William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Siege of BaltimoreAngus Umphraville (b. 1797?)
Of Ocean’s deep and vasty plain,
And while her crosses she unfurl’d,
Thunder’d defiance to the world.
While Europe own’d the mighty war,
Columbia, peaceful midst the jar,
A friend to all, a foe to none,
She traded peacefully alone.
And fear’d a rival to her fame.
“And shall her sons contentment know,
While Europe I have fill’d with wo?
No! the lost world will I regain,
Her sailors press, her commerce chain,
All mine shall be the subject main!”
She spake, heaved high her haughty breast,
Fill’d with ambition, void of rest.
To waste our country, spoil our homes,
To lay our towns and cities low,
And bid our mothers’ tears to flow,
Our wives lament, our orphans weep,
To seize the empire of the deep!—
Now twice the ensanguined earth had run,
Since ruthless War’s destructive brand
Had scatter’d horrors o’er the land.
Whence is this universal grief?
Declare, O Muse! in record brief:
Their own the British legions call
Columbia’s infant capital!
And, Potomac, thy blushing stream
Views the red flames’ guilty beam
Spread over Washington its gleam.
Suspense flies from her fatal shore
And hovers over Baltimore,
For active war against the foe,
Her sons, the sons of freedom show.
Wilt thou to proud invaders yield
The bloodless, undisputed field?
Soon shall thy loud artillery speak;
Thou art not fearful, sad, or weak,
Thou granary of the Chesapeake!
To Baltimore, from various parts,
At the first summons, quickly came
To save from desolation’s flame
The pride of fertile Maryland,
From British lust, and sword, and brand.
A valiant host, no fear they knew,
Their arms were good, their hearts were true,
They burn’d their foemen’s ranks to view.
But feebly told the dusky day;
Dark was that day, in portent dark!
A gloom surrounds each British bark;
The red-cross’d banner downward hung
Nor proud as erst to wild wind flung.
Their hosts the intrenchments long amazed,
The labour’d line extending round,
Baltimore completely bound,
No circumvolving walls surround,
Its guards were noble hearts and bold,
Who freedom prized ’bove tempting gold.
Who nobly face the rudest storm,
Who, fearless of the lion’s might,
Dare for their independence fight!
In councils eloquent and great,
Victorious Smith presides;
Commander of Columbia’s arms,
His soul inured to war’s alarms,
Through all the storm he rides.
Floats loved Columbia’s starry pride,
In dalliance waving seem’d to say,
“Columbia owns this glorious day!”
With his alert, undaunted host,
Sustain’d the British cannonade,
And well the British bombs repaid.
Cities for thee, O warrior bold!
Shall shape in gratitude’s gay mould
Their sculptured urns of burnish’d gold.
Ah! what forebodings swell’d each mother’s heart!
Bursting on earth, and now on high,
Red fuses seem’d to fire the sky,
The deep-mouth’d cannon’s horrid roar
Shook all the walls of Baltimore.
Of those who fought the town to save,
Dauntless amid the bloody strife,
We fought for Freedom, not for life.
For each, three British warriors fell.
The astonish’d British back recoil’d,
Repulsed with death, fatigued, and foil’d,
Vainly their daring hosts had toil’d.
How many soldiers, bathed in gore,
Lay stretch’d upon the fatal plain
Among the wounded and the slain!
Vainly for them fond anxious mothers weep,
Or beauteous maidens gaze the mighty deep.
Viewing with painful joy each swelling sail,
Hoping their love’s return with every gale.
Bright expectation smiles with dawn of light,
Dull disappointment sheds her tears at night.
Ne’er on Columbia’s neck shall lay,
While Jehovah conservates
The union of the happy states.
His thunders to our land to bear,
And pour his armies, hostile hosts,
On our Columbia’s honour’d coasts—
When they insult our country’s shore,
Our sons shall think—of Baltimore.
Assail the heart with dire alarms;
The deep-mouth’d cannon’s thundering sound,
The echoing hills repeat around!
Disdains the sun’s reflected ray!
The glittering muskets from afar
Declare thy presence, baleful War!
See! ’tis the musket’s lightning flash!
Carnage now dyes her feet in gore—
War’s loudest thunders crash!
When on North-Point’s impurpled field
The armies meet in dire array—
One must not be, or yield.
Columbia’s blue-striped ensign high
Waves in graceful dalliance gay,
And claims the honours of the day.
Their burnish’d arms refulgent shine;
Troops of the Wellingtonian school!
Ne’er shall your princely regent’s rule,
Or foreign monarch’s scepter’d sway
Columbia’s freeborn sons obey.
You’ve spread the fame of England far,
And from Napoleon’s brilliant reign
Deliver’d France, and rescued Spain,
Restored to Bourbon’s race again.
Despising monarchs form’d of earth,
Our king, the King of kings alone—
Eternal his celestial throne!
And, since ye dare us to the fight,
Confiding in our Sovereign’s might,
Europe on North Point’s plain shall see
Britannia’s choicest heroes flee
Before the children of the free,
Who gain’d by arms prized Liberty!
This land is Freedom’s chosen seat,
These are the sons of those who fought
For independence, when ye sought
By force of arms, by murder, flame,
To fill our land with grief and shame,
To blast our glory, blast our fame,
And blot our Washington’s bright name!
In scarlet coat, adorn’d with gold,
Whose gaudy epaulets shine bright?—
Calmly he contemplates the fight.
He glories in his country’s cross,
And, vows to take rich Baltimore,
And bid her streets to reek with gore;
And while her widow’d matrons sigh,
To plant his monarch’s ensign high.
The stern decree of ruthless fate!
But plans our blest Fredonia’s fall,
And slavery’s shackles to recall.
Proudly his conscious charger prances,
While to his aids, drawn sword in hand,
He issues forth his high command.
The wounded warrior falls and dies!
The fate ordain’d for Liberty,
O boaster! that has fallen on thee.
Press’d through the midst of battle’s storm,
And at the haughty Briton foe
Aimed the ball which laid him low.
And then, disorder’d, fled the fatal plain.
A shepherd check’d a nation’s pride;
Goliath slain by David’s hand,
The gentiles fled the Holy Land.
Ye wave not under genial sky;
Here no traitorous airs e’er can
Victorious profanation fan.
Who found on North Point’s plain a grave,
The mournful muse in tears must tell,
’Twas there the gallant Lowry fell!
While record of his worth she bears;
While bursting thunders o’er him sped,
He sought the raging battle’s bed,
Columbia’s flag waved o’er his head,
And thus her gallant Lowry said:
Die like heroes—or be free!
Forward—death or victory!”
Our soldiers heard the chief’s appeal;
His voice a confidence inspires;
They crush’d the foe—amidst whose fires
The heroic Donaldson expires.
Pride of the senate, of the bar,
Thus glorious fell the plume of war!
And yonder soars on golden wings?
Beams on the solar god her bright undazzled eyes,
Proclaims with pæaning trump some hero to the skies!
’Tis Fame, whose silver voice the golden arches rend,
To proud Olympus’s lofty height
The power directs his loftier flight.
Our fate whose nod, our law whose will,
The eternal messenger crowd round,
Attentive to the glorious sound.
Arrest the fascinated ear;
Leads captive godlike minds away,
Enchants the enraptured realms of day.
And Maryland is doom’d no more to bleed,
On North Point’s proud and glorious plain
The sons of Freedom laurels gain.”
Than loud acclaims through heaven rebound.
And Stricker’s bright immortal name
Was given to Victory and to Fame.
Venus own’d her heart was won,
Apollo struck the euphonious lyre,
And all the muses were on fire!
Minerva twined the laurel bough
Around the valiant hero’s brow.
“And may,” she said, “my olives bloom
With this round my templed room.”
And round his garland brow entwined,
And, while the virgin crown they wreathed,
In strains like these the sisters breathed:—
The trophies which his arm has won!
Let ravish’d laurels deck the hair,
Of blest Columbia’s honour’d son!
“Heroes who fought for Baltimore,”
In golden letters beaming bright
Their names in characters of light,
Heath, Sterret, Barry, Spangler, Long,
Your names add glory to triumphant song.
While fame endures your names shall flourish still,
Metzger, Montgomery, Aisquith and Wilmot,
Heroic warriors! splendid is your lot,
Your glory’s radiant orb no calumny shall blot.
Fraily, Barney, Stenenson,
Bold Taylor, and brave Calhoun,
Proud names! and many thousand more,
Inscribed in gold, Fame’s brilliant banner bore.
And shall I here in indolence reside,
While from my Edwin’s wounds may gush the purple tide?
No, I will hasten to the fields of strife,
Happy to share his toils, or save his life.
E’en now in sight of Heaven I am my Edwin’s wife.
Thus virtuously resolved, the beauteous pilgrim sought
The fatal field, where her loved Edwin fought.
Our blest Columbia’s darling prize!
Beloved by every noble mind,
In thee is every charm combined.
For sake of thee have millions bled,
Illustrious ’mongst the honour’d dead,
Whose souls uncurb’d by grovelling clay,
Burst thraldom’s chains and soar’d away,
On thy celestial wings to realms of endless day!
Would plunge into thy valiant heart,
The dirk of death—Columbia’s bands
Spared not their lives on Freedom’s part.
For them their mourning brothers raise
Triumphant monuments of praise.
Is written on the rolls of fame!
Long as the earth endures, as long
Shall grace Columbia’s epic song.
Flashing through night with carnage dire,
Spread wounds, and death, and wild dismay,
With British blood tinged the red bay!
A laurel-wreath, O Webster, ’s thine!
Thy fame shall blaze while suns shall shine.
For conduct brave at Covington,
Steuart’s name, and gallant Nicholson’s,
Brave Berry’s too, and Pennington’s,
Stansbury; Former, Harris, Dyer,
Intrepid Bird, who midst the fire
Of hostile hosts his troops inspire,
Your deeds shall grace the muses page,
Your worth admired from age to age!
Let Winder’s name, to honour dear,
Inscribed on the bright list appear.
Who bravely for his country fell?
For him bright Glory spreads her arms,
He rush’d through death to own her charms!
Oft o’er his grave shall flow the elegiac tear,
His name to patriotism ever dear
Our sons in distant times revere.
With tears of deep regret,
But he has reach’d a happier shore
Where valiant souls are met;
He left a blood impurpled field
Of trouble, care, and strife,
For heavenly fields, which happiness yield
Of bliss and endless life.