Part 5 (1/2)

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 h.o.a.ry 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 sh.o.r.e.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE AMERICANS WHO FELL AT EUTAW

PHILIP FRENEAU

[Sidenote: Sept. 8, 1781]

_The fight of Eutaw Springs, although called a drawn battle, resulted in the withdrawal of the British troops from South Carolina._

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 the tear, Oh, smite your gentle breast, and say, The friends of freedom slumber here!

Thou, who shalt trace this b.l.o.o.d.y 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 injur'd country's woe; The flaming town, the wasted field; Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear--but left the s.h.i.+eld.

Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, The Britons they compell'd to fly: None distant view'd the fatal plain, None griev'd, in such a cause, to die,--

But, like the Parthians, fam'd 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 suns.h.i.+ne of their own.

GEORGE WAs.h.i.+NGTON

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

[Sidenote: July 8, 1775]

_This is a fragment from the ode for the centenary of Was.h.i.+ngton's taking command of the American army at Cambridge._