He marks the trace of Howe's triumphant course, And wheels o'er Jersey plains his gathering force; Where dauntless Washington, begirt with foes, Still greater rises as the danger grows, And wearied troops, o'er kindred warriors slain, Attend his march thro many a sanguine plain. From Hudson's bank to Trenton's wintry strand, He guards in firm retreat his feeble band; Britons by thousands on his flanks advance, Bend o'er his rear and point the lifted lance. Past Delaware's frozen stream, with scanty force, He checks retreat; then turning back his course, Remounts the wave, and thro the mingled roar Of ice and storm reseeks the hostile shore, Wrapt in the gloom of night. The offended Flood Starts from his cave, assumes the indignant god, Rears thro the parting tide his foamy form, And with his fiery eyeballs lights the storm. He stares around him on the host he heard, Clears his choked urn and smooths his icy beard, And thus: Audacious chief, this troubled wave Tempt not; or tempting, here shall gape thy grave. Is nothing sacred to thy venturous might? The howling storm, the holy truce of night, High tossing ice-isles crashing round thy side, Insidious rocks that pierce the tumbling tide? Fear then this forceful arm, and hear once more, Death stands between thee and that shelvy shore. The chief beholds the god, and notes his cry, But onward drives, nor pauses to reply; Calls to each bark, and spirits every host To toil, gain, tempt the interdicted coast. The crews, regardless of the doubling roar, Breast the strong helm, and wrestle with the oar, Stem with resurgent prow the struggling spray, And with phosphoric lanterns shape their way. The god perceived his warning words were vain, And rose more furious to assert his reign, Lash'd up a loftier surge, and heaved on high A ridge of billows that obstruct the sky; And, as the accumulated mass he rolls, Bares the sharp rocks and lifts the gaping shoals. Forward the fearless barges plunge and bound, Top the curl'd wave, or grind the flinty ground, Careen, whirl, right, and sidelong dasht and tost, Now seem to reach and now to lose the coast. Still unsubdued the sea-drench'd army toils, Each buoyant skiff the flouncing godhead foils; He raves and roars, and in delirious woe Calls to his aid his ancient hoary foe, Almighty Frost; when thus the vanquish'd Flood Bespeaks in haste the great earth-rending god: Father of storms! behold this mortal race Confound my force and brave me to my face. Not all my waves by all my tempests driven, Nor black night brooding o'er the starless heaven, Can check their course; they toss and plunge amain, And lo, my guardian rocks project their points in vain.