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WAYNE AT BRANDYWINE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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124

WAYNE AT BRANDYWINE

The autumn dawn was dim with mists on that disastrous day;
With dews like tears the oaks were strung, below still skies of grey.
In fringy throngs the stirless pines were gloomed as with regret;
The clustering laurels glimpsed no ray from foliage dark and wet.
All earth and heaven, in blended pain, seemed prescient of the ills
That war would shower erelong on those green Pennsylvanian hills.
The sun crept higher in mantling fog; the battle growled and broke;
You heard its thunderous onslaughts crash; you saw them blaze and smoke.
From Osbourne's Hill Cornwallis rushed, with troops of well-tried power;
He dreamed not then, this high-born Earl, of Yorktown's humbling hour.

125

He scanned our shabby and rebel hordes, nor dared to rate them peers
Of all his dexterous infantry, chasseurs and grenadiers.
Hurling his trained battalions down, he deemed their might anon
Would crush like gnats the astounded bands of Greene and Washington.
Yet these with zeal struck firmly back, defiant of hope's eclipse,
And bade the scarlet tongues of flame lick their black cannons' lips.
Like some fleet silvery mountain stream their serried bayonets flashed,
As with the impetuous foe above they sternly closed and clashed.
In furious wise fought Sullivan (whose blunders heaven forget!);
Down from his steed, with rallying shouts, leaped fiery Lafayette.
De Gorre and Conway strained and strove; so, too, with high-waved sword,
Lord Stirling, falsely titled thus, though every inch a lord.
Fierce waxed the fray on blood-soaked turf; in sheets the bullets flew;
A battle of men it ceased to be, a battle of tigers grew.

126

Artillery clamoured on the slopes, from sheltering rocks and trees;
Artillery from the meadows roared voluminous repartees.
One storm of sound, as though in words, tempestuous challenge threw:
‘God save King George the Third and blast all traitorous droves like you!’
One answering storm of equal sound, as though in words, rang then:
‘Go back and tell your idiot King we are not slaves, but men!’
Meanwhile at Chad's Ford, vigilant, a sombre warrior stood,
Light glittering from his hazel eyes, though marble seemed his mood.
A stalwart shape in buff and blue, he noted without sign
The hirelings of Knyphausen mass beside the Brandywine.
Roods off he saw, with stolid mien, the reddening river glow,
And knew the precious patriot blood ensanguining its flow.
Erewhile from vaporous rifts of sky one slanted beam had filled
Pulaski's dark proud Polish face, by glorious courage thrilled.

127

And reared beyond him, it had shown, that same bright random beam,
The loftier form of Washington, in dignity supreme.
A form this watcher by the bridge beheld with bated breath—
A form he would have died to shield from such engirding death.
He looked along the Brandywine; he marked, in ominous ranks,
The fierce dragoons of Anspach wheel beside its willowy banks.
What menace ruled their mustering scores he read with rapid ease,
Then vaulted on the sinewy roan that neighed to feel his knees.
A thousand hardy followers heard his voice quick mandates throw,
And sprang to obey them as the shaft will spring to obey the bow.
‘Mad Anthony’ he oft was named, yet these that knew him best,
What method in his madness lay had learned with loving zest.
And each was keen, with him for chief, to front war's harms and smarts—
Tatterdemalions, if you will, but all with heroes' hearts.

128

Accoutred rich in black-and-gold by black plumes overspread,
Five thousand rancorous Hessians poured, Knyphausen at their head.
Ah, not in legend or in song does lordlier daring shine
Than this, the intrepid countercharge of Wayne at Brandy-wine.
Riflemen, horsemen, stanch alike, the greybeard by the youth,
His rabble of Continentals rushed, magnificent, uncouth.
Straight on tornado-wise they tore, and bluffly set at naught
The butchering tactics, deft and shrewd, that British pounds had bought.
Splendid for bravery did they smite, and bleed, and kill, and die,
With country, honour, home and kin their blows to sanctify.
And even in teeth of such harsh odds the prize perchance were won,
If prudence had not pushed from fight the army of Washington.
Afar, through lurid air Wayne saw, with pangs of sharp dismay,
His dear Commander's trusted troops retire in broken array.

129

Then full amid thick hail of shot, with victory almost gained,
Back on its haunches, in a trice, his good brown steed he reined.
Veering, he signalled swift recoil, howe'er his pride it stung,
And with vociferous resonance these words broadcast he flung:
‘Superior numbers have o'erwhelmed our main force with defeat;
We follow (it is our sacred task!) protecting their retreat!’
He bade them leave their dying and dead—their guns, munitions, all—
He steeled his heart, he bowed his head, to duty's claim and call.
And though from bearded Teuton lips the insulting laughter pealed,
He did not heed, but swept his men sheer on to Dilworth field.
And there, with many a gallant blade uplifted in the sun,
He grandly guarded the retreat of Greene and Washington!
[OMITTED]
'Twere easy, in sooth, to snatch the palm from triumph's outstretched hand,
Yet oh, how hard, at wisdom's will, such guerdon to withstand!

130

Nay, for that high-strung spirit, I know, renouncement brought reward
Past all his prowess at Stony Point, his pluck at Jamestown Ford!
Ah, not in story or myth or song does deed more stoic shine
Than this, the exalted self-control of Wayne at Brandywine!