet; But glory's all that I'm going to get!" "Glory! I doubt if I get more, If I get so much," said the Commodore; "But faith goes far in the race for fame, And down on the books shall go your name." Bravely the little seaman stood To his post while the scuppers ran with blood, While grizzled veterans looked and smiled And gathered new courage from the child; Till the enemy, crippled in pride and might, Struck his crimson flag and gave up the fight. Then little Jack Creamer stood once more Face to face with the Commodore. "You have got your glory," he said, "my lad, And money to make your sweetheart glad. Now, who may she be?" "My mother, sir; I want you to send the half to her." "And the rest?" Jack blushed and hung his head; "I'll buy some schoolin' with that," he said. Decatur laughed; then in graver mood: "The first is the better, but both are good. Your mother shall never know want while I Have a ship to sail, or a flag to fly; And schooling you'll have till all is blue, But little the lubbers can teach to you." Midshipman Creamer's story is told— They did such things in the days of old, When faith and courage won sure reward, And the quarter-deck was not triply barred, To the forecastle hero; for men were men, And the Nation was close to its Maker then. James Jeffrey Roche.

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 thunders 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.

Come, all you sons of Liberty, that to the seas belong, It's worth your attention to listen to my song; The history of a privateer I will detail in full, That fought a "six-and-thirty" belonging to John Bull. The General Armstrong she is called, and sailèd from New York, With all our hearts undaunted, once more to try our luck; She was a noble vessel, a privateer of fame: She had a brave commander, George Champlin was his name. We stood unto the eastward, all with a favoring gale, In longitude of fifty we spied a lofty sail: Our mainsail being lower'd and foresail to repair, Our squaresail being set, my boys, the wind it provèd fair. We very soon perceivèd the lofty sail to be Bearing down upon us while we lay under her lee; All hands we call'd, and sail did make, then splicèd the main-brace, Night coming on, we sail'd so fast, she soon gave up the chase. Then to Barbadoes we were bound, our course so well did steer; We cruisèd there for several days, and nothing did appear. 'Twas on the 11th of March, to windward of Surinam, We spied a lofty ship, my boys, at anchor near the land; All hands we call'd to quarters, and down upon her bore, Thinking 'twas some merchant-ship then lying near the shore. She quickly weighèd anchor and from us did steer, And setting her top-gallant sail as if she did us fear, But soon we were alongside of her, and gave her a gun, Determinèd to fight, my boys, and not from her to run. We hoisted up the bloody flag and down upon her bore, If she did not strike, my boys, no quarters we would show her; Each man a brace of pistols, a boarding-pike and sword, We'll give her a broadside, my boys, before we do her board. All hands at their quarters lay, until we came alongside, And gave them three hearty cheers, their British courage tried. The lower ports she had shut in, the Armstrong to decoy, And quickly she her ports did show, to daunt each Yankee boy. The first broadside we gave them true, their colors shot away, Their topsail, haulyards, mizen rigging, main and mizen stay, Two ports we did knock into one, his starboard quarter tore, They overboard their wounded flung, while cannons loud did roar. She wore directly round, my boys, and piped all hands on deck, For fear that we would board and serve a Yankee trick; To board a six-and-thirty it was in vain to try, While the grape, round, and langrage, like hailstones they did fly. Brave Champlin on the quarter-deck so nobly gave command: "Fight on, my brave Americans, dismast her if you can." The round, grape, and star-shot so well did play, A musket-ball from the maintop brave Champlin low did lay. His wound was quickly dress'd, while he in his cabin lay; The doctor, while attending, these words he heard him say: "Our Yankee flag shall flourish," our noble captain cried, "Before that we do strike, my boys, we'll sink alongside." She was a six-and-thirty, and mounted forty-two, We fought her four glasses, what more then could we do; Till six brave seamen we had kill'd, which grievèd us full sore, And thirteen more wounded lay bleeding in their gore. Our foremast being wounded, and bowsprit likewise; Our lower rigging fore and aft, and headstay beside; Our haulyards, braces, bowling, and foretop sheet also, We found we could not fight her, boys, so from her we did go. Our foremast proving dangerous, we could not carry sail, Although we had it fish'd and welded with a chain; It grieved us to the heart to put up with such abuse, For this damn'd English frigate had surely spoil'd our cruise. Here's success attend brave Champlin, his officers and men, That fought with courage keen, my boys, our lives to defend; We fought with much superior force, what could we do more? Then haul'd our wind and stood again for Freedom's happy shore.

When Britain, with envy and malice inflamed, Dared dispute the dear rights of Columbia's bless'd union, We thought of the time when our freedom we claim'd, And fought 'gainst oppression with fullest communion. Our foes on the ocean have been forced to yield, And fresh laurels we now gather up in the field. Freedom's flag on the wilds of the west is unfurl'd, And our foes seem to find their resistance delusion; For our eagle her arrows amongst them has hurl'd And their ranks of bold veterans fill'd with confusion. Our foes on the ocean, etc. On the lakes of the west, full of national pride, See our brave little fleet most triumphantly riding! And behold the brave tars on the fresh-water tide, In a noble commander, brave Chauncey, confiding. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Their deeds of proud valor shall long stand enroll'd On the bright shining page of our national glory: And oft, in the deep winter's night, shall be told The exploits of the tars of American story. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Nor less shall the soldiers come in for their praise, Who engaged to accomplish the great expedition; And a monument Fame shall for them cheerily raise, And their deeds shall in history find repetition. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Let Britons still boast of their prowess and pluck; We care not a straw for their muskets and cannon. In the field we will beat them, unless they've the luck To run from their foes like Tenedos and Shannon. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Our sweet little bull-dogs, they thunder'd away, And our sailors and soldiers the foe still kept mauling, Till they grew very sick of such tight Yankee play, And poor Sheaffe and his troops then ran away bawling. Our foes on the ocean, etc. But the rascals on malice quite fully were bent: And as from the fort they were cowardly going, In pursuance to what was at first their intent, The magazine they had resolved on up-blowing. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Two hundred brave soldiers there met with their death; And while for their country they nobly were dying, Full fifty bold Britons at once lost their breath, And with them in the air were their carcasses flying. Our foes on the ocean, etc. The brave General Pike there met with his end; But his virtues his country forever will cherish: And while o'er his grave fair Freedom shall bend, She will swear that his memory never shall perish. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Let the minions of Britain swarm over our coast; Columbians, all cowardly conduct disdaining, We'll teach the invaders how vain is their boast, And contend, whilst a drop of their blood is remaining. Our foes on the ocean, etc. Then, freemen, arise, and gird on your swords, And declare, while you still have the means of resistance, That you ne'er will give up for the threatening of words, Nor of arms, those dear rights which you prize as existence. Our foes on the ocean, etc.

'Twas on the glorious day When our valiant triple band Drove the British troops away From their strong and chosen stand; When the city York was taken, And the Bloody Cross hauled down From the walls of the town Its defenders had forsaken. The gallant Pike had moved A hurt foe to a spot A little more removed From the death-shower of the shot; And he himself was seated On the fragment of an oak, And to a captive spoke, Of the troops he had defeated. He was seated in a place, Not to shun the leaden rain He had been the first to face, And now burned to brave again, But had chosen that position Till the officer's return The truth who'd gone to learn Of the garrison's condition. When suddenly the ground With a dread convulsion shook, And arose a frightful sound, And the sun was hid in smoke; And huge stones and rafters, driven Athwart the heavy rack, Fell, fatal on their track As the thunderbolt of Heaven. Then two hundred men and more, Of our bravest and our best, Lay all ghastly in their gore, And the hero with the rest. On their folded arms they laid him; But he raised his dying breath: "On, men, avenge the death Of your general!" They obeyed him. They obeyed. Three cheers they gave, Closed their scattered ranks, and on. Though their leader found a grave, Yet the hostile town was won. To a vessel straight they bore him Of the gallant Chauncey's fleet, And, the conquest complete, Spread the British flag before him. O'er his eyes the long, last night Was already falling fast; But came back again the light For a moment; 'twas the last. With a victor's joy they fired, 'Neath his head by signs he bade The trophy should be laid; And, thus pillowed, Pike expired. Laughton Osborn.

Oh! lonely is our old green fort, Where oft, in days of old, Our gallant soldiers bravely fought 'Gainst savage allies bold; But with the change of years have pass'd That unrelenting foe, Since we fought here with Harrison, A long time ago. It seems but yesterday I heard, From yonder thicket nigh, The unerring rifle's sharp report, The Indian's startling cry. Yon brooklet flowing at our feet, With crimson gore did flow, When we fought here with Harrison, A long time ago. The river rolls between its banks, As when of old we came, Each grassy path, each shady nook, Seems to me still the same; But we are scatter'd now, whose faith Pledged here, through weal or woe, With Harrison our soil to guard, A long time ago. But many a soldier's lip is mute, And clouded many a brow, And hearts that beat for honor then, Have ceased their throbbing now. We ne'er shall meet again in life As then we met, I trow, When we fought here with Harrison, A long time ago.

The captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay, A reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright and gay; His cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid the sea Was driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee. The captain of the Shannon sent word into the town: Was Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his frigate down And meet him at the harbor's mouth and fight him, gun to gun, For honor's sake, with pride at stake, until the fight was won? Now, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter main; With many a scar and wound of war his ship was home again; His crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and wide, And scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his side. But to refuse the challenge? Could he outlive the shame? Brave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to his fame. Once more the great ship Chesapeake prepared her for the fight,— "I'll bring the foe to town in tow," he said, "before to-night!" High on the hills of Hingham that overlooked the shore, To watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could do no more, The children of the country watched the children of the sea When the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee. "How can he fight," they whispered, "with only half a crew, Though they be rare to do and dare, yet what can brave men do?" But when the Chesapeake came down, the Stars and Stripes on high, Stilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to the sky. The Captain of the Shannon, he swore both long and loud: "This victory, where'er it be, shall make two nations proud! Now onward to this victory or downward to defeat! A sailor's life is sweet with strife, a sailor's death as sweet." And as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy thunders roar, And crashing surge plays devil's dirge upon the stricken shore, With thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships rang with shot, And every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot. And twice they lashed together and twice they tore apart, And iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each oaken heart. Still from the hills of Hingham men watched with hopes and fears, While all the bay was torn that day with shot that rained like tears. The tall masts of the Chesapeake went groaning by the board; The Shannon's spars were weak with scars when Broke cast down his sword; "Now woe," he cried, "to England, and shame and woe to me!" The smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back to lee. "Give them one breaking broadside more," he cried, "before we strike!" But one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home alike Laid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lip Rang to the land his last command: "Boys, don't give up the ship!" * * * * * The wounded wept like women when they hauled her ensign down. Men's cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham to the town They hurried in swift silence, while toward the eastern night The victor bore away from shore and vanished out of sight. Hail to the great ship Chesapeake! Hail to the hero brave Who fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared her sudden grave! And glory be to those that died for all eternity; They lie apart at the mother-heart of God's eternal sea. Thomas Tracy Bouvé.

The Chesapeake so bold Out of Boston, I've been told, Came to take a British Frigate Neat and handy O! While the people of the port Flocked out to see the sport, With their music playing Yankee Doodle Dandy O! Now the British Frigate's name Which for the purpose came Of cooling Yankee courage Neat and handy O! Was the Shannon, Captain Broke, Whose crew were heart of oak, And for the fighting were confessed To be the dandy O! The engagement scarce begun Ere they flinched from their guns, Which at first they thought of working Neat and handy O! The bold Broke he waved his sword, Crying, "Now, my lads, on board, And we'll stop their playing Yankee Doodle Dandy O!" They no sooner heard the word Than they quickly rushed aboard And hauled down the Yankee ensign Neat and handy O! Notwithstanding all their brag, Now the glorious British flag At the Yankee's mizzen-peak Was quite the dandy O! Successful Broke to you, And your officers and crew, Who on board the Shannon frigate Fought so handy O! And may it ever prove That in fighting as in love The true British tar is the dandy O!

Through the clangor of the cannon, Through the combat's wreck and reek, Answer to th' o'ermastering Shannon Thunders from the Chesapeake: Gallant Lawrence, wounded, dying, Speaks with still unconquered lip Ere the bitter draught he drinks: Keep the Flag flying! Fight her till she strikes or sinks! Don't give up the ship! Still that voice is sounding o'er us, So bold Perry heard it call; Farragut has joined its chorus; Porter, Dewey, Wainwright—all Heard the voice of duty crying; Deathless word from dauntless lip That our past and future links: Keep the Flag flying! Fight her till she strikes or sinks! Don't give up the ship! Wallace Rice.

Again Columbia's stripes, unfurl'd, Have testified before the world, How brave are those who wear 'em; The foe has now been taught again His streamers cannot shade the main While Yankees live to share 'em. Huzza! once more for Yankee skill! The brave are very generous still But teach the foes submission: Now twice three times his flag we've gain'd, And more, much more can be obtain'd Upon the same condition. The gallant Enterprise her name, A vessel erst of little fame, Had sail'd and caught the foe, sirs; 'Twas hers the glory and the gain, To meet the Boxer on the main, And bring her home in tow, sirs. Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc. Fierce lightnings gleam and thunders roar, While round and grape in torrents pour, And echo through the skies, sirs; When minutes forty-five had flown, Behold the Briton's colors down!— She's yielded up a prize, sirs. Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc. The victory gain'd, we count the cost, We mourn, indeed, a hero lost! Who nobly fell, we know, sirs; But Burrows, we with Lawrence find, Has left a living name behind, Much honor'd by the foe, sirs. Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc. And while we notice deeds of fame, In which the gallant honors claim; As heroes of our story, The name of Blyth a meed demands, Whose tomb is deck'd by freemen's hands, Who well deserve the glory. Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc. Then, while we fill the sparkling glass, And cause it cheerly round to pass, In social hours assembled; Be Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Jones, Lawrence and Burrows—Victory's sons, With gratitude remember'd. Huzza! once more for Yankee skill, etc.

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 through 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 gun, 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.

Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow, Come tip us that stave just, my hearty old fellow, 'Bout the young commodore, and his fresh-water crew, Who keelhaul'd the Britons, and captured a few. "'Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day, Our squadron at anchor snug in Put-in-Bay, When we saw the bold Britons, and cleared for a bout, Instead of put in, by the Lord we put out. "Up went union-jack, never up there before, 'Don't give up the ship' was the motto it bore; And as soon as that motto our gallant lads saw, They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza! "Oh! then it would have raised your hat three inches higher, To see how we dash'd in among them like fire! The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could, And a long time the brunt of the action she stood. "'Twas peppering work,—fire, fury, and smoke, And groans that from wounded lads, spite of 'em, broke. The water grew red round our ship as she lay, Though 'twas never before so till that bloody day. "They fell all around me like spars in a gale; The shot made a sieve of each rag of a sail; And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd; But these gallant tars still the battle maintain'd. "'Twas then our commander—God bless his young heart— Thought it best from his well-peppered ship to depart, And bring up the rest who were tugging behind— For why—they were sadly in want of a wind. "So to Yarnall he gave the command of his ship, And set out, like a lark, on this desperate trip, In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet, Who with many a broadside our cockboat did greet. "I steer'd her and damme if every inch Of these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch: But our tight little commodore, cool and serene, To stir ne'er a muscle by any was seen. "Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him, But the devil a one ever grazed e'en a limb, Though he stood up aloft in the stern of the boat, Till the crew pull'd him down by the skirt of his coat. "At last, through Heaven's mercy, we reached t'other ship, And the wind springing up, we gave her the whip, And run down their line, boys, through thick and through thin, And bother'd their crews with a horrible din. "Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that, We bang'd them and raked them, and laid their masts flat, Till, one after t'other, they haul'd down their flag, And an end, for that time, put to Johnny Bull's brag. "The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Prevost, Not able to fight or run, gave up the ghost: And not one of them all from our grapplings got free, Though we'd fifty-four guns, and they just sixty-three. "Smite my limbs! but they all got their bellies full then, And found what it was, boys, to buckle with men, Who fight, or, what's just the same, think that they fight For their country's free trade and their own native right. "Now give us a bumper to Elliott and those Who came up, in good time, to belabor our foes: To our fresh-water sailors we'll toss off one more, And a dozen, at least, to our young commodore. "And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean, And that sort of thing, by the Lord, I've a notion, I'll bet all I'm worth—who takes it—who takes? Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes."

Columbia, appear!—To thy mountains ascend, And pour thy bold hymn to the winds and the woods; Columbia, appear!—O'er thy tempest-harp bend, And far to the nations its trumpet-song send,— Let thy cliff-echoes wake, with their sun-nourish'd broods, And chant to the desert—the skies—and the floods, And bid them remember, The Tenth of September, When our Eagle came down from her home in the sky— And the souls of our heroes were marshall'd on high. Columbia, ascend!—Let thy warriors behold Their flag like a firmament bend o'er thy head. The wide rainbow-flag with its star-clustered fold! Let the knell of dark Battle beneath it be tolled, While the anthem of Peace shall be pealed for the dead, And the rude waters heave, on whose bosom they bled: Oh, they will remember, The Tenth of September, When their souls were let loose in a tempest of flame, And wide Erie shook at the trumpet of Fame. Columbia, appear!—Let thy cloud minstrels wake, As they march on the storm, all the grandeur of song, Till the far mountain reel—and the billowless lake Shall be mantled in froth, and its Monarch shall quake On his green oozy throne, as their harping comes strong, With the chime of the winds as they're bursting along. For he will remember, The Tenth of September, When he saw his dominions all covered with foam, And heard the loud war in its echoless home. Columbia, appear!—Be thine olive displayed, O cheer with thy smile, all the land and the tide! Be the anthem we hear not the song that was made, When the victims of slaughter stood forth, all arrayed In blood-dripping garments—and shouted—and died. Let the hymning of peace o'er the blue heavens ride; O let us remember, The Tenth of September, When the dark waves of Erie were brightened to-day, And the flames of the Battle were quenched in the spray.

What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam, To the war-blast indignantly tramping? Their mouths are all white, as if frosted with foam, The steel bit impatiently champing. 'Tis the hand of the mighty that grasps the rein, Conducting the free and the fearless. Ah! see them rush forward, with wild disdain, Through paths unfrequented and cheerless. From the mountains had echoed the charge of death, Announcing that chivalrous sally; The savage was heard, with untrembling breath, To pour his response from the valley. One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard, And nought but the war-whoop given; The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred, As if by the lightning riven. The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke, The blood-stifled gasp of the dying, Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke, That upward went wildly flying. In the mist that hung over the field of blood, The chief of the horsemen contended; His rowels were bathed in purple flood, That fast from his charger descended. That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight, But the rider repressed not his daring, Till met by a savage, whose rank and might Were shown by the plume he was wearing. The moment was fearful; a mightier foe Had ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him; But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow, And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him. O ne'er may the nations again be cursed With conflict so dark and appalling!— Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burst From their agonized bosoms in falling. Gloom, silence, and solitude rest on the spot Where the hopes of the red man perished; But the fame of the hero who fell shall not, By the virtuous, cease to be cherished. He fought, in defence of his kindred and king, With a spirit most loving and loyal. And long shall the Indian warrior sing The deeds of Tecumseh the royal. The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye, In his arm slept the force of the thunder, But the bolt passed the suppliant harmlessly by, And left the freed captive to wonder. Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps, With a rudely built tumulus o'er him; And the bright-bosomed Thames, in his majesty, sweeps, By the mound where his followers bore him.

More ill at ease was never man than Walbach, that Lord's day, When, spent with speed, a trawler cried, "A war-ship heads this way!" His pipe, half filled, to shatters flew; he climbed the ridge of knolls; And, turning spy-glass toward the east, swept the long reach of Shoals. An hour he watched: behind his back the Portsmouth spires waxed red; Its harbor like a field of war, a brazen shield o'erhead. Another hour: the sundown gun the Sabbath stillness brake; When loud a second voice hallooed, "Two war-ships hither make!" Again the colonel scanned the east, where soon white gleams arose: Behind Star Isle they first appeared, then flashed o'er Smuttynose. Fleet-wing'd they left Duck Isle astern; when, rounding full in view, Lo! in the face of Appledore three Britishers hove to. "To arms, O townsfolk!" Walbach cried, "Behold these black hawk three! Whether they pluck old Portsmouth town rests now with you and me. "The guns of Kittery, and mine, may keep the channel clear, If but one pintle-stone be raised to ward me in the rear. "But scarce a score my muster-roll; the earthworks lie unmanned (Whereof some mouthing spy, no doubt, has made them understand); "And if, ere dawn, their long-boat keels once kiss the nether sands, My every port-hole's mouth is stopped, and we be in their hands!" Then straightway from his place upspake the parson of the town: "Let us beseech Heaven's blessing first!"—and all the folk knelt down. "O God, our hands are few and faint; our hope rests all with thee: Lend us thy hand in this sore strait,—and thine the glory be!" "Amen! Amen!" the chorus rose; "Amen!" the pines replied; And through the churchyard's rustling grass an "Amen" softly sighed. Astir the village was awhile, with hoof and iron clang; Then all grew still, save where, aloft, a hundred trowels rang. None supped, they say, that Lord's-day eve; none slept, they say, that night; But all night long, with tireless arms, each toiled as best he might. Four flax-haired boys of Amazeen the flickering torches stay, Peopling with titan shadow-groups the canopy of gray; Grandsires, with frost above their brows, the steaming mortar mix; Dame Tarlton's apron, crisp at dawn, helps hod the yellow bricks; While pilot, cooper, mackerelman, parson and squire as well, Make haste to plant the pintle-gun, and raise its citadel. And one who wrought still tells the tale, that as his task he plied, An unseen fellow-form he felt that labored at his side; And still to wondering ears relates, that as each brick was squared, Lo! unseen trowels clinked response, and a new course prepared. O night of nights! The blinking dawn beheld the marvel done, And from the new martello boomed the echoing morning gun. One stormy cloud its lip upblew; and as its thunder rolled, Old England saw, above the smoke, New England's flag unfold. Then, slowly tacking to and fro, more near the cruisers made, To see what force unheralded had flown to Walbach's aid. "God be our stay," the parson cried, "who hearkened Israel's wail!" And as he spake,—all in a line, seaward the ships set sail. George Houghton.

From the laurel's fairest bough, Let the muse her garland twine, To adorn our Porter's brow, Who, beyond the burning line, Led his caravan of tars o'er the tide. To the pilgrims fill the bowl, Who, around the southern pole, Saw new constellations roll, For their guide. "Heave the topmast from the board, And our ship for action clear, By the cannon and the sword, We will die or conquer here. The foe, of twice our force, nears us fast: To your posts, my faithful tars! Mind your rigging, guns, and spars, And defend your stripes and stars To the last." At the captain's bold command, Flew each sailor to his gun, And resolved he there would stand, Though the odds was two to one, To defend his flag and ship with his life: High on every mast display'd, "God, Our Country, and Free Trade," E'en the bravest braver made For the strife. Fierce the storm of battle pours: But unmoved as ocean's rock, When the tempest round it roars, Every seaman breasts the shock, Boldly stepping where his brave messmates fall. O'er his head, full oft and loud, Like the vulture in a cloud, As it cuts the twanging shroud, Screams the ball. Before the siroc blast From its iron caverns driven, Drops the sear'd and shiver'd mast, By the bolt of battle riven, And higher heaps the ruin of the deck— As the sailor, bleeding, dies, To his comrades lifts his eyes, "Let our flag still wave," he cries, O'er the wreck. In echo to the sponge, Hark! along the silent lee, Oft is heard the solemn plunge, In the bosom of the sea. 'Tis not the sullen plunge of the dead, But the self-devoted tar, Who, to grace the victor's car, Scorns from home and friends afar To be led. Long live the gallant crew Who survived that day of blood: And may fortune soon renew Equal battle on the flood. Long live the glorious names of the brave O'er these martyrs of the deep, Oft the roving tar shall weep, Crying, "Sweetly may they sleep 'Neath the wave."

O'er Huron's wave the sun was low, The weary soldier watch'd the bow Fast fading from the cloud below The dashing of Niagara. And while the phantom chain'd his sight, Ah! little thought he of the fight— The horrors of the dreamless night, That posted on so rapidly. Soon, soon is fled each softer charm; The drum and trumpet sound alarm, And bid each warrior nerve his arm For boldest deeds of chivalry; The burning red-cross, waving high, Like meteor in the evening sky, Proclaims the haughty foemen nigh To try the strife of rivalry. Columbia's banner floats as proud, Her gallant band around it crowd, And swear to guard or make their shroud The starred flag of liberty. "Haste, haste thee, Scott, to meet the foe, And let the scornful Briton know, Well strung the arm and firm the blow Of him who strikes for liberty." Loud, loud, the din of battle rings, Shrill through the ranks the bullet sings, And onward fierce each foeman springs To meet his peer in gallantry. Behind the hills descends the sun, The work of death is but begun, And red through twilight's shadows dun Blazes the vollied musketry. "Charge, Miller, charge the foe once more," And louder than Niagara's roar Along the line is heard, encore, "On, on to death or victory." From line to line, with lurid glow, High arching shoots the rocket's bow, And lights the mingled scene below Of carnage, death, and misery. The middle watch has now begun, The horrid battle-fray is done, No longer beats the furious drum, To death, to death or victory. All, all is still—with silent tread The watchman steals among the dead, To guard his comrade's lowly bed, Till morning give him sepulture. Low in the west, of splendor shorn, The midnight moon with bloody horn Sheds her last beam on him, forlorn, Who fell in fight so gloriously; Oh! long her crescent wax and wane Ere she behold such fray again, Such dismal night, such heaps of slain, Foe mix'd with foe promiscuously.

Seize, O seize the sounding lyre, With its quivering string! Strike the chords, in ecstasy, Whilst loud the valleys ring! Sing the chief, who, gloriously, From England's veteran band, Pluck'd the wreaths of victory, To grace his native land! Where Bridgewater's war-famed stream Saw the foemen reel, Thrice repulsed, with burnish'd gleam Of bayonet, knife, and steel; And its crimson'd waters run Red with gurgling flow, As Albion's gathering hosts his arm, His mighty arm, laid low. Strike the sounding string of fame, O lyre! Beat loud, ye drums! Ye clarion blasts, exalt his name! Behold the hero comes! I see Columbia, joyously, Her palmy circlet throw Around his high victorious brow Who laid her foemen low! Take him, Fame! for thine he is! On silvery columns, rear The name of Scott, whence envious Time Shall ne'er its honors tear! And thou, O Albion, quake with dread! Ye veterans shrink, the while, Whene'er his glorious name shall sound To shake your sea-girt isle! Charles L. S. Jones.

Four gallant ships from England came Freighted deep with fire and flame, And other things we need not name, To have a dash at Stonington. Now safely moor'd, their work begun; They thought to make the Yankees run, And have a mighty deal of fun In stealing sheep at Stonington. A deacon then popp'd up his head, And parson Jones's sermon read, In which the reverend doctor said That they must fight for Stonington. A townsman bade them, next, attend To sundry resolutions penn'd, By which they promised to defend With sword and gun old Stonington. The ships advancing different ways, The Britons soon began to blaze, And put th' old women in amaze, Who fear'd the loss of Stonington. The Yankees to their fort repair'd, And made as though they little cared For all that came—though very hard The cannon play'd on Stonington. The Ramillies began the attack, Despatch came forward—bold and black— And none can tell what kept them back From setting fire to Stonington. The bombardiers with bomb and ball, Soon made a farmer's barrack fall, And did a cow-house sadly maul That stood a mile from Stonington. They kill'd a goose, they kill'd a hen, Three hogs they wounded in a pen— They dash'd away, and pray what then? This was not taking Stonington. The shells were thrown, the rockets flew, But not a shell, of all they threw, Though every house was full in view, Could burn a house at Stonington. To have their turn they thought but fair;— The Yankees brought two guns to bear, And, sir, it would have made you stare, This smoke of smokes at Stonington. They bored Pactolus through and through, And kill'd and wounded of her crew So many, that she bade adieu T' the gallant boys of Stonington. The brig Despatch was hull'd and torn— So crippled, riddled, so forlorn, No more she cast an eye of scorn On the little fort at Stonington. The Ramillies gave up th' affray, And, with her comrades, sneak'd away, Such was the valor, on that day, Of British tars near Stonington. But some assert, on certain grounds (Besides the damage and the wounds), It cost the king ten thousand pounds To have a dash at Stonington. Philip Freneau.

The sun had sunk beneath the west, When two proud barks to battle press'd, With swelling sail and streamers dress'd, So gallantly. Proud Britain's pennon flouts the skies: Columbia's flag more proudly flies, Her emblem stars of victories Beam gloriously. Sol's lingering rays, through vapors shed, Have streak'd the sky of bloody red, And now the ensanguined lustre spread Heaven's canopy. Dread prelude to that awful night When Britain's and Columbia's might Join'd in the fierce and bloody fight, Hard rivalry. Now, lowering o'er the stormy deep, Dank, sable clouds more threatening sweep: Yet still the barks their courses keep Unerringly. The northern gales more fiercely blow, The white foam dashing o'er the prow; The starry crescent round each bow Beams vividly. Near and more near the war-ships ride, Till, ranged for battle, side by side, Each warrior's heart beats high with pride Of chivalry. 'Twas awful, ere the fight begun, To see brave warriors round each gun, While thoughts on home and carnage run, Stand silently. As death-like stillness reigns around, Nature seems wrapp'd in peace profound, Ere fires, volcanic, mountain bound, Burst furiously. So, bursting from Columbia's prow, Her thunder on the red-cross foe, The lurid cloud's sulphuric glow Glares awfully. Reëchoing peals more fiercely roar, Britannia's shatter'd sides run gore, The foaming waves that raged before, Sink, tremulous. Columbia's last sulphuric blaze, That lights her stripes and starry rays, The vanquish'd red-cross flag betrays, Struck fearfully. And, hark! their piercing shrieks of wo! Haste, haste and save the sinking foe: Haste, e'er their wreck to bottom go, Brave conquerors. Now, honor to the warriors brave, Whose field of fame, the mountain wave, Their corses bear to ocean's cave, Their sepulchre. Their country's pæans swell their praise; And whilst the warm tear, gushing, strays, Full many a bard shall chant his lays, Their requiem.

O the pride of Portsmouth water, Toast of every brimming beaker,— Eighteen hundred and fourteen on land and sea,— Was the Wasp, the gallant war-sloop, Built of oaks Kearsarge had guarded, Pines of Maine to lift her colors high and free! Every timber scorning cowards; Every port alert for foemen From the masthead seen on weather-side or lee;— With eleven guns to starboard, And eleven guns to larboard, All for glory on a morn of May sailed she. British ships were in the offing; Swift and light she sped between them,— Well her daring crew knew shoal and wind and tide; They had come from Portsmouth river, Sea-girt Marblehead and Salem, Bays and islands where the fisher-folk abide; Come for love of home and country, Come with wrongs that cried for vengeance,— Every man among them brave and true and tried. "Hearts of oak" are British seamen? Hearts of fire were these, their kindred, Flaming till the haughty foe should be descried! From the mountains, from the prairies, Blew the west winds glad to waft her;— Ah, what goodly ships before her guns went down! Ships with wealth of London laden, Ships with treasures of the Indies, Till her name brought fear to British wharf and town; Till the war-sloops Reindeer, Avon, To her valor struck their colors, Making coast and ocean ring with her renown; While her captain cried, exultant, "Britain, to the bold Republic, Of the empire of the seas shall yield the crown!" Oh, the woful, woful ending Of the pride of Portsmouth water! Never more to harbor nor to shore came she! Springs returned but brought no tidings; Mothers, maidens, broken-hearted, Wept the gallant lads that sailed away in glee. Did the bolts of heaven blast her? Did the hurricanes o'erwhelm her With her starry banner and her tall masts three? Was a pirate-fleet her captor? Did she drift to polar oceans? Who shall tell the awful secret of the sea! Who shall tell? yet many a sailor In his watch at dawn or midnight, When the wind is wildest and the black waves moan, Sees a stanch three-master looming; Hears the hurried call to quarters, The drum's quick beat and the bugle fiercely blown;— Then the cannon's direful thunder Echoes far along the billows; Then the victor's shout for the foe overthrown;— And the watcher knows the phantom Is the Wasp, the gallant war-sloop, Still a rover of the seas and glory's own! Edna Dean Proctor.

From France, desponding and betray'd, From liberty in ruins laid, Exulting Britain has display'd Her flag, again to invade us. Her myrmidons, with murdering eye, Across the broad Atlantic fly, Prepared again their strength to try, And strike our country's standard. Lord Wellington's ten thousand slaves, And thrice ten thousand, on the waves, And thousands more of brags and braves Are under sail, and coming, To burn our towns, to seize our soil, To change our laws, our country spoil, And Madison to Elba's isle To send without redemption. In Boston state they hope to find A Yankee host of kindred mind, To aid their arms, to rise and bind Their countrymen in shackles. But no such thing—it will not do— At least, not while a Jersey Blue Is to the cause of freedom true, Or the bold Pennsylvanian. A curse on England's frantic schemes! Both mad and blind, her monarch dreams Of crowns and kingdoms in these climes, Where kings have had their sentence. Though Washington has left our coast, Yet other Washingtons we boast, Who rise, instructed by his ghost, To punish all invaders. Go where they will, where'er they land, This pilfering, plundering, pirate band, They liberty will find at hand To hurl them to perdition! If in Virginia they appear, Their fate is fix'd, their doom is near, Death in their front, and hell their rear; So says the gallant buckskin. All Carolina is prepared, And Charleston doubly on her guard; Where, once, Sir Peter badly fared, So blasted by Fort Moultrie. If farther south they turn their views, With veteran troops, or veteran crews, The curse of Heaven their march pursues, To send them all a-packing. The tallest mast that sails the wave, The longest keel its waters lave, Will bring them to an early grave On the shores of Pensacola. Philip Freneau.

Parading near Saint Peter's flood Full fourteen thousand soldiers stood; Allied with natives of the wood, With frigates, sloops, and galleys near; Which southward, now, began to steer; Their object was, Ticonderogue. Assembled at Missisqui bay A feast they held, to hail the day, When all should bend to British sway From Plattsburgh to Ticonderogue. And who could tell, if reaching there They might not other laurels share And England's flag in triumph bear To the capitol, at Albany! Sir George advanced, with fire and sword, The frigates were with vengeance stored, The strength of Mars was felt on board,— When Downie gave the dreadful word, Huzza! for death or victory! Sir George beheld the prize at stake, And, with his veterans, made the attack, Macomb's brave legions drove him back; And England's fleet approached, to meet A desperate combat, on the lake. From Isle La Motte to Saranac With sulphurous clouds the heavens were black; We saw advance the Confiance, Shall blood and carnage mark her track, To gain dominion on the lake. Then on our ships she poured her flame, And many a tar did kill or maim, Who suffered for their country's fame, Her soil to save, her rights to guard. Macdonough, now, began his play, And soon his seamen heard him say, "No Saratoga yields, this day, To all the force that Britain sends. "Disperse, my lads, and man the waist, Be firm, and to your stations haste, And England from Champlain is chased, If you behave as you see me." The fire began with awful roar; At our first flash the artillery tore, From his proud stand, their commodore, A presage of the victory. The skies were hid in flame and smoke, Such thunders from the cannon spoke, The contest such an aspect took As if all nature went to wreck! Amidst his decks, with slaughter strewed, Unmoved, the brave Macdonough stood, Or waded through a scene of blood, At every step that round him streamed: He stood amidst Columbia's sons, He stood amidst dismounted guns, He fought amidst heart-rending groans, The tattered sail, the tottering mast. Then, round about, his ship he wore, And charged his guns with vengeance sore, And more than Etna shook the shore— The foe confessed the contest vain. In vain they fought, in vain they sailed, That day; for Britain's fortune failed, And their best efforts naught availed To hold dominion on Champlain. So, down their colors to the deck The vanquished struck—their ships a wreck— What dismal tidings for Quebec, What news for England and her prince! For, in this fleet, from England won, A favorite project is undone; Her sorrows only are begun— And she may want, and very soon, Her armies for her own defence. Philip Freneau.

Plattsburg Bay! Plattsburg Bay! Blue and gold in the dawning ray, Crimson under the high noonday With the reek of the fray!

It was Thomas Macdonough, as gallant a sailor As ever went scurrying over the main; And he cried from his deck, If they think I'm a quailer, And deem they can capture this Lake of Champlain, We'll show them they're not fighting France, sir, nor Spain! So from Cumberland Head to the little Crab Island He scattered his squadron in trim battle-line; And when he saw Downie come rounding the highland, He knelt him, beseeching for guidance divine, Imploring that Heaven would crown his design. Then thundered the Eagle her lusty defiance; The stout Saratoga aroused with a roar; Soon gunboat and galley in hearty alliance Their resonant volley of compliments pour; And ever Macdonough's the man to the fore! And lo, when the fight toward its fiercest was swirling, A game-cock, released by a splintering ball, Flew high in the ratlines, the smoke round him curling, And over the din gave his trumpeting call, An omen of ultimate triumph to all! Then a valianter light touched the powder-grimed faces; Then faster the shot seemed to plunge from the gun; And we shattered their yards and we sundered their braces, And the fume of our cannon—it shrouded the sun; Cried Macdonough—Once more, and the battle is won! Now, the flag of the haughty Confiance is trailing; The Linnet in woe staggers in toward the shore; The Finch is a wreck from her keel to her railing; The galleys flee fast to the strain of the oar; Macdonough! 'tis he is the man to the fore! Oh, our main decks were grim and our gun decks were gory, And many a brave brow was pallid with pain; And while some won to death, yet we all won to glory Who fought with Macdonough that day on Champlain, And humbled her pride who is queen of the main! Clinton Scollard.

Sir George Prevost, with all his host, March'd forth from Montreal, sir, Both he and they as blithe and gay As going to a ball, sir. The troops he chose were all of those That conquer'd Marshall Soult, sir; Who at Garonne (the fact is known) Scarce brought they to a halt, sir. With troops like these, he thought with ease To crush the Yankee faction: His only thought was how he ought To bring them into action. "Your very names," Sir George exclaims, "Without a gun or bayonet, Will pierce like darts through Yankee hearts, And all their spirits stagnate. "Oh! how I dread lest they have fled And left their puny fort, sir, For sure Macomb won't stay at home, T' afford us any sport, sir. Good-by!" he said to those that stay'd: "Keep close as mice or rats snug: We'll just run out upon a scout, To burn the town of Plattsburg." Then up Champlain with might and main He marched in dress array, sir; With fife and drum to scare Macomb, And drive him quite away, sir. And, side by side, their nation's pride Along the current beat, sir: Sworn not to sup till they ate up M^cDonough and his fleet, sir. Still onward came these men of fame, Resolved to give "no quarter:" But to their cost they found at last That they had caught a Tartar. At distant shot awhile they fought, By water and by land, sir: His knightship ran from man to man, And gave his dread command, sir. "Britons, strike home! this dog Macomb— So well the fellow knows us— Will just as soon jump o'er the moon As venture to oppose us. With quick despatch light every match, Man every gun and swivel, Cross in a crack the Saranac, And drive 'em to the devil!" The Vermont ranks that lined the banks, Then poised the unerring rifle, And to oppose their haughty foes They found a perfect trifle. Meanwhile the fort kept up such sport, They thought the devil was in it; Their mighty train play'd off in vain— 'Twas silenced in a minute. Sir George, amazed, so wildly gazed, Such frantic gambols acted, Of all his men, not one in ten But thought him quite distracted. He cursed and swore, his hair he tore, Then jump'd upon his pony, And gallop'd off towards the bluff, To look for Captain Downie. But when he spied M^cDonough ride, In all the pomp of glory, He hasten'd back to Saranac, To tell the dismal story: "My gallant crews—Oh! shocking news— Are all or killed or taken! Except a few that just withdrew In time to save their bacon. "Old England's pride must now subside. Oh! how the news will shock her, To have her fleet not only beat, But sent to Davy's locker. From this sad day, let no one say Britannia rules the ocean: We've dearly bought the humbling thought, That this is all a notion. "With one to ten I'd fight 'gainst men, But these are Satan's legions, With malice fraught, some piping hot From Pluto's darkest regions! Hélas! mon Dieu! what shall I do? I smell the burning sulphur— Set Britain's isle all rank and file, Such men would soon engulf her. "That's full as bad—Oh! I'll run mad! Those western hounds are summon'd; Gaines, Scott, and Brown are coming down, To serve me just like Drummond. Thick, too, as bees, the Vermontese Are swarming to the lake, sir; And Izard's men, come back again, Lie hid in every brake, sir. "Good Brisbane, beat a quick retreat, Before their forces join, sir: For, sure as fate, they've laid a bait To catch us like Burgoyne, sir. All round about, keep good look out: We'll surely be surrounded; Since I could crawl, my gallant soul Was never so astounded." The rout begun, Sir George led on, His men ran helter skelter, Each tried his best t' outrun the rest To gain a place of shelter; To hide their fear, they gave a cheer, And thought it mighty cunning— He'll fight, they say, another day, Who saves himself by running!