 | [Poems by Smith in] The Wide-Awake Gift |  |
274
WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE.
Dark and gloomy was the hour,
And Freedom's fires burnt low,
For twenty days had Washington
Retreated from the foe;
And his weary soldiers' feet were bare
As he fled across the Delaware.
And Freedom's fires burnt low,
For twenty days had Washington
Retreated from the foe;
And his weary soldiers' feet were bare
As he fled across the Delaware.
Hearts were fainting through the land,
And patriot-blood ran cold;
The stricken army scarce retain'd
Two thousand men, all told;
While the British arms gleam'd everywhere,
From the Hudson to the Delaware.
And patriot-blood ran cold;
The stricken army scarce retain'd
Two thousand men, all told;
While the British arms gleam'd everywhere,
From the Hudson to the Delaware.
Cold and stormy came the night;
The great Chief roused his men;
“Now, up, brave comrades, up and strike
For Freedom once again;
For the Lion sleepeth in his lair,
On the left bank of Delaware.
The great Chief roused his men;
“Now, up, brave comrades, up and strike
For Freedom once again;
For the Lion sleepeth in his lair,
On the left bank of Delaware.
275
How the strong oars dash the ice
Amid the tempest's roar!
And how the trumpet-voice of Knox
Still cheers them to the shore!
Thus, in the freezing midnight air,
Those brave hearts cross'd the Delaware.
Amid the tempest's roar!
And how the trumpet-voice of Knox
Still cheers them to the shore!
Thus, in the freezing midnight air,
Those brave hearts cross'd the Delaware.
In the morning, grey and dim,
The shout of battle rose,
And the Chief led back his valiant men
With a thousand captive foes,
While Tronton shook with the cannon's blare,
That told the news o'er the Delaware.
The shout of battle rose,
And the Chief led back his valiant men
With a thousand captive foes,
While Tronton shook with the cannon's blare,
That told the news o'er the Delaware.
279
REVOLUTIONARY TEA.
There was an old lady lived over the sea,
And she was an Island Queen;
Her daughter lived off in a new countrie,
With an ocean of water between.
And she was an Island Queen;
Her daughter lived off in a new countrie,
With an ocean of water between.
The old lady's pockets were full of gold,
But never contented was she;
So she called to her daughter to pay her a tax
Of “thrippence” a pound on her tea.
But never contented was she;
So she called to her daughter to pay her a tax
Of “thrippence” a pound on her tea.
“Now, mother, dear mother,” the daughter replied,
“I shan't do the thing that you ax;
I'm willing to pay a fair price for the tea,
But never the thrippenny tax.
“I shan't do the thing that you ax;
I'm willing to pay a fair price for the tea,
But never the thrippenny tax.
“You shall,” quoth the mother, and reddened with rage,
“For you're my own daughter, ye see;
And sure 'tis quite proper the daughter should pay
Her mother a tax on her tea.”
“For you're my own daughter, ye see;
And sure 'tis quite proper the daughter should pay
Her mother a tax on her tea.”
And so the old lady her servants called up,
And pack'd off a budget of tea,
And, eager for thrippence a pound, she put in
Enough for a large familie.
And pack'd off a budget of tea,
And, eager for thrippence a pound, she put in
Enough for a large familie.
280
She ordered her servants to bring home the tax,
Declaring her child should obey,
Or, old as she was, and almost woman-grown,
She'd half whip her life away.
Declaring her child should obey,
Or, old as she was, and almost woman-grown,
She'd half whip her life away.
The tea was conveyed to the daughter's door,
All down by the ocean side,
And the bouncing girl poured out every pound
In the dark and boiling tide.
All down by the ocean side,
And the bouncing girl poured out every pound
In the dark and boiling tide.
And then she called out to the Island Queen,
“Oh, mother, dear mother,” quoth she,
“Your tea you may have, when 'tis steeped enough,
But never a tax from me—
No, never a tax from me.”
“Oh, mother, dear mother,” quoth she,
“Your tea you may have, when 'tis steeped enough,
But never a tax from me—
No, never a tax from me.”
| [Poems by Smith in] The Wide-Awake Gift | |