They saw their injur'd country's woe; The flaming town, the wasted field; Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear--but left the shield. Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, The Britons they compell'd to fly: None distant view'd the fatal plain, None griev'd, in such a cause, to die,-- But, like the Parthians, fam'd of old, Who, flying, still their arrows threw; These routed Britons, full as bold Retreated, and retreating slew. Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from Nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A brighter sunshine of their own. GEORGE WASHINGTON JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL [Sidenote: July 8, 1775] _This is a fragment from the ode for the centenary of Washington's taking command of the American army at Cambridge._ Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn As life's indifferent gifts to all men born; Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed Save by the men his nobler temper shamed; Never seduced through show of present good By other than unsetting lights to steer New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear, Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will; Not honored then or now because he wooed The popular voice, but that he still withstood; Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one Who was all this and ours, and all men's--WASHINGTON. PERRY'S VICTORY ON LAKE ERIE JAMES GATES PERCIVAL [Sidenote: Sept. 10, 1813] _Throughout the war of 1812 with Great Britain, the navy was more successful than the army. In the battle on Lake Erie, Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry captured six British vessels._ Bright was the morn,--the waveless bay Shone like a mirror to the sun; 'Mid greenwood shades and meadows gay, The matin birds their lays begun: While swelling o'er the gloomy wood Was heard the faintly-echoed roar,-- The dashing of the foaming flood, That beat on Erie's distant shore. The tawny wanderer of the wild Paddled his painted birch canoe, And, where the wave serenely smiled, Swift as the darting falcon, flew; He rowed along that peaceful bay, And glanced its polished surface o'er, Listening the billow far away, That rolled on Erie's lonely shore. What sounds awake my slumbering ear, What echoes o'er the waters come? It is the morning gun I hear, The rolling of the distant drum. Far o'er the bright illumined wave I mark the flash,--I hear the roar, That calls from sleep the slumbering brave, To fight on Erie's lonely shore.