The yankees to their fort repair'd, And made as though they little cared For all that came--though very hard The cannon play'd on Stonington. The Ramillies began the attack, Despatch came forward--bold and black-- And none can tell what kept them back From setting fire to Stonington. The bombardiers with bomb and ball, Soon made a farmer's barrack fall, And did a cow-house sadly maul That stood a mile from Stonington. They kill'd a goose, they kill'd a hen, Three hogs they wounded in a pen-- They dash'd away, and pray what then? This was not taking Stonington. The shells were thrown, the rockets flew, But not a shell, of all they threw, Though every house was full in view, Could burn a house at Stonington. To have their turn they thought but fair;-- The yankees brought two guns to bear, And, sir, it would have made you stare, This smoke of smokes at Stonington. They bored Pactolus through and through, And kill'd and wounded of her crew So many, that she bade adieu T' the gallant boys of Stonington. The brig Despatch was hull'd and torn-- So crippled, riddled, so forlorn, No more she cast an eye of scorn On th' little fort at Stonington. The Ramillies gave up th' affray And, with her comrades, sneak'd away-- Such was the valor, on that day, Of british tars near Stonington. But some assert, on certain grounds, (Besides the damage and the wounds) It cost the king ten thousand pounds To have a dash at Stonington. ON THE BRITISH INVASION 1814[204] From France, desponding and betray'd, From liberty in ruins laid, Exulting Britain has display'd Her flag, again to invade us. Her myrmidons, with murdering eye, Across the broad Atlantic fly Prepared again their strength to try, And strike our country's standard. Lord Wellington's ten thousand slaves,[A] And thrice ten thousand, on the waves, And thousands more of brags and braves Are under sail, and coming [A] Lord Wellington's army embarked on the river Garonne, in France, in several divisions, for the invasion of the United States, amounting, it was said, to sixty or seventy thousand men.--_Freneau's note._ To burn our towns, to seize our soil, To change our laws, our country spoil, And Madison to Elba's isle To send without redemption. In Boston state they hope to find A yankee host of kindred mind To aid their arms, to rise and bind Their countrymen in shackles: But no such thing--it will not do-- At least, not while a Jersey Blue Is to the cause of freedom true, Or the bold Pennsylvanian. A curse on England's frantic schemes! Both mad and blind--her monarch dreams Of crowns and kingdoms in these climes Where kings have had their sentence.