IN their ragged
regimentals,
Stood the old Continentals,
Yielding not,
While the grenadiers were lunging,
And like hail fell the
plunging
Cannon-shot;
When the files
Of the isles,
From the smoky night-encampment, bore the banner of the
rampant
Unicorn;
And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled
the roll of the drummer
Through the morn!
Then
with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,
Stood our sires;
While the balls whistled deadly,
And
in streams flashing redly
Blazed the fires:
As the
roar
On the shore
Swept the strong battle-breakers
o'er the green-sodded acres
Of the plain;
And louder,
louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder,
Cracking
amain!
Now like smiths at their forges
Worked the
red St. George's
Cannoneers,
And the villainous
saltpetre
Rang a fierce, discordant metre
Round our
ears:
As the swift
Storm-drift,
With hot sweeping
anger, came the horseguards' clangor
On our flanks.
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire
Through the ranks!
Then the bare-headed Colonel
Galloped through the white infernal
Powder-cloud;
And
his broadsword was swinging,
And his brazen throat was
ringing
Trumpet-loud;
Then the blue
Bullets flew,
And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden
Rifle-breath;
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the
iron six-pounder,
Hurling death! |
