To arm for our country is never too late, No fetters are yet on our feet; Our hands are more free, and our hearts are as great As the best in the enemy's fleet: And look at the list of their navy, and think, How many are left, to burn, capture, and sink! Let the nations of Europe surrender the sea, Or crouch at the foot of a throne; In liberty's soil we have planted her tree, And her rights will relinquish to none: Then stand to your arms, Then stand to your arms, Then stand to your arms--half the battle is done! And bravely accomplish what valor begun. The day is approaching, a day not remote, A day with impatience we hail, When Decatur and Hull shall again be afloat, And Bainbridge commission'd to sail; To raise his blockades, will advance on the foe, And bulwark with Bull to the bottom shall go. On the waves of Lake Erie we show'd the old brag We, too, could advance in a line, And batter their frigates and humble their flag; "I have met them," said Perry, "they're mine!" And so, my dear boys, we can meet them again On the waves of the sea, or the waves of Champlain. To the new Independence then, pour out a glass, And drink, with the sense of a man: She soon will be ready, this pride of her class, Sir Thomas[A] to meet on his plan: He hates our torpedoes--then teaze him no more, Let him venture his luck with our Seventy-four. Then stand to your arms, you shall ne'er be enslav'd, Let the battle go on till the nation is saved! [A] Sir Thomas Hardy, of the Ramillies 74.--_Freneau's note._ [211] The _Independence_ was one of the four 74-gun frigates authorized by Congress at the opening of the war. It was launched late in 1814, too late to play any part in the war. THE BROOK OF THE VALLEY The world has wrangled half an age, And we again in war engage, While this sweet, sequester'd rill Murmurs through the valley still. All pacific as you seem: Such a gay elysian stream;-- Were you always thus at rest How the valley would be blest. But, if always thus at rest; This would not be for the best: In one summer you would die And leave the valley parch'd and dry. Tell me, where your waters go, Purling as they downward flow? Stagnant, now, and now a fall?-- To the gulph that swallows all. Flowing, peaceful, from your urn Are your waters to return?-- Though the same you may appear, You're not the same we saw last year. Not a drop of that remains-- Gone to visit other plains, Gone, to stray through other woods, Gone, to join the ocean floods! Yes--they may return once more To visit scenes they knew before;-- Yonder sun, to cheer the vale From the ocean can exhale Vapors, that your waste supply, Turn'd to rain from yonder sky; Moisture, vapors, to revive And keep your margin all alive.