Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS, by CHARLES DAVIS PLATT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS, by                    
First Line: What mean these cannon standing here
Last Line: For which our fathers dared to die.
Subject(s): New Jersey


What mean these cannon standing here,
These staring, muzzled dogs of war?
Heedless and mute, they cause no fear,
Like lions caged, forbid to roar.

This gun was made when good Queen Anne
Ruled upon Merry England's throne;
Captured by valiant Jerseymen
Ere George the Third our rights would own.

Old Nat, the little cur on wheels,
Protector of our sister city,
Was kept to bite the British heels,
A yelping terror, bold and gritty.

That savage beast, the Old Crown Prince,
A British bull-dog, glum, thick-set,
At Springfield's fight was made to wince
And now we keep him for a pet.

Upon this grassy knoll they stand,
A venerable, peaceful pack;
Their throats once tuned to music grand,
And stained with gore their muzzles black.

But come, that portal swinging free
A welcome offers as of yore,
When, sheltered 'neath this old roof-tree,
Our patriot chieftain trod this floor.

And with him in that trying day
Was gathered here a glorious band;
This house received more chiefs, they say,
Than any other in our land.

Hither magnanimous Schuyler came,
And stern Steuben from o'er the water;
Here Hamilton, of brilliant fame,
Once met and courted Schuyler's daughter.

And Knox, who leads the gunner-tribes,
Whose shot the trembling foeman riddles, --
A roaring chief, his cash subscribes
To pay the mirth-inspiring fiddles.

The fighting Quaker, General Greene,
Helped Knox to foot the fiddler's bill;
And here the intrepid "Put" was seen;
And Arnold, -- black his memory still.

And Kosciusko, scorning fear;
Beside him noble Lafayette;
And gallant "Light-Horse Harry" here
His kindly chief for counsel met.

"Mad Anthony" was here a guest;
Madly he charged, but shrewdly planned;
And many another in whose breast
Was faithful counsel for our land.

Among those worthies was a dame
Of mingled dignity and grace;
Linked with warrior-statesman's fame
Is Martha's comely, smiling face.

But look around, to right, to left;
Pass through these rooms, once Martha's pride,
The dining-hall of guests bereft,
The kitchen with its fire-place wide.

See the huge logs, the swinging crane,
The Old Man's seat by chimney ingle;
The pots and kettles, all the train
Of brass and pewter, here they mingle.

In the large hall above, behold
The flags, the eagle poised for flight;
While sabres, bayonets, flint-locks old
Tell of the struggle and the fight.

Old faded letters bear the seal
Of men who battled for a stamp;
A cradle and a spinning-wheel
Bespeak the home behind the camp.

Apartments opening from the hall
Show chairs and desks of quaint old style;
And curious pictures on the wall
Provoke a reverential smile.

Musing, we loiter in each room
And linger with our vanished sires;
We hear the deep, far-echoing boom
That spoke of old in flashing fires.

A century has come and gone
Since these old relics saw their day;
That day was but the opening dawn
Of one that has not passed away.

Our banner is no worthless rag,
With patriot pride hearts still beat high;
And there, above, still waves the flag
For which our fathers dared to die.





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