Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE BATTLE OF TIPPECANOE, by ANONYMOUS First Line: Awake! Awake! My gallant friends Last Line: Come gaul or briton; if arrayed / for fight - he'll feel a freeman's blade Subject(s): "harrison, William Henry (1773-1841);middle West;native Americans;tippecanoe, Battle Of (1811);" Midwest;old Northwest;central States;north Central States;indians Of America;american Indians;indians Of South America | ||||||||
AWAKE! awake! my gallant friends; To arms! to arms! the foe is nigh; The sentinel his warning sends; And hark! the treacherous savage cry. Awake! to arms! the word goes round; The drum's deep roll, the fife's shrill sound, The trumpet's blast, proclaim through night, An Indian band, a bloody fight. O haste thee, Baen! alas! too late; A red chief's arm now aims the blow (An early, but a glorious fate); The tomahawk has laid thee low. Dread darkness reigns. On, Daviess, on. Where's Boyd? And valiant Harrison, Commander of the Christian force? And Owen? He's a bleeding corse! "Stand, comrades brave, stand to your post: Here Wells, and Floyd, and Barton; all Must now be won, or must be lost; Ply briskly, bayonet, sword, and ball." Thus spake the general; when a yell Was heard, as though a hero fell. And, hark! the Indian whoop again -- It is for daring Daviess slain! Oh! fearful is the battle's rage; No lady's hand is in the fray; But brawny limbs the contest wage, And struggle for the victor's bay. Lo! Spencer sinks, and Warwick's slain, And breathless bodies strew the plain: And yells, and groans, and clang, and roar, Echo along the Wabash shore. But mark! where breaks upon the eye Aurora's beam. The coming day Shall foil a frantic prophecy, And Christian valor well display. Ne'er did Constantine's soldiers see, With more of joy for victory, A cross the arch of heaven adorn, Than these the blushing of the morn. Bold Boyd led on his steady band, With bristling bayonets burnish'd bright: Who could their dauntless charge withstand? What stay the warriors' matchless might? Rushing amain, they clear'd the field, The savage foe constrain'd to yield To Harrison, who, near and far, Gave form and spirit to the war. Sound, sound the charge! spur, spur the steed, And swift the fugitives pursue -- 'T is vain: rein in -- your utmost speed Could not o'ertake the recreant crew. In lowland marsh, in dell, or cave, Each Indian sought his life to save; Whence, peering forth, with fear and ire, He saw his prophet's town on fire. Now the great Eagle of the West Triumphant wing was seen to wave! And now each soldier's manly breast Sigh'd o'er his fallen comrade's grave. Some dropp'd a tear, and mused the while, Then join'd in measured march their file; And here and there cast wistful eye, That might surviving friend descry. But let a foe again appear, Or east, or west, or south, or north; The soldier then shall dry his tear, And fearless, gayly sally forth. With lightning eye, and warlike front, He'll meet the battle's deadly brunt: Come Gaul or Briton; if array'd For fight -- he'll feel a freeman's blade. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT SCHOLARLY PROCEDURE by JOSEPHINE MILES ONE LAST DRAW OF THE PIPE by PAUL MULDOON THE INDIANS ON ALCATRAZ by PAUL MULDOON PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH AMERICAN INDIAN ART: FORM AND TRADITION by DIANE DI PRIMA TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
|