And houses, bounded by the busy stream
On either hand, were few; men caught a gleam
Of crippled Boston, through whose highways tore
The troops; embarking, on they swiftly bore
'Mid roaring cannon and the awful scream
Of shells; poor puppets of a royal scheme
To King Taxation's iron rule restore.
The honest sod recoiled from their hot tread,
But baffled fury trod with reckless haste
Till hemmed about by their own slaughtered dead