He warily trod on the dry rustling leaves, As he pass'd thro' the wood; as he pass'd thro' the wood; And silently gain'd his rude launch on the shore, As she play'd with the flood; as she play'd with the flood. The guards of the camp, on that dark, dreary night, Had a murderous will; had a murderous will. They took him and bore him afar from the shore, To a hut on the hill; to a hut on the hill. No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer, In that little stone cell; in that little stone cell. But he trusted in love, from his Father above. In his heart, all was well; in his heart, all was well. An ominous owl with his solemn bass voice, Sat moaning hard by; sat moaning hard by. "The tyrant's proud minions most gladly rejoice, For he must soon die; for he must soon die." The brave fellow told them, no thing he restrain'd, The cruel gen'ral; the cruel gen'ral. His errand from camp, of the ends to be gain'd, And said that was all; and said that was all. They took him and bound him and bore him away, Down the hill's grassy side; down the hill's grassy side. 'Twas there the base hirelings, in royal array, His cause did deride; his cause did deride. Five minutes were given, short moments, no more, For him to repent; for him to repent. He pray'd for his mother, he ask'd not another, To Heaven he went; to Heaven he went. The faith of a martyr, the tragedy show'd, As he trod the last stage; as he trod the last stage. And Britons will shudder at gallant Hale's blood, As his words do presage; as his words do presage. "Thou pale king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go frighten the slave; go frighten the slave; Tell tyrants, to you their allegiance they owe. No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave." The execution took place shortly after sunrise, the scaffold being erected in an orchard near the present junction of Market Street and East Broadway. Hale's last words were the famous, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." NATHAN HALE [September 22, 1776] To drum-beat and heart-beat, A soldier marches by; There is color in his cheek, There is courage in his eye, Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat In a moment he must die. By the starlight and moonlight, He seeks the Briton's camp; He hears the rustling flag And the armèd sentry's tramp; And the starlight and moonlight His silent wanderings lamp. With slow tread and still tread, He scans the tented line; And he counts the battery guns, By the gaunt and shadowy pine; And his slow tread and still tread Gives no warning sign. The dark wave, the plumed wave, It meets his eager glance; And it sparkles 'neath the stars, Like the glimmer of a lance-- A dark wave, a plumed wave, On an emerald expanse.