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 |  |
The battle's fate long undecided lay,
And deeds immortal grac'd the doubtful day.
Some future bard, with rapture-rolling eyes,
His numbers rising as his raptures rise,
Sublim'd, proportion'd to his theme, shall tell
What glorious heroes for their country fell;
What various feats in different parts were done,
The trophies gain'd, the cannon lost and won:
Where Lee in front our light-arm'd legion led,
How from the giant-grenadiers they fled;
From dark oblivion snatch that soldier's wife,
Who saw him for his country sell his life;
Saw every gunner round the cannon die,
And covering bands, o'erpow'r'd, compell'd to fly;
Then as the foe to seize that cannon came,
She touch'd the pregnant brass with quick'ning flame,
And cried “confusion on your heads be hurl'd,
Here comes our Chief, the glory of the world!”
Him midst his chiefs a bounding courser bore,
Snorting thick clouds and scatt'ring foam and gore;
With placid smile and animating voice,
That made the wearied warrior's souls rejoice,
He came—conspicuous to his own side far,
And breath'd fresh vigour through the broken war.
Columbia, rallying round the godlike form,
Swept o'er the dry sand like a mountain storm;
The chief of chiefs, our foremost band before,
Bade the dry sand be drunk with hostile gore.
Then mean desires to reach the shelt'ring coast,
Resistless, seiz'd the faint Britannic host;
Not captains brave could wonted strength inspire,
Nor Clinton, fearless 'mid a flood of fire;
Who flew from rank to rank their souls to raise,
With thoughts of former deeds and former praise.
And deeds immortal grac'd the doubtful day.
Some future bard, with rapture-rolling eyes,
His numbers rising as his raptures rise,
Sublim'd, proportion'd to his theme, shall tell
What glorious heroes for their country fell;
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The trophies gain'd, the cannon lost and won:
Where Lee in front our light-arm'd legion led,
How from the giant-grenadiers they fled;
From dark oblivion snatch that soldier's wife,
Who saw him for his country sell his life;
Saw every gunner round the cannon die,
And covering bands, o'erpow'r'd, compell'd to fly;
Then as the foe to seize that cannon came,
She touch'd the pregnant brass with quick'ning flame,
And cried “confusion on your heads be hurl'd,
Here comes our Chief, the glory of the world!”
Him midst his chiefs a bounding courser bore,
Snorting thick clouds and scatt'ring foam and gore;
With placid smile and animating voice,
That made the wearied warrior's souls rejoice,
He came—conspicuous to his own side far,
And breath'd fresh vigour through the broken war.
Columbia, rallying round the godlike form,
Swept o'er the dry sand like a mountain storm;
The chief of chiefs, our foremost band before,
Bade the dry sand be drunk with hostile gore.
Then mean desires to reach the shelt'ring coast,
Resistless, seiz'd the faint Britannic host;
Not captains brave could wonted strength inspire,
Nor Clinton, fearless 'mid a flood of fire;
Who flew from rank to rank their souls to raise,
With thoughts of former deeds and former praise.
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |