ARNOLD AT STILLWATER.
Ah! you mistake me, comrades, to think that my heart is steel,
Cased in a cold endurance, nor pleasure nor pain to feel;
Cold as I am in my manner, yet over these cheeks so seared
Tear-drops have fallen in torrents, thrice since my chin grew beard.
Thrice since my chin was bearded I suffered the tears to fall:
Benedict Arnold, the traitor! he was the cause of them all.
Once, when he carried Stillwater, proud of his valor I cried;
Then, with my rage at his treason—with pity when André died.
Benedict Arnold, the traitor, sank deep in the pit of shame,