Brave Heartly strode in youth's o'erweening pride; Housed in the camp he left his blooming bride, The sweet Lucinda; whom her sire from far, On steeds high bounding o'er the waste of war, Had guided thro the lines, and hither led, That fateful morn, the plighted chief to wed. He deem'd, deluded sire! the contest o'er, That routed rebels dared the fight no more; And came to mingle, as the tumult ceased, The victor's triumph with the nuptial feast. They reach'd his tent; when now with loud alarms The morn burst forth and roused the camp to arms; Conflicting passions seized the lover's breast, Bright honor call'd, and bright Lucinda prest:-- And wilt thou leave me for that clangorous call? Traced I these deserts but to see thee fall? I know thy valorous heart, thy zeal that speeds Where dangers press and boldest battle bleeds. My father said blest Hymen here should join With sacred Love to make Lucinda thine; But other union these dire drums foredoom, The dark dead union of the eternal tomb. On yonder plain, soon sheeted o'er with blood, Our nuptial couch shall prove a crimson clod; For there this night thy livid corse must lie, I'll seek it there, and on that bosom die. Yet go; tis duty calls; but o'er thy head Let this white plume its floating foliage spread; That from the rampart, thro the troubled air, These eyes may trace thee toiling in the war. She fixt the feather on his crest above, Bound with the mystic knot, the knot of love; He parted silent, but in silent prayer Bade Love and Hymen guard the timorous fair. Where Saratoga show'd her champaign side, That Hudson bathed with still untainted tide, The opposing pickets push'd their scouting files, Wheel'd skirmisht, halted, practised all their wiles; Each to mislead, insnare, exhaust their foes, And court the conquest ere the armies close. Now roll like winged storms the solid lines, The clarion thunders and the battle joins, Thick flames in vollied flashes load the air, And echoing mountains give the noise of war; Sulphureous clouds rise reddening round the height, And veil the skies, and wrap the sounding fight. Soon from the skirts of smoke, where thousands toil, Ranks roll away and into light recoil; Starke pours upon them in a storm of lead; His hosted swains bestrew the field with dead, Pierce with strong bayonets the German reins, Whelm two battalions in their captive chains, Bid Baum, with wounds enfeebled, quit the field, And Breyman next his gushing lifeblood yield.