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 | Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman |  |
217
[XIX. And faces, forms, and phantoms, numbered not]
And faces, forms, and phantoms, numbered not,Gather and pass like mist upon the breeze;
Jading the eye with uncouth images,—
Women with muskets, children dropping shot;
By fields half-harvested, or lost, in fear
Of Indian inroad, or the Hessian near;
Disaster, poverty, and dire disease.
Or from the burning village, through the trees,
I see the smoke in reddening volumes roll;
The Indian file in shadowy silence pass,
While the last man sets up the trampled grass;
The Tory priest declaiming, fierce and fat;
The Shay's-man, with the green branch in his hat
Or silent sagamore, Shaug, or Wassahoale!
| Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | |