A Wreath Of Virginia Bay Leaves Part 11

See that burnt crop, yon choked-up sylvan well, This yeoman slain ye corven in the sun!

My G.o.d! shreds of a woman's dress to tell Why murder there was done!

Such things as these gave edge to all the blows Our fathers struck on this historic sod, Feet, hands, and faces turned toward their foes-- Their valiant hearts to G.o.d.

VIII.

THE LINES AROUND YORKTOWN.

Troops late by Williamsburg's brave palace walls, With trump and drum had marched down Glo'ster street, And some with throb of oars, and loud sea-calls Had landed from the fleet.

And well our leader had befooled his foes-- Left them like archers blundering in the dark To draw against the empty s.p.a.ce their bows, While here was their true mark.

Brave Lincoln on the right with kindling eye Smiles 'mid the cares of grave command immersed, To see dramatic retribution nigh And Charleston's fate reversed!

The Light Troops stood upon the curved right flank, New Hamps.h.i.+re, Ma.s.sachusetts Bay were there, Connecticut marched with them, rank on rank, And gallant Delaware.

There, too, Virginia's st.u.r.dy yeomen stood, Led on by Nelson of the open hand, As thick and stubborn as a living wood In some enchanted land.

Next came the steady Continental Line, Rhode Island, and New Jersey, breast to breast, Ready to tread the hot and smoking wine From War's red cl.u.s.ters pressed.

New York and Pennsylvania on these plains Closed boldly in on the embattled town, Nor feared they threatened penalties and pains Of Parliament, or Crown.

And Maryland, the gay and gallant came, As always ready for the battle's brunt; And here again Virginia faced the flame Along the deadly front.

IX.

THE FRENCH IN THE TRENCHES.

And as the allied hosts advance All the left wing is given to France, Is given to France and--Fame!

Yes, these together always ride The Dioscouroi of the tide Where War plays out the game!

And that broad front 'tis her's to hold With hand of iron, heart of gold And helmet plumed with flame.

Across the river broad she sends DeChoisy and Lauzun where ends The leaguer far and wide, While Weedon seconds as he may The gallant Frenchmen in array Upon the Gloucester side.

As waves hurled on a stranded keel Make all the oaken timbers reel With many a pond'rous blow, So day by day, and night by night The French like billows foaming white Thunder against the foe.

X.

NELSON AND THE GUNNERS.

O'er town, and works, and waves amain Far fell grim Ruin's furious rain, O'er parapet and mast, And riding on the thunder-swell Far flew the shot, far flew the sh.e.l.l Red Havoc on the blast!

Then as the flas.h.i.+ng cannon sowed Their iron crop brave Nelson rode, His bridle bit all foam, Up to the gunners, and said he: "Batter yon mansion down for me"-- "Bas.e.m.e.nt, and walls, and dome!"

And better to sharpen those gunners' wits, "Five guineas," he cried, "for each shot that hits!"-- That mansion was his home!

XI.

THE BELEAGUERED TOWN.

Behind the town the sun sinks down Gilding the vane upon the spire, While many a wall reels to its fall Beneath the fell artillery fire.

As sinks that sun mortar and gun Like living things leap grim and hot, And far and wide across the tide Spray-furrows show the flying shot.

White smoke in clouds yon earthwork shrouds Where, steeped in battle to the lips, The French amain pour fiery rain On town, and walls, and English s.h.i.+ps.

That deadly sleet smites lines and fleet, As closes in the Autumn night, And Aboville from head to heel Thrills with the battle's wild delight.

At every flash oak timbers crash-- A sudden glare yon frigate dyes!

Then flames up-gush, and roar, and rush, From deck to where her pennon flies!

Those flames on high crimson the sky And paint their signals overhead, And every fold of smoke is rolled And woven in Plutonian red.

All radiant now taffrail and prow, And hull, and cordage, beams and spars, Thus lit she sails on fiery gales To purple seas where float the stars.

Ages ago just such a glow Woke Agamemnon's house to joy, Its red and gold to Argos told The long-expected fate of Troy.

So, on these heights, that flame delights The Allies thundering at the wall, Forewrit they see the land set free And Albion's short-lived Ilium fall!

Then as the Lilies turn to red Dipped in the battles' wine Another picture is outspread Where still the figures s.h.i.+ne-- The picture of a deadly fray Worthy the pencil of Vernet!

XII.

STORMING THE REDOUBTS.

On the night air there floating comes, hoa.r.s.e, war-like, low and deep, A sound as tho' the dreaming drums were talking in their sleep.

"Fall in! Fall in!" The stormers form, in silence, stern and grim, Each heart full-beating out the time to Freedom's battle hymn.--

"Charge! _en Avant_!"--The word goes forth and forth the stormers go, Each column like a mighty shaft shot from a mighty bow.

And tumult rose upon the night like sound of roaring seas, Mars drank of the Horn of Ulphus and he drained it to the lees!

Now by fair Freedom's splendid dreams! it was a gallant sight To see the blows against the foes well struck that Autumn night!

Gimat, and Fish, and Hamilton, and Laurens pressed the foe, And Olney--brave Rhode Islander!--was there, alas! laid low.

Viominil, and Noallies, and Damas, stout and brave, Broke o'er the English right redoubt a steel-encrested wave.

St. Simon from his sick couch rose, wooed by the battle's charms, And like a knight of old romance went to the shock of arms.

[But they who bore the muskets, who went charging thro' the flame, Deserve far more than ever will be given them by Fame--

Then let us pour libations out!--full freely let them flow For the men who bore the muskets here a century ago!]

And, then, the columns won the works, and then uprose the cheers That have lasted us and ours for a good one hundred years!