His triumphs of a moment done,
His race of desolation run,
The Briton, yielding to his fears,
To other shores with sorrow steers:
To other shores—and coarser climes
He goes, reflecting on his crimes,
His broken oaths, a murdered Hayne,
And blood of thousands, spilt in vain.
To Cooper's stream, advancing slow,
Ashley no longer tells his woe;
No longer mourns his limpid flood
Discoloured deep with human blood.
Lo! where those social streams combine,
Again the friends of Freedom join;
And, while they stray, where once they bled,
Rejoice to find their tyrants fled.
Since memory paints that dismal day
When British squadrons held the sway,
And circling close on every side,
By sea and land retreat denied—
Can she recall that mournful scene,
And not the virtues of a Greene,
Who great in war—in danger tried,
Has won the day, and crushed their pride.
Through barren wastes and ravaged lands,
He led his bold undaunted bands;
Through sickly climes his standard bore
Where never army marched before:
By fortitude, with patience joined,
(The virtues of a noble mind)
He spread, where'er our wars are known,
His country's honour and his own.
Like Hercules, his generous plan
Was to redress the wrongs of men;
Like him, accustomed to subdue,
He freed a world from monsters too.
Through every want and every ill
We saw him persevering still,
Through Autumn's damps and Summer's heat,
'Till his great purpose was complete.
Like the bold eagle, from the skies
That stoops, to seize his trembling prize,
He darted on the slaves of kings
At Camden plains and Eutaw Springs.
Ah! had our friends that led the fray
Survived the ruins of that day,
We should not damp our joy with pain,
Nor, sympathizing, now complain.
Strange! that of those who nobly dare
Death always claims so large a share,
That those of virtue most refined
Are soonest to the grave consigned!—
But fame is theirs—and future days
On pillared brass shall tell their praise;
Shall tell—when cold neglect is dead—
"These for their country fought and bled."