On--on to where the tea-ships ride! And now their ranks are forming,-- A rush, and up the Dartmouth's side The Mohawk band is swarming! See the fierce natives! What a glimpse Of paint and fur and feather, As all at once the full-grown imps Light on the deck together! A scarf the pigtail's secret keeps, A blanket hides the breeches,-- And out the cursèd cargo leaps, And overboard it pitches! O woman, at the evening board So gracious, sweet, and purring, So happy while the tea is poured, So blest while spoons are stirring, What martyr can compare with thee, The mother, wife, or daughter, That night, instead of best Bohea, Condemned to milk and water! Ah, little dreams the quiet dame Who plies with rock and spindle The patient flax, how great a flame Yon little spark shall kindle! The lurid morning shall reveal A fire no king can smother Where British flint and Boston steel Have clashed against each other! Old charters shrivel in its track, His Worship's bench has crumbled, It climbs and clasps the union-jack, Its blazoned pomp is humbled, The flags go down on land and sea Like corn before the reapers; So burned the fire that brewed the tea That Boston served her keepers! The waves that wrought a century's wreck Have rolled o'er whig and tory; The Mohawks on the Dartmouth's deck Still live in song and story; The waters in the rebel bay Have kept the tea-leaf savor; Our old North-Enders in their spray Still taste a Hyson flavor; And Freedom's teacup still o'erflows With ever fresh libations, To cheat of slumber all her foes And cheer the wakening nations! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Next morning, Paul Revere, booted and spurred, started for Philadelphia with the news that Boston had at last thrown down the gauntlet. The following song appeared in the _Pennsylvania Packet_ a few days after Revere reached Philadelphia. A NEW SONG [December 16, 1773] As near beauteous Boston lying, On the gently swelling flood, Without jack or pendant flying, Three ill-fated tea-ships rode. Just as glorious Sol was setting, On the wharf, a numerous crew, Sons of freedom, fear forgetting, Suddenly appeared in view. Armed with hammers, axe, and chisels, Weapons new for warlike deed, Towards the herbage-freighted vessels, They approached with dreadful speed. O'er their heads aloft in mid-sky, Three bright angel forms were seen; This was Hampden, that was Sidney, With fair Liberty between. "Soon," they cried, "your foes you'll banish, Soon the triumph shall be won; Scarce shall setting Phoebus vanish, Ere the deathless deed be done." Quick as thought the ships were boarded, Hatches burst and chests displayed; Axes, hammers help afforded; What a glorious crash they made.