 | Selected poems by William J. Grayson |  |
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VIII.—EUTAW
September's sky is calm and clear,
A vault of fire—the burning air
An oven's breath; the wasted rill
Sinks and deserts the idle mill;
The reservoir is dry, its bed
A pasture with rank grasses spread;
The sluggish cattle in the shade
Chew lazily; the shriveled blade
Of grass or maize is crisp and sere,
Dews fall no more; the mid-day glare
Is blinding—birds have ceased to sing,
The crow alone is on the wing,
With piercing eye and subtle scent
And mustering caw, on plunder bent;
The breath of every breeze is lost,
The lightest feather upward tost
Sinks down to earth; on lake or stream
No ripple breaks the dazzling gleam;
A quivering haze is on the ground,
A death-like quiet slumbers round:
When suddenly a sound of fear
Roars on the forest's startled ear—
The rush of war, the iron heel
Of horse, the clang of hostile steel,
The tramp of men, the solemn boom
Of cannon shot, a voice of doom.
Greene, like an eagle from his rock,
His wings new plumed, his force restored,
Swoops down upon the frightened flock,
From Santee's hills, by Howel's ford.
Not burning suns can stop his way,
Nor fever hosts of summer stay,
Nor troops, nor stores withheld, delay
His onward course—from short repose
He rushes on his slumbering foes.
And foremost there the task to share,
The conflict meet, the peril dare,
Are Marion's men; no keener eye,
No bolder heart to do or die
Greene's steadiest veterans supply.
A vault of fire—the burning air
An oven's breath; the wasted rill
Sinks and deserts the idle mill;
The reservoir is dry, its bed
A pasture with rank grasses spread;
The sluggish cattle in the shade
Chew lazily; the shriveled blade
Of grass or maize is crisp and sere,
Dews fall no more; the mid-day glare
Is blinding—birds have ceased to sing,
The crow alone is on the wing,
With piercing eye and subtle scent
And mustering caw, on plunder bent;
The breath of every breeze is lost,
The lightest feather upward tost
Sinks down to earth; on lake or stream
No ripple breaks the dazzling gleam;
A quivering haze is on the ground,
A death-like quiet slumbers round:
When suddenly a sound of fear
Roars on the forest's startled ear—
The rush of war, the iron heel
Of horse, the clang of hostile steel,
The tramp of men, the solemn boom
Of cannon shot, a voice of doom.
125
His wings new plumed, his force restored,
Swoops down upon the frightened flock,
From Santee's hills, by Howel's ford.
Not burning suns can stop his way,
Nor fever hosts of summer stay,
Nor troops, nor stores withheld, delay
His onward course—from short repose
He rushes on his slumbering foes.
And foremost there the task to share,
The conflict meet, the peril dare,
Are Marion's men; no keener eye,
No bolder heart to do or die
Greene's steadiest veterans supply.
Where Eutaw's fountains, deep and clear,
Pour out at once a river's force,
A thicket fringing all its course,
An open field and mansion near,
The battle raged—a fiercer strife,
More prodigal of blood and life,
Fought never Rome's resistless bands,
When, yet their vigor fresh and young,
On conquering wings their eagles hung,
O'er African or Asian lands.
Pour out at once a river's force,
A thicket fringing all its course,
An open field and mansion near,
The battle raged—a fiercer strife,
More prodigal of blood and life,
Fought never Rome's resistless bands,
When, yet their vigor fresh and young,
On conquering wings their eagles hung,
O'er African or Asian lands.
Beneath the lofty, leafy arch,
Within the grand primeval shade
Of forest trees, their adverse march,
On either side, the armies made;
And now their chiefs with skill and care
The frowning front of war prepare;
Malmedy, Marion, Pickens, form
The foremost line; their yeomen meet
The first, fierce fury of the storm,
Its iron hail and fiery sleet;
Next, stately, like a towering oak,
Campbell arrays his martial train
From distant Dan and Roanoke,
From mountain ridge and piny plain;
Beside them Williams, true and tried,
Hardman and Howard by his side,
Ranges his band, Patapsco's pride;
And gaily Kirkwood's Delawares
Their post assume—a host, though few,
When war his sternest aspect rears
No braver heart, nor hand more true,
The sword of battle ever drew.
Within the grand primeval shade
Of forest trees, their adverse march,
On either side, the armies made;
126
The frowning front of war prepare;
Malmedy, Marion, Pickens, form
The foremost line; their yeomen meet
The first, fierce fury of the storm,
Its iron hail and fiery sleet;
Next, stately, like a towering oak,
Campbell arrays his martial train
From distant Dan and Roanoke,
From mountain ridge and piny plain;
Beside them Williams, true and tried,
Hardman and Howard by his side,
Ranges his band, Patapsco's pride;
And gaily Kirkwood's Delawares
Their post assume—a host, though few,
When war his sternest aspect rears
No braver heart, nor hand more true,
The sword of battle ever drew.
Bold, too, and firm the hostile ranks—
Stewart, like a Briton, scorns retreat,
And Coffin and Majoribanks
Are worthy of the foes they meet.
Stewart, like a Briton, scorns retreat,
And Coffin and Majoribanks
Are worthy of the foes they meet.
In quiet woods that ne'er before
Had echoed to the battle's roar,
Where lowing herds alone were heard,
Or warbled song of hidden bird,
The conflict raves—the trembling ground,
With bursting shell or crashing ball,
Is rent and torn, from trees around
The shattered leaves and branches fall;
Fiercer the roar of battle grows,
With roll of drum and furious shout,
And teeth firm set and flashing eye,
And leveled steel, resistlessly,
They charge, the clashing bayonets close;
A moment's pause of anxious doubt,
A moment's pause, then fiercely on,
Like torrent, bank and barrier gone,
Williams and Campbell sweep the field,
Like lurid clouds that break and fly,
Before the gale, along the sky,
The hostile bands disordered yield;
The day is won!—but, ah, how soon
May Fortune's frown her gifts resume—
Snatch from the hand her brightest boon,
And turn the sunlight into gloom.
In vain achieved the glorious deed,
For honor and their country's need,
Still many a gallant heart must bleed.
Had echoed to the battle's roar,
Where lowing herds alone were heard,
Or warbled song of hidden bird,
The conflict raves—the trembling ground,
127
Is rent and torn, from trees around
The shattered leaves and branches fall;
Fiercer the roar of battle grows,
With roll of drum and furious shout,
And teeth firm set and flashing eye,
And leveled steel, resistlessly,
They charge, the clashing bayonets close;
A moment's pause of anxious doubt,
A moment's pause, then fiercely on,
Like torrent, bank and barrier gone,
Williams and Campbell sweep the field,
Like lurid clouds that break and fly,
Before the gale, along the sky,
The hostile bands disordered yield;
The day is won!—but, ah, how soon
May Fortune's frown her gifts resume—
Snatch from the hand her brightest boon,
And turn the sunlight into gloom.
In vain achieved the glorious deed,
For honor and their country's need,
Still many a gallant heart must bleed.
The strong-walled mansion-house behind,
The flying host a fortress find,
And tents invitingly are near,
And tables with abundant cheer,
To half-fed troops a tempting snare;
Alas! that Victory's foot should pause
And falter for so light a cause,
Losing the precious moment when,
The chance once lost, no more success
Returns with smiling lip to bless
The fleeting hopes of mortal men.
'Tis lost, the rallying foes reform
Their broken ranks with small delay;
Vainly may Campbell toil to storm
The mansion fort that bars his way;
Idly, a prodigal of life,
He dares the charge with peril rife
And sinks amid the unequal strife.
And vainly Washington assails
The band that held the British flank
In copses hid by Eutaw's bank;
Fierce though the charge, the onset fails,
'Mid stunted oaks and saplings, where
Majoribanks still kept his post
Like Paladin that knew no fear;
The charger falls—the rider's lost—
A prisoner on the battle field,
Wounded, entangled, forced to yield
The sword he could no longer wield.
He sinks, the flag that ever flew
Foremost, where peril called the brave,
Then first the freaks of fortune knew,
And sunk beneath the crimson wave
Of battle; vainly now to save
His comrade, Hammond cuts his way;
Blackened with powder, stained with blood,
He strives to pierce the firm array,
In vain, that still undaunted stood
Protected by the pathless wood.
The flying host a fortress find,
And tents invitingly are near,
And tables with abundant cheer,
128
Alas! that Victory's foot should pause
And falter for so light a cause,
Losing the precious moment when,
The chance once lost, no more success
Returns with smiling lip to bless
The fleeting hopes of mortal men.
'Tis lost, the rallying foes reform
Their broken ranks with small delay;
Vainly may Campbell toil to storm
The mansion fort that bars his way;
Idly, a prodigal of life,
He dares the charge with peril rife
And sinks amid the unequal strife.
And vainly Washington assails
The band that held the British flank
In copses hid by Eutaw's bank;
Fierce though the charge, the onset fails,
'Mid stunted oaks and saplings, where
Majoribanks still kept his post
Like Paladin that knew no fear;
The charger falls—the rider's lost—
A prisoner on the battle field,
Wounded, entangled, forced to yield
The sword he could no longer wield.
He sinks, the flag that ever flew
Foremost, where peril called the brave,
Then first the freaks of fortune knew,
And sunk beneath the crimson wave
129
His comrade, Hammond cuts his way;
Blackened with powder, stained with blood,
He strives to pierce the firm array,
In vain, that still undaunted stood
Protected by the pathless wood.
With ready hand and practiced eye,
Had Marion and his men been nigh
To force the covert foes to yield
The wood, and take the open field,
And give the trooper's sabre room,
Far different then had been the doom
Of him whose sword's resistless sway
Had shorn the crest of Tarleton's pride,
And turned, on Guilford's bloody day,
With Gunby's charge, the battle's tide.
Had Marion and his men been nigh
To force the covert foes to yield
The wood, and take the open field,
And give the trooper's sabre room,
Far different then had been the doom
Of him whose sword's resistless sway
Had shorn the crest of Tarleton's pride,
And turned, on Guilford's bloody day,
With Gunby's charge, the battle's tide.
The baffled troops, at last, retire;
Greene stays their onset and recalls,
He sees their ineffectual fire
Is vainly poured on solid walls;
And useless charge his troopers make
On pathless copse and tangled brake.
Another fierce September sun
Must close the work so well begun,
And, restlessly, with hope elate,
The morrow's call the hunters wait,
To drive the quarry to his fate.
Greene stays their onset and recalls,
He sees their ineffectual fire
Is vainly poured on solid walls;
And useless charge his troopers make
On pathless copse and tangled brake.
Another fierce September sun
Must close the work so well begun,
130
The morrow's call the hunters wait,
To drive the quarry to his fate.
But long before the morrow's dawn
The tents are struck, the foe is gone,
Arms, wounded, stores abandoned, fast
And far, before the morning's light
Shall tell the beaten Briton's flight.
He hastes away—the peril's past—
Yet, as he flies, among the trees
The deadly rifleman he sees;
In every copse and swamp and fen,
He dreads the shot of Marion's men,
Till panting, through the sun, he finds
His safety in the city lines.
The tents are struck, the foe is gone,
Arms, wounded, stores abandoned, fast
And far, before the morning's light
Shall tell the beaten Briton's flight.
He hastes away—the peril's past—
Yet, as he flies, among the trees
The deadly rifleman he sees;
In every copse and swamp and fen,
He dreads the shot of Marion's men,
Till panting, through the sun, he finds
His safety in the city lines.
| Selected poems by William J. Grayson | |