 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
THE BALLAD OF OLD HICKORIE.
Oh! dreary and cold was the sullen night,
When the bands of Old England, famous in fight,
Drew near, in the pride of their martial might,
And the pomp of their ocean chivalrie!
When the bands of Old England, famous in fight,
Drew near, in the pride of their martial might,
And the pomp of their ocean chivalrie!
Never they fear'd the meagre array
Of the hunter tribes that stood in their way,
Like the snake in his coil, or the wolf at bay,
On the mighty banks of the Mechachebe!
Of the hunter tribes that stood in their way,
Like the snake in his coil, or the wolf at bay,
On the mighty banks of the Mechachebe!
43
They came as a confident martial race,
Bold in their strength, and lofty of place,
Never once dreaming of dread disgrace
At the lands of that rustic infantrie!
Bold in their strength, and lofty of place,
Never once dreaming of dread disgrace
At the lands of that rustic infantrie!
And they sang, as they came, a proud insolent song
Of Beauty and Booty, the triumph of Wrong,
Such as, of yore, made them daring and strong,
In their progress of lust over land and sea!
Of Beauty and Booty, the triumph of Wrong,
Such as, of yore, made them daring and strong,
In their progress of lust over land and sea!
Great were the Captains that led them on,
Famous in fields where crowns are won,
And trained by the genius of Wellington,
To pluck from the Fates the red victorie!
Famous in fields where crowns are won,
And trained by the genius of Wellington,
To pluck from the Fates the red victorie!
Oh! glorious then was the grand array
Of shining steel and of plumage gay,
While the martial instruments evermore play,
With blare of the Saracen minstrelsie!
Of shining steel and of plumage gay,
While the martial instruments evermore play,
With blare of the Saracen minstrelsie!
There were thousands on thousands, doughty and tall,
In solid phalanx, with regular fall
Of timéd steps, as they one and all
Strode over the banks of the Mechachebe!
In solid phalanx, with regular fall
Of timéd steps, as they one and all
Strode over the banks of the Mechachebe!
And, great white clouds, like the wings of fame,
Their mighty squadrons of shipping came,
Ready to belch, in bolt and flame,
Their vengeance and hate on the fair citie!
Their mighty squadrons of shipping came,
Ready to belch, in bolt and flame,
Their vengeance and hate on the fair citie!
And the cannon roar'd the approaching war,
As the lion roars his coming afar,
Shaking the nations with terrible jar,
And making their timid tribes to flee!
As the lion roars his coming afar,
Shaking the nations with terrible jar,
And making their timid tribes to flee!
44
And the plains they shook with the mighty tread,
And over their march hung a cloud of red,
And under their iron feet, dying or dead,
Shrank the green children of industrie!
And over their march hung a cloud of red,
And under their iron feet, dying or dead,
Shrank the green children of industrie!
Oh! that mighty host, what power shall stand?
So terribly arm'd, with such great command?
Where is the arm, in this forest land,
To brave them, and make them backward flee?
So terribly arm'd, with such great command?
Where is the arm, in this forest land,
To brave them, and make them backward flee?
What groups of a rustic race are these,
From the piney woods, from the prairie seas,
With nothing of pomp to appall or please,
And none of the banners of chivalrie?
From the piney woods, from the prairie seas,
With nothing of pomp to appall or please,
And none of the banners of chivalrie?
How shall their simple weapons tell,
In the conflict fierce with a foe so fell?
And whose is the name of might to spell,
Till their courage shall mount like a raging sea?
In the conflict fierce with a foe so fell?
And whose is the name of might to spell,
Till their courage shall mount like a raging sea?
Oh! simple and few are that forest race,
But well they know how the foe to face:
They have grappled the panther in wild embrace,
And torn off his hide in his agonie!
But well they know how the foe to face:
They have grappled the panther in wild embrace,
And torn off his hide in his agonie!
And they follow a chief, whose eagle look
The eye of a master could never brook;
Whose soul with no feeling of fear ever shook—
And they lovingly call him Old Hickorie!
The eye of a master could never brook;
Whose soul with no feeling of fear ever shook—
And they lovingly call him Old Hickorie!
He carries a staff of a wondrous might,
As potent in season of peace as in fight;
It only needs he should wave it in sight,
To win, or to conquer, the victorie!
As potent in season of peace as in fight;
It only needs he should wave it in sight,
To win, or to conquer, the victorie!
45
Oh! Packenham boasts of a mighty name,
But let him beware, lest he come to shame,
When he meets with that eye of an eagle flame,
And feels that staff of Old Hickorie!
But let him beware, lest he come to shame,
When he meets with that eye of an eagle flame,
And feels that staff of Old Hickorie!
But the pride of Britain will never hear,
'Till the danger rings on the heart as ear:
'Tis the riving bolt that shall make her fear,
And curb her cruel rapacitie!
'Till the danger rings on the heart as ear:
'Tis the riving bolt that shall make her fear,
And curb her cruel rapacitie!
And her hosts stride on in their grand array,
While her martial bands of her conquests play—
Of the beauty and booty, the fruits of the fray,
That make the charms of her victorie!
While her martial bands of her conquests play—
Of the beauty and booty, the fruits of the fray,
That make the charms of her victorie!
And they heed but little that rustic band,
That silently gathers to guard the land,
Or the eye of that Lord of the Dread Command,
With his knotted staff of old hickorie!
That silently gathers to guard the land,
Or the eye of that Lord of the Dread Command,
With his knotted staff of old hickorie!
How, with souls of strength, and with hearts of hate,
Like tigers in jungle, they watch and wait,
Ready to spring, with the talons of fate,
To grapple with England's chivalrie!
Like tigers in jungle, they watch and wait,
Ready to spring, with the talons of fate,
To grapple with England's chivalrie!
Oh! the gallant hearts that are beating high,
Elate with the rapturous battle cry:
The night shall see them all stiffening lie,
With never the spirit to fight or flee!
Elate with the rapturous battle cry:
The night shall see them all stiffening lie,
With never the spirit to fight or flee!
Short grows the terrible space between,
And the ranks rush on to the fearful scene,
And with lips close set, and a deadly mien,
They leap to the bath of blood fearlesslie!
And the ranks rush on to the fearful scene,
And with lips close set, and a deadly mien,
They leap to the bath of blood fearlesslie!
46
And the cannon roars, and the column sinks;
The stream of the Mechachebe drinks
The purple torrent—its turbid brinks,
From the curdling rivers of carnage flee!
The stream of the Mechachebe drinks
The purple torrent—its turbid brinks,
From the curdling rivers of carnage flee!
But ever the Briton presseth on,—
For the veteran troops of Duke Wellington,
Trained in the struggle where crowns are won,
Must perish or pluck the red victorie!
For the veteran troops of Duke Wellington,
Trained in the struggle where crowns are won,
Must perish or pluck the red victorie!
And the column it springs, where the column falls,
And it mocks with a cheer the hurtling balls,
And rising in stirrup, brave Packenham calls:
“To the conquest, my merrie men, follow me!”
And it mocks with a cheer the hurtling balls,
And rising in stirrup, brave Packenham calls:
“To the conquest, my merrie men, follow me!”
But, even as he rusheth to reach the prize,
The forest chief opens his eagle eyes,
And he bids his young wolves from the jungle rise,
And he throws out his staff of old hickorie!
The forest chief opens his eagle eyes,
And he bids his young wolves from the jungle rise,
And he throws out his staff of old hickorie!
Oh! terrible then was the sudden shout,
That rang at the waving, the field throughout,
And horrid the clash of that battle-bout,
That followed the glance of his eagle e'e!
That rang at the waving, the field throughout,
And horrid the clash of that battle-bout,
That followed the glance of his eagle e'e!
And Packenham drinks of the gore and the sand;
And thousands beside, of his gallant band,
Lie stretch'd in death, at the wave of that hand,
That bore the staff of old hickorie!
And thousands beside, of his gallant band,
Lie stretch'd in death, at the wave of that hand,
That bore the staff of old hickorie!
The soldiers of Wellington strew the plain;
They rally their broken hosts in vain;
And the wounded howl, while over the slain
The terrified fugitives tramp and flee!
They rally their broken hosts in vain;
And the wounded howl, while over the slain
The terrified fugitives tramp and flee!
47
But for ages long shall the people tell
Of him that so wielded the powerful spell,
That hickorie staff, and the stroke so fell,
That he gave by the waters of Mechachebe!
Of him that so wielded the powerful spell,
That hickorie staff, and the stroke so fell,
That he gave by the waters of Mechachebe!
And ever, should other foes arise,
Then the people shall warm with old memories
Of that mighty staff, and those eagle eyes,
And the fearless soul of Old Hickorie!
Then the people shall warm with old memories
Of that mighty staff, and those eagle eyes,
And the fearless soul of Old Hickorie!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |