Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.

The Battle of Bennington

Thomas P. Rodman

UP through a cloudy sky, the sun

Was buffeting his way,

On such a morn as ushers in

A sultry August day.

Hot was the air—and hotter yet

Men’s thoughts within them grew:

They Britons, Hessians, Tories saw—

They saw their homesteads too.

They thought of all their country’s wrongs,

They thought of noble lives

Pour’d out in battle with her foes,

They thought upon their wives,

Their children, and their aged sires,

Their firesides, churches, God—

And these deep thoughts made hallow’d ground

Each foot of soil they trod.

Their leader was a brave old man,

A man of earnest will;

His very presence was a host—

He’d fought at Bunker Hill.

A living monument he stood

Of stirring deeds of fame,

Of deeds that shed a fadeless light

On his own deathless name.

Of Charlestown’s flames, of Warren’s blood,

His presence told the tale,

It made each hero’s heart beat high

Though lip and cheek grew pale;

It spoke of Princetown, Morristown,

Told Trenton’s thrilling story—

It lit futurity with hope,

And on the past shed glory.

Who were those men—their leader who?

Where stood they on that morn!

The men were Berkshire yeomanry,

Brave men as e’er were born,—

Who in the reaper’s merry row

Or warrior rank could stand;

Right worthy such a noble troop,

John Stark led on the band.

Wollamsac wanders by the spot

Where they that morning stood;

Then roll’d the war-cloud o’er the stream,

The waves were tinged with blood;

And the near hills that dark cloud girt,

And fires like lightning flash’d,

And shrieks and groans, like howling blasts,

Rose as the bayonets clash’d.

The night before, the Yankee host

Came gathering from afar,

And in each belted bosom glow’d

The spirit of the war.

All full of fight, through rainy storm,

Night, cloudy, starless, dark

They came, and gathered as they came,

Around the valiant Stark.

There was a Berkshire parson—he

And all his flock were there,

And like true churchmen militant

The arm of flesh made bare.

Out spake the Dominie and said,

“For battle have we come

These many times, and after this

We mean to stay at home.

If now we come in vain, said Stark,

What! will you go to-night

To battle it with yonder troops,

God send us morning light,

And we will give you work enough:

Let but the morning come,

And if ye hear no voice of war

Go back and stay at home.

The morning came—there stood the foe,

Stark eyed them as they stood—

Few words he spake—’twas not a time

For moralising mood.

“See there the enemy, my boys!

Now strong in valour’s might,

Beat them, or Molly Stark will sleep

In widowhood to-night.”

Each soldier there had left at home

A sweetheart, wife, or mother,

A blooming sister, or, perchance,

A fair-hair’d, blue-eyed brother.

Each from a fireside came, and thoughts

Those simple words awoke

That nerved up every warrior’s arm

And guided every stroke.

Fireside and woman—mighty words!

How wondrous is the spell

They work upon the manly heart,

Who knoweth not full well?

And then the women of this land,

That never land hath known

A truer, prouder hearted race,

Each Yankee boy must own.

Brief eloquence was Stark’s—nor vain—

Scarce utter’d he the words,

When burst the musket’s rattling peal

Out-leap’d the flashing swords;

And when brave Stark in after time

Told the proud tale of wonder,

He said the battle din was one

“Continual clap of thunder.”

Two hours they strove—then victory crown’d

The gallant Yankee boys.

Nought but the memory of the dead

Bedimm’d their glorious joys;

Ay—there’s the rub—the hour of strife,

Though follow years of fame,

Is still in mournful memory link’d

With some death-hallow’d name.

The cypress with the laurel twines—

The pæan sounds a knell,

The trophied column marks the spot

Where friends and brothers fell.

Fame’s mantle a funereal pall

Seems to the grief-dimm’d eye,

For ever where the bravest fall

The best beloved die.