The words he uttered on our hearts fell fast in fiery rain; The blood in wilder current coursed through artery and vein; An impulse there to do and dare went swiftly through each brain. Our sight and hearing keener grew before his voice’s tone— We saw the cottage roof aflame, the corn-crib overthrown; We heard the widow’s woful wail, the famished orphan’s moan. We thrilled from heart to finger-tip; the very air grew red; And casting by the tools of toil, off to the house we sped, To wipe the chambers of our guns and mould the deadly lead. My mother met me at the door—“James, stay at home!” said she; “If you, my youngest born, should fall, what would become of me? And then, a boy in such a fight of little use can be—” With that she raised her hand to brush away an oozing tear, And added—“It was but in June you reached your sixteenth year; So, while your brother is away, remain to guard us here. These Hessians whom the king has sent, a hireling war to wage On children as on bearded men, are ruthless in their rage; Then go not hence to fall in fight, child of your mother’s age.” “Fear not for me,” I answered her; “the Hessians I defy; In years a boy, I know, but then a man in heart am I; My country needs me in the fight—I cannot more than die. I come of Abner Manchester, who never knew a fear; And though as much as any one I hold my mother dear, I may not on this day of days remain a laggard here. To herd with women while the fight for freedom is unwon, While he has sight to mark a foe and strength to bear a gun, Suits not a stout Green Mountain Boy, nor yet my father’s son.” “If you will leave me here alone, so be it!” she replied; “But take yon firelock from the hooks—it was your father’s pride— He bore it well against the French, nine years before he died—” As thus she spoke my mother’s voice grew tremulous in tone— “And when you use it, lest your foe in lingering anguish moan, Sight at a point two fingers’ length beneath the collar-bone. Now, go! my heart, as thus we part, thrills with a mother’s pain; To save you from a single pang, its latest drop I’d drain; But—show the courage of your sire, or come not here again!” We started, six of us in all; we made to camp our way, And found the forces drawn in line, at two o’clock that day, In front of where, on Walloomscoick, intrenched the foemen lay. Bold Stark rode slowly down the ranks, with proud, uncovered head— So quiet we that on the turf we heard his horse’s tread— And at the centre drew his rein, and these the words he said— “Boys! yonder are the red-coat troops, and, mark me every one, We win this fight for truth and right, before the day be done, Or Molly Stark’s a widow at the setting of the sun!”