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

Death of Du Coudray

IN the spring of life he left

His relatives and hearth,

And bade a long farewell unto

The land which gave him birth.

Within his young breast glow’d

The patriot’s holy flame:

In the glorious strife for liberty,

To aid our sires he came.

He came in that dark hour

Which souls the sternest tried:

But freely the young warrior bound

The falchion to his side.

Its burning zeal gave promise

Of a chivalrous career:

The rolling drum, and cannon peal

Was music to his ear.

Ah! Death is often nearest

When least we deem him nigh:

This noble son of France fell not

Where warriors meet to die.

The banner, bathed in slaughter,

Alas! was not his shroud:

Nor was the gallant stranger’s pall

The wreathing battle-cloud.

Impatient, in the fearful strife,

To wield his blade untried,

He urged his steed until he reach’d

The Schuylkill’s rapid tide.

A boat, to bear him over, soon

Across the flood was sent,

And into it the fiery youth,

Without dismounting, went.

Regardless of the rein, the steed,

(Affrighted by the gleam

Of weapons,) with his rider plunged

Into the foaming stream.

His comrades fruitless efforts

To save their leader made:

They saw the waves close over him,

But could afford no aid.

Forget him not, Americans!

Green let his memory be!

To die in your defence, he came

Across the stormy sea.

Your children teach, from infancy,

To reverence his name,

And give to him a lofty place

Upon the page of Fame.