AND on the wave, Columbias hardy band, | |
Whove shed such glory round our native land; | |
Whove borne her banner through the storms of war, | |
Undimmd, unsullied, to each foreign shore; | |
Before the lustre of whose starry light | 5 |
Britannias lion fled approach of fight; | |
That band now mourns oer many a spirit brave, | |
By fell disease hurld to an early grave. | |
Their duty calld them from the charms of home, | |
Against the ruffians on the wave to roam: | 10 |
At length returning towards their native sky, | |
Hope in each heart, and pleasure in each eye, | |
The yellow demon seald their timeless doom; | |
They reachd their countrybut to find a tomb! | |
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But, Allen, thou! O! at thy honourd name, | 15 |
The muse, indignant, mounts on wings of flame! | |
So young, so braveso vainly brave! to fall | |
By the foul fiends who war alike on all! | |
Who youth, nor age, nor sex, nor beauty save, | |
Mock at their plaints, and plunge them in the wave! | 20 |
The helpless babe and shrieking mother feel | |
Alike the keenness of the murderous steel! | |
Or, when they spare, tis with intent so base, | |
Their death were better than the deep disgrace. | |
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Spirit of vengeance! wherefore dost thou sleep? | 25 |
Arise! and scourge these hell-hounds from the deep! | |
From the far grave where murderd Allen lies, | |
Revenge! revenge! his shade incessant cries. | |
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The breeze was fair that bore him on his way; | |
And hope was oer him with her angel lay: | 30 |
The moon was up; and oer the heaving main | |
Beamd sweetly down from heavens unclouded plain; | |
And while his bark swift cleaved the sparkling tide, | |
His thoughts were wandering by the Hudsons side; | |
His distant home in memorys softest hue, | 35 |
His mothersistersrise to fancys view; | |
His heart beats high; Thoult meet them soon again! | |
Twas thus hope sung; but, ah! how false the strain! | |
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He hears of outrage done by ruffian hordes, | |
Whose savage hearts are harder than their swords. | 40 |
At sufferings cry he neer was known to wave; | |
His hand was ready, and his soul was brave! | |
He meets the foe; he conquers!O, the rest! | |
The fatal bullet lodges in his breast; | |
He falls! as crimson life gushd out, he cried, | 45 |
Tell them I bravely fought, and bravely died. | |
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Mother of Allen! weep not for your son! | |
His race was glorious, but too soon twas run! | |
Yet weep not! Vengeance sleeps, she is not dead; | |
She yet will thunder on his murderers head. | 50 |
Sisters of Allen! dry your tearful eyes; | |
The heros soul hath flown to yonder skies; | |
And long his name, in memorys holiest shrine, | |
Will wear the wreath which matchless virtues twine! | |
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