The Parade And Sham-Fight

A Pine Forest Picture--on a Training Day.

----Invictaque bello Dextera! non illi se quisquam impune tulisset Obvius armato---- Virg.

The drum was beat, the flag display'd, The soldiers met upon parade, And all for action ready made With loud huzza!

When forth a stately figure strode, Of stature such, of such a mode, As those who lived before the flood, If stuff'd with straw.

His vigor seem'd by years unbroke; But then his phiz had such a look, As if preserved in Etna's smoke For half an age.

God help us all to look our best! This man was captain of the rest, And valor seem'd to fire his breast With martial rage.

His horse was of an iron grey; (A prancing steed he rode that day,) Not of the bold virginian breed, Nor yet remote from Quixote's steed.

This chief was of the bullet mould; To meet the conflict, firm and bold, His coat was patch'd, his boots new soal'd, Ham stuff'd his maw:

Two pounds of powder fill'd his horn, His pantaloons were old and worn, A cap and hat his head adorn-- The chapeau bras.

With vengeance heated, long in store, He sallied forth, a man of war; And all that meet him, pray take care Of rusty pikes.

He had no helmet for the head, But death and ruin near him tread, And slaughter, in a suit of red, That deadly strikes.

A blanket from his shoulders hung, Three dollars in his pockets rung, And to his thigh a faulchion clung, That made us quake:

A veteran in the fighting trade! The owner of so keen a blade! Do not provoke him, man or maid, For mercy's sake.

O could you but one furlong ride With such a faulchion at your side, Your bosom would for glory beat And show Napoleon all complete!

Two pistols, to his girdle tied, Foreboded vengeance, far and wide, To all that were not on our side, With heart and hand.

Accoutred thus, with martial air, He gave the warning word, "Take care!" And, in a moment, all was war, Sublime and grand.

They march'd, and march'd, as thick as bees. Then march'd towards a clump of trees; And "blaze away!" the leader says-- "Each take his aim!

"Who wounds a tree can kill a man-- "If you but practise on that plan, "The britons shall go home again With grief and shame!"

Not Philip's famed, unrivall'd son, For Greece subdued, or India won, Not Cockburn, burning Washington, Look'd so elate:

Not Bonaparte, on Egypt's sands With such importance gave commands, With such discretion train'd his bands, Assumed such state!

Not Caesar, when he pass'd the Rhine, Not Marlborough leading up his line, Not Perry, when he said, "they're mine!" Put on such airs;--

As now were shown to front and rear When victory seem'd to hover near. Indeed not purchased very dear-- No wounds nor scars.

Departing from the norman shore, Not William such a feature wore When England hail'd him conqueror, With loud acclaim:

Not Fulton, when his steam he try'd And Neptune's car stemm'd Hudson's tide Felt such a generous glow of pride For well earn'd fame.

That day Cornwallis met his fate, Not Washington felt half so great When tow'rd him flew the gallic fleet To share his smile:

Not conquest had for Gates such charms When, yielding to the victor's arms, He bade Burgoyne resign his arms, In soldier's style.

Not Ajax' self, with such a grace Gave orders to attack a place; Not Hannibal with bolder face Approach'd old Rome,--

When marching for the Tiber shore, He yet his alpine jacket wore, And hoped to sweep the senate floor, And fix their doom:

Not Parker,[A] when he cross'd the bar Of Charleston with his men of war, Was, near fort Moultrie, half so sure Of victory gain'd:

[A] Sir Peter Parker, it is well remembered, attacked fort Moultrie, on Sullivan's Island, in 1776, and after a sanguinary action, was repulsed with great loss.--Freneau's note.

Not Parker, when departing thence So shatter'd--at the king's expense-- Was so provoked at the defence, Felt so chagrined,

As did our chief (no captain Brag) When he perceiv'd some worthless wag Had stolen away the brandy keg-- Ah! loss indeed!

For this, he swore he would resign, All future trust in man decline; Of whom, at least, there was one swine, They all agreed--

And cry'd "like hell his heart is black-- Pursue him, boys, and scent his track, If drunk or dead, we'll have him back, This man of scum!"

Each took his mark, and hit a tree; The battle's done!--all sober, we; Huzza! we have the victory! Then scamper'd home!