WHAT seek ye here -- ye desperate band? Why on this rough and rocky land, With sly and muffled oar,-- Why in this red and bright array Stealing along the fisher's bay Pull ye your boats to shore? Day broke upon that gentlest Sound Sequestered, that the sea has found In its adventurous roam, A halcyon surface --pure and deep, And placid as an Infant's sleep Cradled and rocked at home. What wakes the sleeper? Harm is near -- That strange rough whisper in his ear, It is a murderer's breath; A thousand bayonets are bright Beneath the blessed morning's light, Moving to blood and death. Land ye and march --but bid farewell To this lone Sound, its coming swell May moan when none can save; Many shall go, and few return, That rock shall be your only urn, That sand your only grave. Across the river's placid tide, With steady stroke is seen to glide A little vent'rous boat: 'T was like the cloud Elijah saw, Small as his hand, yet soon to draw Its quivered lightnings out. 'T was like that cloud, for in it went A heart to spend and to be spent Till the last drop was shed; 'T was like that cloud, it had a hand That o'er its loved, its native land A shadow broad has spread. Ledyard! thy morning thought was brave, To fight, to conquer, and to save, Or fearlessly to die; Well didst thou hold that feeling true,-- Didst well that purpose bold pursue Till death closed down thine eye. I dare not tell in these poor rhymes That bloody tale of butchering times-- 'T is too well known to all; I write not of the foeman's path, I write not of the battle's wrath, But of the Hero's fall. He sleeps where many brave men sleep-- Near Groton heights -- and nibbling sheep Their grassy graves have found; But some, they are a few, are laid Beneath a little swarded glade On Fisher's Island sound. The Sound is peaceful now, as when It saw that armed array of men; And one old fisher there Gave me this tale-- 't was he who told The rough, the headlong, and the bold, How their rash fight should fare. He too is dead; and most are dead Who stood or fell, who fought or fled On that September day. Old man! thy bones are gently laid Close by yon shattered oak tree's shade, Beside the fisher's bay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER AND POET; TURIN, AFTER THE NEWS FROM GAETA, 1861 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A,B,C by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY A RECEIPT TO CURE THE VAPOURS by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU THE CORDWRIGHT'S SONG by AUGUSTE DE BELLOY PSALM 132 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE EPITAPH ON A MOCK MARQUIS by ROBERT BURNS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE SOUL TO THE BODY by EDWARD CARPENTER |