Swift on a fiery steed the stripling rose, Form'd the light files to pierce the line of foes; Then waved his gleamy sword that flash'd the day, And thro the Gallic legions hew'd his way: His troops press forward like a loose-broke flood, Sweep ranks away and smear their paths in blood; The hovering foes pursue the combat far, And shower their balls along the flying war; When the new leader turns his single force, Points the flight forward, speeds his backward course; The French recoiling half their victory yield, And the glad Britons quit the fatal field. These deathful deeds as great Columbus eyed, With anxious tone he thus addrest the Guide: Why combat here these transatlantic bands, And strow their corses thro thy pathless lands? Can Europe's realms, the seat of endless strife, Afford no trophies for the waste of life? Can monarchs there no proud applauses gain, No living laurel for their people slain? Nor Belgia's plains, so fertile made with gore, Hide heroes' bones nor feast the vultures more? Will Rhine no longer cleanse the crimson stain, Nor Danube bear their bodies to the main, That infant empires here the shock must feel, And these pure streams with foreign carnage swell? But who that chief? his name, his nation say, Whose lifeblood seems his follies to repay; And who the youth, that from the combat lost Springs up and saves the remnant of his host? The Power replied: Each age successive brings Their varying views to earth's contentious kings; Here roll the years when Albion's parent hand, In aid of thy brave children, guards the land; That growing states their veteran force may train, A nobler prize in later fields to gain; In fields where Albion's self shall turn their foe, Spread broader sails and aim a deadlier blow, Recross, in evil hour, the astonish'd wave, Her own brave sons to ravage and enslave. But here she combats with the powers of Gaul: Here her bold Braddock finds his destined fall; Thy Washington, in that young martial frame, From yon lost field begins a life of fame. Tis he, in future straits, with loftier stride, The colon states to sovereign rule shall guide; When, prest by wrongs, their own full force they find, To wield the sword for man, and bulwark humankind. The Seraph spoke; when thro the purpled air The northern armies spread the flames of war. Swift o'er the lake, to Crownpoint's fortful strand, Rash Abercrombie leads his headlong band To fierce unequal fight; the batteries roar, Shield the strong foes and rake the banner'd shore; Britannia's sons again the contest yield, Again proud Gaul triumphant sweeps the field.