I. C. Gillen

NE’ER has the Muse yet touch’d a strain,

That echoed the sound again

Of freemen’s strength, like Orleans plain—

Evinced in Jackson’s victory!

Ne’er have we seen on record’s page,

Of years before—or present age—

So much of slaughter and of rage,

As by the well-tried hickory!

That combat many a soul has driven,

To place in either hell or heaven;

And to the astonish’d world has given

The strength of Freedom’s soldiery!

Long shall Britannia mourn the day

Her troops appear’d in fierce array,

And sought the vantage of the fray,

Against the sons of liberty!

How swell’d the southern bosoms high!

How flash’d the hardy woodman’s eye!

When Peckenham and Kean drew nigh,

To jeopardize that liberty!

Then Jackson stood his country’s boast,

(Midst Freedom’s sons, a sturdy host,)

Determined to maintain his post

Against the dread artillery!

The hardy veterans of Spain,

(The peninsula heroes vain,)

On conquest bent, o’er Orleans plain

Struggled hard for victory!

Kentucky’s sons, Tennesseans brave,

Their motto, “Conquest or the grave!”

Resolved New Orleans to save!

Or yield their lives for liberty!

But now the cannons roaring loud,

Proclaim the fall of many a proud

Undaunted hero; and whose shroud

Shall be the turf of liberty!

See! See! The plain with fallen spread,

Proud Britain’s legions conquer’d! fled!

Have left their wounded, and their dead!

America and Victory!