We sat beneath tall waving trees that flung Their heavy shadows o'er the dewy grass. Over the waters, breaking at our feet, Quivered the moon, and lighted solemnly The scene before us. ...
Of their great names I may record but few; He who beholds the Ocean white with sails And copies each confuses all the view, He paints too much - and fails.
O'er town, and works, and waves amain Far fell grim Ruin's furious rain, O'er parapet and mast, And riding on the thunder-swell Far flew the shot, far flew the shell Red Havoc on the blast!...
Superb in white and red, and white and gold, And white and violet, the French unfold Their blazoned banners on the Autumn air, While cymbols clash and brazen trumpets blare:...
Achilles came from Homer's Jove-like brain, Pavilioned 'mid his ships where Thetis trod; But he whose image dominates this plain Came from the hand of God!
Full-burnished through the long-revolving years The ploughshare of a Century to-day Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears Once stood in War's array.
And here France came one hundred years ago! Red, russet, purple glowed upon the trees, And sunset glories deepened in their glow Along the painted seas.
Brave was the foeman! well he held his ground! But here defeat at kindred hands he found! The shafts rained on him, in a righteous cause, Came from the quiver of Old England's laws! ...
As some spent gladiator, struck by Death, Whose reeling vision scarce a foe defines, For one last effort gathers all his breath, England draws in her lines. ...
The fountain of our story spreads no clouds Of mist above it rich in varied glows, None paint us Gods and Goddesses in crowds Where some Scamander flows.
In hunting shirts, or faded blue and buff, And many clad in simple, rustic stuff, Their ensigns torn but held by Freedom's hand, In long-drawn lines the Continentals stand....
I see his Shape who should have led these ranks - GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks - His chariot stands unyoked!
Before this thought the present hour recedes, As from the beach a billow backward rolls, And the great past, rich in heroic deeds Illuminates our souls!
My harp soon ceases; but I here allege Its strings are in my heart and tremble there: My Song's last strain shall be a claim and pledge - A claim, a pledge, a prayer! ...
And as the allied hosts advance All the left wing is given to France, Is given to France and - Fame! Yes, these together always ride The Dioscouroi of the tide Where War plays out the game!...
Troops late by Williamsburg's brave palace walls, With trump and drum had marched down Glo'ster street, And some with throb of oars, and loud sea-calls Had landed from the fleet. ...
The Brave young Marquis, second but to one For whom he felt the reverence of a son, Rides at the head of his division proud - A ray of Glory painted on the cloud! Mad Anthony is there, and Knox - but why...
At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls, Full-armed in faith, erected home and shrine, And flourished where the wild Atlantic rolls Its pyramids of brine.