A sharp clang, a still clang, And terror in the sound! For the sentry, falcon-eyed, In the camp a spy hath found; With a sharp clang, a steel clang, The patriot is bound. With calm brow, and steady brow, He listens to his doom; In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow-trace of gloom; But with calm brow and steady brow, He robes him for the tomb. In the long night, the still night, He kneels upon the sod; And the brutal guards withhold E'en the solemn word of God! In the long night, the still night, He walks where Christ hath trod. 'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree; And he mourns that he can lose But one life for Liberty; And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, His spirit wings are free. But his last words, his message-words, They burn, lest friendly eye Should read how proud and calm A patriot could die, With his last words, his dying words, A soldier's battle-cry. From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, From monument and urn, The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, His tragic fate shall learn; But on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf The name of HALE shall burn! FRANCIS MILES FINCH. Washington soon found himself unable to cope with Howe's superior force, retreated across New Jersey, and on December 8 reached the west bank of the Delaware River. The British came up the next day and took a position on the east bank, with their centre at Trenton. Never did America's future look darker than on that Christmas night of 1776. THE BALLAD OF SWEET P [December 25, 1776] Mistress Penelope Penwick, she, Called by her father, "My Sweet P," Painted by Peale, she won renown In a clinging, short-waisted satin gown; A red rose touched by her finger-tips And a smile held back from her roguish lips. Thus, William Penwick, the jolly wight, In clouds of smoke, night after night, Would tell a tale in delighted pride, To cronies, who came from far and wide; Always ending (with candle, he) "And this is the picture of my Sweet P!" The tale? 'Twas how Sweet P did chance To give to the British a Christmas dance. Penwick's house past the outpost stood, Flanked by the ferry and banked by the wood. Hessian and British quartered there Swarmed through chamber and hall and stair. Fires ablaze and candles alight, Soldier and officer feasted that night. The enemy? Safe, with a river between, Black and deadly and fierce and keen; A river of ice and a blinding storm!-- So they made them merry and kept them warm. But while they mirth and roistering made, Up in her dormer window stayed Mistress Penelope Penwick apart, With fearful thought and sorrowful heart. Night by night had her candle's gleam Sent through the dark its hopeful beam.