The painted Wampanoags, Philip's hateful warriors, creep Upon the town at springtide while the skies deny us rain; We see their shadows lurking in the forest's whispering deep, And speed the sorry tidings past dry field and rustling lane: _Come hastily or never when the wild beast lusts for gore, And send your best and bravest if you wish to see us more!_ The Commonwealth is quiet now, and peace her measure fills, Content in homes and farmsteads, busy marts and buzzing mills From the Atlantic's roaring to the tranquil Berkshire hills. But through that day our fathers, speaking low their breathless words, Their wives and babes in safety, toil to save their little all; They fetch their slender food-stores, drive indoors their scanty herds, They clean the bell-mouthed musket, melt the lead and mould the ball; Please God they'll keep their battle till their countrymen shall haste With succor from the eastward, iron-hearted, flinty-faced. A hundred dragging twelvemonths ere the welcome joy-bells ring The dawn of Independence did King Philip's devils spring Through April on the little spot, like wolves a-ravening. The morning lifts in fury as they come with torch in hand, And howl about the houses in the shrunken frontier town; Our garrisons hold steady while the flames by breezes fanned Disclose the painted demons, fierce and cunning, lithe and brown; At every loophole firing, women close at hand to load, The children bringing bullets, thus the Sudbury men abode. By night, through generations, have the eager children come Beside their grandsire's settle, listening to the droning hum Of this old tale, with backward glances, open-mouthed and dumb. The burning hours stretch slowly--then a welcome sight appears! Along the tawny upland where stout Haynes keeps faithful guard From Watertown speeds Mason, young in everything but years; Our men rush down to meet him; then, together, swift and hard, They force the Indians backward to the Musketaquid's side, And slaying, ever slaying, drive them o'er the reddened tide. There stand stout Haynes and Mason by the bridge upon the flood; In vain the braves attack them, thick as saplings in the wood: Praise God for men so valiant, who have such a foe withstood! But Green Hill looks with anguish down upon the painted horde Their stealthy ambush keeping as the Concord men draw near, To dart with hideous noises as they reach the lower ford, A thousand 'gainst a dozen; but their every life costs dear As, sinking 'neath such numbers, one by one our neighbors fail: One sole survivor in his blood brings on the dreadful tale. Through sun and evening shadow, through the night till weary morn, Speeds Wadsworth with his soldiers, forth from Boston, spent and worn, And Brocklebank at Marlboro' joins that little hope forlorn.