116. Eighty-five years ago: a Ballad for the Fourth of July.
by A. J. H. Duganne.
Oh, how the past comes over me--How the Old Days draw nigh!
Tramping along in battalia--
Marching the legions by,
With the drums of the Old Time beating,
And the Old Flag waving high!
And down from the mountain gorges,
And up from woodlands low,
Mustering for Liberty's conflict--
Eighty-five years ago!
Out of the streets of Lexington
I see the red-coats wheel;
And, back from the lines of Bunker,
Where Continentals kneel
And pray, with their iron musketry,
I see the red-coats reel;
And, reddening all the greensward,
I mark the life-blood flow
From the bosom of martyred Warren--
Eighty-five years ago!
Hearken to Stark, of Hampshire:
“Ho, comrades all!” quoth he--
“King George's Hessian hirelings
On yonder plains ye see! [108]
We'll beat them, boys! or Mary Stark
A widow this night shall be!”
And then, like a clap of thunder,
He broke upon the foe,
And he won the battle of Bennington--
Eighty-five years ago!
Down from the wild Green Mountains
Our fearless eagle swooped;
Down on Ticonderoga
Bold Ethan Allen stooped,
And the royal red-cross banner
Beneath his challenge drooped!
And the stout old border fortress
He gained without a blow,
“In the name of the Great Jehovah!”
Eighty-five years ago!
Out from the resonant belfry
Of Independence Hall,
Sounded the tongue of a brazen bell,
Bidding good patriots all
To give the oppressed their freedom,
And lessen every thrall;
And the voice of brave John Hancock,
Preached to the people below,
The Gospel of Independence--
Eighty-five years ago!
And out from Sullivan's Island,
From dark palmetto fen,
I hear the roar of cannonry,
And the rifle-shots again;
And the voice of valiant Moultrie,
And the shouts of Marion's men!
And I see our stricken banner
Snatched from the ditch below,
By the hand of Sergeant Jasper--
Eighty-five years ago!
So, the Old Days come over me--
The Past around me rolls;
And the spell of a glorious History
My yearning sense controls,
And I sing of the Grand Example
Of old and loyal souls!
When the land we love lies bleeding,
And we hear her heart's wild throe,
Let us think of the Old, Old Union,--
Eighty-five years ago!
--N. Y. Leader.
