William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Stanzas: ‘His triumphs of a moment done’H
His race of desolation run,
The Briton, yielding to his fears,
To other shores with sorrow steers.
He goes, reflecting on his crimes.
His broken oaths, a murder’d Hayne,
And blood of thousands spilt in vain.
Ashley no longer tells his woe—
No longer mourns his limpid flood—
Discolour’d deep with human blood.
Again the friends of freedom join—
And, while they point where once they bled,
Rejoice to find their tyrants fled.
When British squadrons held the sway,
And, circling close, on every side,
By sea and land retreat denied.
And not the virtues of a Greene?—
Who, great in war—in danger tried—
Has won the day and crush’d their pride.
He led his bold undaunted bands:
Through sickly climes his standard bore,
Where never army march’d before.
(The virtues of a noble mind,)
He spread, where’er our wars are known,
His country’s honour, and his own,
Was to redress the wrongs of men:
Like him, accustom’d to subdue,
He freed the world from monsters too.
We saw him persevering still:
Through autumn’s damp and summer’s heat,
Till his great purpose was complete.
That stoops to seize his trembling prize,
He darted on the slaves of kings,
At Camden plains and Eutaw springs.
Survived the ruins of that day,
We should not damp our joy with pain,
Nor sympathising now complain.
Death always claims so large a share;
That those of feelings most refined
Are soonest to the grave consign’d.
On pillar’d brass shall tell their praise;
Shall tell, when cold neglect is dead,
“These for their country fought and bled.”