 | Original poems |  |
66
SONG.
WRITTEN FOR THE OCCASION, AND SUNG IN NEW YORK, JULY THE FOURTH, 1805.
[_]
The reader will perceive that it is a professed parody on the beautiful sailor's song of “Lash'd to the Helm.”
WHEN cannons roar, when bullets fly,
And shouts and groans affright the sky,
Amid the battle's dire alarms,
I'll think, my Mary, on thy charms;
The crimson field
Fresh proof shall yield
Of thy fond soldier's love;
And thy dear form
In battle's storm
His guardian angel prove.
And shouts and groans affright the sky,
Amid the battle's dire alarms,
I'll think, my Mary, on thy charms;
The crimson field
Fresh proof shall yield
Of thy fond soldier's love;
And thy dear form
In battle's storm
His guardian angel prove.
Should dangers thicken all around,
And dying warriours strew the ground,
In varied shapes, though death appear,
Thy fancied form my soul shall cheer;
The crimson field
Fresh proof shall yield
Of thy fond soldier's love;
And thy dear form
In battle's storm
His guardian angel prove.
And dying warriours strew the ground,
67
Thy fancied form my soul shall cheer;
The crimson field
Fresh proof shall yield
Of thy fond soldier's love;
And thy dear form
In battle's storm
His guardian angel prove.
And when loud cannons cease to roar,
And when the din of battle's o'er,
When safe return'd from war's alarms,
O then I'll feast on Mary's charms!
In ecstasy
I'll fly to thee
My ardent passion prove,
Left glory's field,
My life I'll yield
To all the joys of love.
And when the din of battle's o'er,
When safe return'd from war's alarms,
O then I'll feast on Mary's charms!
In ecstasy
I'll fly to thee
My ardent passion prove,
Left glory's field,
My life I'll yield
To all the joys of love.
| Original poems | |