O proud Ticonderoga, enthroned amid the hills!
O bastions of old Carillon, the "Fort of Chiming Rills!"
Well might your quiet garrison have trembled where they lay,
And, dreaming, grasped their sabres against the dawn of day!
In silence and in shadow the boats were pushed from shore,
Strong hands laid down the musket to ply the muffled oar;
The startled ripples whitened and whispered in their wake,
Then sank again, reposing, upon the peaceful lake.
Fourscore and three they landed, just as the morning gray
Gave warning on the hilltops to rest not or delay;
Behind, their comrades waited, the fortress frowned before,
And the voice of Ethan Allen was in their ears once more:
"Soldiers, so long united—dread scourge of lawless power!
Our country, torn and bleeding, calls to this desperate hour.
One choice alone is left us, who hear that high behest—
To quit our claims to valor, or put them to the test!
"I lead the storming column up yonder fateful hill,
Yet not a man shall follow save at his ready will!
There leads no pathway backward—'tis death or victory!
Poise each his trusty firelock, ye that will come with me!"
From man to man a tremor ran at their captain's word
(Like the "going" in the mulberry-trees that once [King David] heard),—
While his eagle glances sweeping adown the triple line,
Saw, in the glowing twilight, each even barrel shine!
"Right face, my men, and forward!" Low-spoken, swift-obeyed!
They mount the slope unfaltering—they gain the esplanade!
A single drowsy sentry beside the wicket-gate,
Snapping his aimless fusil, shouts the alarm—too late!
They swarm before the barracks—the quaking guards take flight,
And such a shout resultant resounds along the height,
As rang from shore and headland scarce twenty years ago,
When brave Montcalm's defenders charged on a British foe!
Leaps from his bed in terror the ill-starred Delaplace,
To meet across his threshold a wall he may not pass!
The bayonets' lightning flashes athwart his dazzled eyes,
And, in tones of sudden thunder, "Surrender!" Allen cries.
"Then in whose name the summons?" the ashen lips reply.
The mountaineer's stern visage turns proudly to the sky,—
"In the name of great Jehovah!" he speaks with lifted sword,
"And the Continental Congress, who wait upon his word!"