And came, with Gibbs to head it,
The gallant Ninety-third.
Then Pakenham, exulting,

With proud and joyous glance, Cried, "Children of the tartan

Bold Highlanders - advance! Advance to scale the breastworks, And drive them from their hold, And show the stainless courage

That marked your sires of old!"

His voice as yet was ringing,
When, quick as light, there came
The roaring of a cannon,

And earth seemed all aflame.
Who causes thus the thunder

The doom of men to speak? It is the Baratarian,

The fearless Dominique.

Down through the marshalled Scotsmen The step of death is heard,

And by the fierce tornado

Falls half the Ninety-third.

The smoke passed slowly upward
And, as it soared on high,
I saw the brave commander
In dying anguish lie.
They bear him from the battle
Who never fled the foe;
Unmoved by death around them
His bearers softly go.
In vain their care, so gentle,

Fades earth and all its scenes; The man of Salamanca

Lies dead at New Orleans.

But where were his lieutenants?
Had they in terror fled?
No! Keane was sorely wounded
And Gibbs as good as dead.
Brave Wilkinson commanding,
A major of brigade,
The shattered force to rally
A final effort made.

He led it up our ramparts,
Small glory did he gain

Our captives some; some slaughtered,
And he himself was slain.

The stormers had retreated,

The bloody work was o'er;

The feet of the invaders

Were soon to leave our shore.

We rested on our rifles

And talked about the fight,
When came a sudden murmur
Like fire from left to right;
We turned and saw our chieftain,
And then, good friend of mine,
You should have heard the cheering
That rang along the line.

For well our men remembered
How little, when they came,
Had they but native courage,

And trust in Jackson's name;
How through the day he labored,
How kept the vigils still,
Till discipline controlled us —
A stronger power than will;
And how he hurled us at them
Within the evening hour,
That red night in December
And made us feel our power.

In answer to our shouting
Fire lit his eye of gray;
Erect, but thin and pallid,

He passed upon his bay.
Weak from the baffled fever,

And shrunken in each limb, The swamps of Alabama

Had done their work on him; But spite of that and fasting, And hours of sleepless care, The soul of Andrew Jackson Shone forth in glory there.

325

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

JACKSON AT NEW ORLEANS

HEAR through the morning drums and trumpets sounding,

Rumbling of cannon, tramp of mighty armies; Then the mist sunders, all the plain disclosing Scarlet for England.

Batteries roll on, halt, and flashing lightnings Search out our earthworks, silent and por

tentous.

Fierce on our right with crimson banners tossing

Their lines spring forward.

Lanyards in hand, Americans and seamen, Gunners from warships, Lafitte's privateers

men,

And for the opportunity

Conceive yourselves quite lucky, For 't is but seldom that you see A hunter from Kentucky. Oh! Kentucky,

The hunters of Kentucky.

We are a hardy free-born race,

Each man to fear a stranger; Whate'er the game, we join in chase, Despising toil and danger: And if a daring foe annoys,

Whate'er his strength or force is, We'll show him that Kentucky boys Are Alligator-horses.

I s'pose you've read it in the prints,
How Pakenham attempted
To make old Hickory Jackson wince,
But soon his schemes repented;
For we, with rifles ready cock'd,

Thought such occasion lucky,
And soon around the general flock'd
The hunters of Kentucky.

I s'pose you've heard how New Orleans
Is famed for wealth and beauty;
They've gals of every hue, it seems,
From snowy white to sooty:

So Pakenham he made his brags
If he in fight was lucky,

He'd have their gals and cotton bags,
In spite of Old Kentucky.

But Jackson he was wide awake,
And was n't scared at trifles,
For well he knew what aim we take
With our Kentucky rifles;

So he led us down to Cypress Swamp,
The ground was low and mucky;
There stood John Bull in martial pomp -
But here was Old Kentucky.

We raised a bank to hide our breasts,
Not that we thought of dying,
But then we always like to rest,

Unless the game is flying:
Behind it stood our little force -
None wish'd it to be greater,
For every man was half a horse

And half an alligator.

They did n't let our patience tire Before they show'd their faces;

We did n't choose to waste our fire,

But snugly kept our places; And when so near we saw them wink, We thought it time to stop 'em, It would have done you good, I think, To see Kentuckians drop 'em.

327

They found, at length, 't was vain to fight,
When lead was all their booty,
And so they wisely took to flight,
And left us all the beauty.
And now, if danger e'er annoys,

Remember what our trade is;
Just send for us Kentucky boys,
And we'll protect you, ladies:
Oh! Kentucky,

The hunters of Kentucky.

Another useless action, but a most remarkable one, was fought by the famous old Constitution, near Madeira, on February 20, 1815. On the afternoon of that day she sighted and overhauled the British 32-gun frigate Cyane and the 20-gun sloop Levant. She attacked them simultaneously, and after a fierce fight compelled them both to surrender.

THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT

[February 20, 1815]

A YANKEE ship and a Yankee crew Constitution, where ye bound for? Wherever, my lad, there's fight to be had Acrost the Western ocean.

Our captain was married in Boston town And sailed next day to sea;

For all must go when the State says so; Blow high, blow low, sailed we.

"Now, what shall I bring for a bridal gift
When my home-bound pennant flies?
The rarest that be on land or sea
It shall be my lady's prize."

"There's never a prize on sea or land Could bring such joy to me

As my true love sound and homeward bound
With a king's ship under his lee."

The Western ocean is wide and deep,
And wild its tempests blow,
But bravely rides "Old Ironsides,"
A-cruising to and fro.