William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Heroine of the RevolutionPhilip Freneau (1752–1832)
Y
Who fill the public chairs,
And many a favour have conferr’d
On some unknown to Mars;
And ye, who hold the post of fame,
The helmsmen of our great affairs,
Afford a calm attentive ear
To her who handled sword and spear,
A heroine in a bold career,
Assist a war-worn dame.
As Joan of Arc, of old,
With zeal against the Briton fired,
Her spirit warm and bold,
She march’d to face her country’s foes
Disguised in male attire:
Where’er they prowl’d through field or town,
With steady step she follow’d on;
Resolved the conflict to sustain,
She met them on the hill, the plain,
And hostile to the English reign,
She hurl’d the blasting fire.
Her day of warfare done,
In life’s decline at length reward
This faithful Amazon:
She asks no thousands at your hands,
Though mark’d with many a scar;
She asks no share of Indian lands,
Though lands you have to spare!
To make her snug, and keep her warm,
A cottage and the cheery blaze,
To shield her from the storm;
And something to the pocket, too,
Your bounty might afford,
Of her, who did our foes pursue
With bayonet, gun, and sword.
A female must forego
Ere to the martial camp she flies
To meet the invading foe:
How many bars has nature placed,
And custom many more,
Lest slighted woman should be graced
With trophies gain’d in war.
And scorn’d a censuring age,
Join’d in the ranks, her road to fame,
Despised the Briton’s rage
And men, who, with contracted mind,
All arrogant, condemn
And make disgrace in womankind
What honour is in them.