Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BATTLE OF MUSKINGUM; OR, THE DEFEAT OF THE BURRITES, by WILLIAM HARRISON SAFFORD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BATTLE OF MUSKINGUM; OR, THE DEFEAT OF THE BURRITES, by                    
First Line: Ye jovial throng, come join the song
Last Line: To breakfast on cold porridge.
Subject(s): Blennerhasset Island, West Virginia; Burr, Aaron (1756-1836)


YE jovial throng, come join the song
I sing of glorious feats, sirs;
Of bloodless wounds, of laurels, crowns,
Of charges, and retreats, sirs;

Of thundering guns, and honors won,
By men of daring courage;
Of such as dine on beef and wine,
And such as sup their porridge.

When Blanny's fleet, so snug and neat,
Came floating down the tide, sirs,
Ahead was seen one-eyed Clark Green,
To work them or to guide, sirs.

Our General brave the order gave,
"To arms! To arms, in season!
Old blanny's boats most careless float,
Brim-full of death and treason!"

A few young boys, their mothers' joys,
And five men there were found, sirs,
Floating at ease -- each little sees
Or dreams of death and wound, sirs.

"Fly to the bank! on either flank!
We'll fire from every corner;
We'll stain with blood Muskingum's flood,
And gain immortal honor.

"The cannon there shall rend the air,
Loaded with broken spikes, boys;
While our cold lead, hurled by each head,
Shall give the knaves the gripes, boys.

"Let not maids sigh, or children cry,
Or mothers drop a tear, boys;
I have the Baron in my head,
Therefore you've nought to fear, boys.

"Now to your posts, this numerous host,
Be manly, firm, and steady.
But do not fire till I retire
And say when I am ready."

The Deputy courageously
Rode forth in power and pride, sirs;
Twitching his reins, the man of brains
Was posted by his side, sirs.

The men in ranks stood on the banks,
While, distant from its border,
The active aid scours the parade
And gives the general order:

"First, at command, bid them to stand;
Then, if one rascal gains out
Or lifts his poll, why, damn his soul
And blow the traitor's brains out."

The night was dark, silent came Clark
With twelve or fifteen more, sirs;
While Paddy Hill, with voice most shrill,
Whooped! as was said before, sirs.

The trembling ranks along the banks
Fly into Shipman's manger;
While old Clark Green, with voice serene,
Cried, "Soldiers, there's no danger.

"Our guns, good souls, are setting-poles,
Dead hogs I'm sure can't bite you;
Along each keel is Indian meal;
There's nothing here need fright you."

Out of the barn, still in alarm,
Came fifty men or more, sirs,
And seized each boat and other float
And tied them to the shore, sirs.

This plunder rare, they sport and share,
And each a portion grapples.
'T was half a kneel of Indian meal,
And ten of Putnam's apples.

The boats they drop to Allen's shop,
Commanded by O'Flannon,
Where, lashed ashore, without an oar,
They lay beneath the cannon.

This band so bold, the night being cold,
And blacksmith's shop being handy,
Around the forge they drink and gorge
On whiskey and peach-brandy.

Two honest tars, who had some scars,
Beheld their trepidation;
Cries Tom, "Come, Jack, let's fire a crack;
'T will fright them like damnation.

"Tyler, they say, lies at Belpre,
Snug in old Blanny's quarters;
Yet this pale host tremble like ghosts
For fear he'll walk on waters."

No more was said, but off they sped
To fix what they'd begun on;
At one o'clock, firm as a rock,
They fired the spun-yarn cannon.

Trembling and wan stood every man;
Then bounced and shouted murder,
While Sergeant Morse squealed like a horse
To get the folks to order.

Ten men went out and looked about --
A hardy set of fellows;
Some hid in holes behind the coals,
And some behind the bellows.

The Cor'ner swore the western shore
He saw with muskets bristle;
Some stamp'd the ground; --'t was cannon
sound,
They heard the grape-shot whistle.

The Deputy mounted "Old Bay,"
When first he heard the rattle,
Then changed his course -- "Great men are scarce,
I'd better keep from battle."

The General flew to meet the crew,
His jacket flying loose, sirs;
Instead of sword, he seized his board; --
Instead of hat, his goose, sirs.

"Tyler's," he cried, "on t'other side,
Your spikes will never do it;
The cannon's bore will hold some more,"
Then thrust his goose into it.

Sol raised his head, cold spectres fled;
Each man resumed his courage;
Captain O'Flan dismissed each man
To breakfast on cold porridge.





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