The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys :: :: University of Virginia Library

From utmost isles o'er foaming billows tost,
The sight of land for many a dark day lost;
Borne on a thousand ships with fifes and drums,
And blood-red streamers, lo! where Britain comes.
Lo! where the ship-borne host from ocean speeds!
Hark, mingling sounds of men and neighing steeds,
The rattling cannon, ammunition car,
With arms of fire and magazines of war!
The steeds rejoice to snuff the land once more,
Leap in the wallowing wave, and swim to shore;
Amaz'd, a moment, shivering, shake away
The briny drops. Then form'd in war's array,
At first they reeling walk—but ere long bound,
And prance impatient at the trumpet's sound.
Nor yet the joints their supplest movement find,
Nor yet their wet manes wanton in the wind,
As squadrons wheel to take, for march, their place,
Some curvet in a long, some shorter pace;
Champing their curbs, the churned froth they shed,
And thick resounds of clattering hoofs the tread.
By fits the bright steel sparkling strikes the sight,
A misty ridge of mountain fire at night.
Emerg'd from fogs the infantry appears—
The gay light troops—the gloomy grenadiers—
The royal guards in glittering laces drest,
The white plume nodding o'er the frowning crest,
Move in the van. Ensigns and flags unfurl'd,
They seek new conquests in a new found world.
For these through distant climes in fields of fame,
Full oft had toil'd with chiefs of glorious name;
Chiefs old in war, who, in some better cause,
Had still acquir'd new claims to high applause.