The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

From Putnam, our illustrious leader.
He bade me find you, bade me say
That things are faring worse than sadly
With those who hold the righteous way,
While Satan's kingdom prospers madly.

“Briton nor Hessian hurts us now,
Nor lurking brave, nor sneaking Tory;
For we can front them brow to brow
And hurl aback their fiercest foray.
It is a girl, a buxom jade,
An Indian witch, a powwow's daughter,
Who makes Columbia's soul afraid
And lures her mighty ones to slaughter.
She glides about our camp by night,
Adroit in magic, strong in beauty,
And slays the sentinel outright,
Or wiles him from the beat of duty.
Yea, none resist her cunning lure;
The veteran renowned in battle,
The officer we counted sure,
All follow her like silly cattle;
And those who perish not reveal
Our plans to whatsoever human;
In sort that Freedom seems to reel
Before the malice of a woman.

“You know of Ethan Allen; know
His faithfulness beyond suspicion;
And know how many a stalwart foe
His arm has pitched to hot perdition.
He too is gone; he went at dawn
With many oaths to slay the maiden;

And that is all we know; he's gone,
Though scarcely gone, we think to Eden.”