All in a cloud of dust were seen The sheep, the horse, the goat, The gentle heifer, ass obscene, The yearling, and the shoat. And pack-horses with fowls came by, Befeathered on each side, Like Pegasus, the horse that I And other poets ride. Sublime upon the stirrups rose The mighty Lee behind, And drove the terror-smitten cows Like chaff before the wind! But sudden see the woods above Pour down another corps, All helter-skelter in a drove, Like that I sung before. Irvine and terror in the van Came flying all abroad, And cannon, colors, horse, and man, Ran tumbling to the road. Still as he fled, 'twas Irvine's cry, And his example too: "Run on, my merry men, all--for why?" The shot will not go through. Five refugees, 'tis true, were found Stiff on the block-house floor; But then, 'tis thought, the shot went round, And in at the back door! As when two kennels in the street, Swelled with a recent rain, In gushing streams together meet, And seek the neighboring drain-- So meet these dung-born tribes in one, As swift in their career, And so to New Bridge they ran on, But all the cows got clear. Poor Parson Caldwell, all in wonder, Saw the returning train, And mourned to Wayne the lack of plunder, For them to steal again.[46] For 'twas his right to seize the spoil, and To share with each commander, As he had done at Staten Island With frost-bit Alexander.[47] In his dismay, the frantic priest Began to grow prophetic, You had swore, to see his lab'ring breast, He'd taken an emetic! "I view a future day," said he, "Brighter than this day dark is, And you shall see what you shall see, Ha! ha! one pretty marquis;[48] "And he shall come to Paulus Hook,[49] And great achievements think on, And make a bow and take a look, Like Satan over Lincoln. "And all the land around shall glory To see the Frenchmen caper, And pretty Susan[50] tell the story In the next Chatham paper." This solemn prophecy, of course, Gave all much consolation; Except to Wayne, who lost his horse Upon the great occasion-- His horse that carried all his prog, His military speeches, His corn-stalk whisky for his grog-- Blue stockings and brown breeches. And now I've closed my epic strain, I tremble as I show it, Lest this same warrio-drover, Wayne, Should ever catch the poet.[51] [Illustration: And now I've clos'd my Epic strain, I tremble as I shew it, Lest this same warrio-drover Wayne Should ever catch the Poet. Finis Fac-simile of the last Stanza of the Cow-Chase.] CHAPTER V.