O could you but one furlong ride
With such a faulchion at your side,
Your bosom would for glory beat
And show Napoleon all complete!
Two pistols, to his girdle tied,
Foreboded vengeance, far and wide,
To all that were not on our side,
With heart and hand.
Accoutred thus, with martial air,
He gave the warning word, "Take care!"
And, in a moment, all was war,
Sublime and grand.
They march'd, and march'd, as thick as bees.
Then march'd towards a clump of trees;
And "blaze away!" the leader says—
"Each take his aim!
"Who wounds a tree can kill a man—
"If you but practise on that plan,
"The britons shall go home again
With grief and shame!"
Not Philip's famed, unrivall'd son,
For Greece subdued, or India won,
Not Cockburn, burning Washington,
Look'd so elate:
Not Bonaparte, on Egypt's sands
With such importance gave commands,
With such discretion train'd his bands,
Assumed such state!
Not Caesar, when he pass'd the Rhine,
Not Marlborough leading up his line,
Not Perry, when he said, "they're mine!"
Put on such airs;—
As now were shown to front and rear
When victory seem'd to hover near.
Indeed not purchased very dear—
No wounds nor scars.
Departing from the norman shore,
Not William such a feature wore
When England hail'd him conqueror,
With loud acclaim: