Not Fulton, when his steam he try'd
And Neptune's car stemm'd Hudson's tide
Felt such a generous glow of pride
For well earn'd fame.
That day Cornwallis met his fate,
Not Washington felt half so great
When tow'rd him flew the gallic fleet
To share his smile:
Not conquest had for Gates such charms
When, yielding to the victor's arms,
He bade Burgoyne resign his arms,
In soldier's style.
Not Ajax' self, with such a grace
Gave orders to attack a place;
Not Hannibal with bolder face
Approach'd old Rome,—
When marching for the Tiber shore,
He yet his alpine jacket wore,
And hoped to sweep the senate floor,
And fix their doom:
Not Parker,[A] when he cross'd the bar
Of Charleston with his men of war,
Was, near fort Moultrie, half so sure
Of victory gain'd:
[A] Sir Peter Parker, it is well remembered, attacked fort Moultrie, on Sullivan's Island, in 1776, and after a sanguinary action, was repulsed with great loss.—Freneau's note.
Not Parker, when departing thence
So shatter'd—at the king's expense—
Was so provoked at the defence,
Felt so chagrined,
As did our chief (no captain Brag)
When he perceiv'd some worthless wag
Had stolen away the brandy keg—
Ah! loss indeed!
For this, he swore he would resign,
All future trust in man decline;
Of whom, at least, there was one swine,
They all agreed—