The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys Late Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of Madrid |
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 | The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys |  |
What spoils of war, thy sons, Columbia, claim'd!
What trophies rose, where thy red ensigns flam'd!
Where the great chief, o'er Del'ware's icy wave,
Led the small band, in danger doubly brave;
On high designs, and ere the dawning hour,
Germania's vet'ran's own'd the victor's pow'r;
Or on the muse's plain, where round thy tomb,
O gallant Mercer! deathless laurels bloom;
Or where, anon, in northern fields renown'd,
The tide of slaughter stain'd the sanguine grounds
When the bold freemen, gath'ring from afar,
Foil'd the proud foe, and crush'd the savage war:
On that brave band their country's plaudit waits,
And consecrates to fame the name of Gates.
Nor less the valour of the impetuous shock,
Which seiz'd the glorious prize on Hudson's rock,
Where Wayne, e'en while he felt the whizzing ball,
Pluck'd the proud standard from the vanquish'd wall.
Now turn your eyes, where southern realms are seen,
From ruin rescu'd, by th' immortal Greene:
See toils of death, where many a hero bleeds,
Till rapid vict'ry, to defeat, succeeds.
On num'rous plains, whose streams, unknown to song,
Till this great æra, roll'd obscure along,
Their names shall now, to fame familiar grown,
Outlast the pile of monumental stone.
Or see on fair Virginia's strand arise,
The column pointing to the fav'ring skies;
Inscrib'd with deeds the fed'rate arms have done,
And grav'd with trophies from Britannia won:
Here stand the conqu'ring bands; the vanquish'd throng
Through the long lines in silence move along:
The stars and lilies, here in laurels drest,
And there, dark shrouds the banner'd pride invest:
These twice twelve banners once in pomp unfurl'd,
Spread death and terror round the southern world:
In various colours from the staff unroll'd,
The lion frown'd, the eagle flam'd in gold;
Hibernia's harp, reluctant, here was hung,
And Scotia's thistle there spontaneous sprung:
These twice twelve flags no more shall be display'd,
Save in the dome where warlike spoils are laid:
Since, where the fathers in high council meet,
This hand has plac'd them prostrate at their feet.
What trophies rose, where thy red ensigns flam'd!
Where the great chief, o'er Del'ware's icy wave,
Led the small band, in danger doubly brave;
On high designs, and ere the dawning hour,
Germania's vet'ran's own'd the victor's pow'r;
Or on the muse's plain, where round thy tomb,
O gallant Mercer! deathless laurels bloom;
Or where, anon, in northern fields renown'd,
The tide of slaughter stain'd the sanguine grounds
When the bold freemen, gath'ring from afar,
Foil'd the proud foe, and crush'd the savage war:
On that brave band their country's plaudit waits,
And consecrates to fame the name of Gates.
Nor less the valour of the impetuous shock,
Which seiz'd the glorious prize on Hudson's rock,
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Pluck'd the proud standard from the vanquish'd wall.
Now turn your eyes, where southern realms are seen,
From ruin rescu'd, by th' immortal Greene:
See toils of death, where many a hero bleeds,
Till rapid vict'ry, to defeat, succeeds.
On num'rous plains, whose streams, unknown to song,
Till this great æra, roll'd obscure along,
Their names shall now, to fame familiar grown,
Outlast the pile of monumental stone.
Or see on fair Virginia's strand arise,
The column pointing to the fav'ring skies;
Inscrib'd with deeds the fed'rate arms have done,
And grav'd with trophies from Britannia won:
Here stand the conqu'ring bands; the vanquish'd throng
Through the long lines in silence move along:
The stars and lilies, here in laurels drest,
And there, dark shrouds the banner'd pride invest:
These twice twelve banners once in pomp unfurl'd,
Spread death and terror round the southern world:
In various colours from the staff unroll'd,
The lion frown'd, the eagle flam'd in gold;
Hibernia's harp, reluctant, here was hung,
And Scotia's thistle there spontaneous sprung:
These twice twelve flags no more shall be display'd,
Save in the dome where warlike spoils are laid:
Since, where the fathers in high council meet,
This hand has plac'd them prostrate at their feet.
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |