They shone, till Washington obscured their light, And his long ranks roll'd forward to the fight. He points the charge; the mounted thunders roar, And rake the champaign to the distant shore. Above the folds of smoke that veil the war, His guiding sword illumes the fields of air; And vollied flames, bright bursting o'er the plain, Break the brown clouds, discovering far the slain: Till flight begins; the smoke is roll'd away, And the red standards open into day. Britons and Germans hurry from the field, Now wrapt in dust, and now to sight reveal'd; Behind, swift Washington his falchion drives, Thins the pale ranks, but saves submissive lives. Hosts captive bow and move behind his arm, And hosts before him wing the sounding storm; When the glad sea salutes their fainting sight, And Albion's fleet wide thundering aids their flight; They steer to sad Newyork their hasty way, And rue the toils of Monmouth's mournful day. But Hudson still, with his interior tide, Laves a rude rock that bears Britannia's pride, Swells round the headland with indignant roar, And mocks her thunders from his murmuring shore; When a firm cohort starts from Peekskill plain, To crush the invaders and the post regain. Here, gallant Hull, again thy sword is tried, Meigs, Fleury, Butler, laboring side by side, Wayne takes the guidance, culls the vigorous band, Strikes out the flint, and bids the nervous hand Trust the mute bayonet and midnight skies, To stretch o'er craggy walls the dark surprise. With axes, handspikes on the shoulder hung, And the sly watchword whisper'd from the tongue, Thro different paths the silent march they take, Plunge, climb the ditch, the palisado break, Secure each sentinel, each picket shun, Grope the dim postern where the byways run. Soon the roused garrison perceives its plight; Small time to rally and no means of flight, They spring confused to every post they know, Point their poized cannon where they hear the foe, Streak the dark welkin with the flames they pour, And rock the mountain with convulsive roar. The swift assailants still no fire return, But, tow'rd the batteries that above them burn, Climb hard from crag to crag; and scaling higher They pierce the long dense canopy of fire That sheeted all the sky; then rush amain, Storm every outwork, each dread summit gain, Hew timber'd gates, the sullen drawbridge fall, File thro and form within the sounding wall. The Britons strike their flag, the fort forgo, Descend sad prisoners to the plain below. A thousand veterans, ere the morning rose, Received their handcuffs from five hundred foes; And Stonypoint beheld, with dawning day, His own starr'd standard on his rampart play.