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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HAARLEM HEIGHTS, by ARTHUR GUITERMAN Poet's Biography First Line: They've turned at last! Goodby, king george Last Line: That we shall claim our own! Subject(s): American Revolution; Harlem Heights, Battle Of (1776); New York City - Revolutionary Period | |||
Captain Stephen Brown of Knowlton's Connecticut Rangers tells of the affair of September 16, 1776. THEY'VE turned at last! Good-by, King George, Despite your hireling band! The farmer boys have borne a brunt, The 'prentice lads will stand! Though Peace may lag and Fortune flag, Our fight as good as won! We've made them yield in open field! We've made the Redcoats run! Our Rangers sallied forth at dawn With Knowlton at their head To rout the British pickets out And spend a little lead. We gave them eight brisk rounds a-piece, And hurried, fighting, back; For, eighteen score, the Light Armed Corps Were keen upon our track. Along the vale of Bloomingdale They pressed our scant array; They swarmed the crag and jeered our flag Across the Hollow Way. Their skirmishers bawled "Hark, away!" Their buglers, from the wall, In braggart vaunt and bitter taunt Brayed out the hunting call! Oh, sound of shame! It woke a flame In every sunburned face, And every soul was hot as coal To cleanse the foul disgrace. And some that blenched on Brooklyn Heights And fled at Turtle Bay Fair wept for wrath, and thronged my path And clamored for the fray. Our General came spurring! -- There rolled a signal drum. -- His eye was bright; he rose his height; He knew the time had come. He gave the word to Knowlton To lead us on once more -- The pick of old Connecticut, -- And Leitch with Weedon's corps Of proud Virginia Riflemen, Tall hunters of the deer, -- To round the boastful Briton's flank And take him in the rear. We left the dell, we scaled the fell, And up the crest we sprang, When swift and sharp along the scarp A deadly volley rang; And down went Leitch of Weedon's corps! Deep hurt, but gallant still; And down went Knowlton! -- he that bore The sword of Bunker Hill. I raised his head. But this he said, Death-wounded as he lay: "Lead on the fight! I hold it light If we but get the day!" In open rank we struck their flank, And oh! the fight was hot! Up came the Hessian Yagers! Up came the kilted Scot! Up came the men of Linsingen, Von Donop's Grenadiers! But soon we sped the vengeful lead A-whistling 'bout their ears! They buckled front to Varnum's brunt; We crumpled up their right, And hurling back the crimson wrack We swept along the height. The helmets of the Hessians Are tumbled in the wheat; The tartan of the Highlander Shall be his winding-sheet! A mingled rout, we drove them out From orchard, field, and glen; In goodly case it seemed to chase Our hunters home again! We flaunted in their faces The flag they thought to scorn, And left them with a loud "Hurrah!" To choke their bugle-horn! Upon a ledge embattled Above the Hudson's shore We dug the grave for Knowlton And Leitch of Weedon's corps. And though in plight of War's despite We yield this island throne, Upon that ledge we left a pledge That we shall claim our own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WALLABOUT MARTYRS by WALT WHITMAN GOLDEN HILL by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG NABBY, THE NEW YORK HOUSEKEEPER by PHILIP FRENEAU THE TOMB OF THE PATRIOTS by PHILIP FRENEAU A RAID OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND by ARTHUR GUITERMAN DECATUR'S TOAST by ARTHUR GUITERMAN FORT TRYON by ARTHUR GUITERMAN FRAUNCES' TAVERN by ARTHUR GUITERMAN |
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