For such stout whigs I never saw,
To hang them all I'd rather;
For making hay with musket-balls,
And buckshot mixt together.
Brave Howe is so considerate,
As to guard against all dangers:
He allows us half a pint a day—
To rum we are no strangers.
Long may he live by land and sea,
For he's belov'd by many;
The name of Howe the Yankees dread,
We see it very plainly.
And now my song is at an end:
And to conclude my ditty,
It is the poor and ignorant,
And only them, I pity.
But as for their king, John Hancock,
And Adams, if they're taken,
Their heads for signs shall hang up high,
Upon that hill call'd Beacon.
On July 2, 1775, George Washington, who had, a fortnight before, been appointed commander-in-chief of the Continental army by the Congress then assembled in Philadelphia, arrived at Cambridge, and on the following day, under the shade of the great elm which is still standing near Cambridge Common, he took command of the sixteen thousand men composing the American forces.
THE NEW-COME CHIEF
From "Under the Old Elm"
[July 3, 1775]
Beneath our consecrated elm
A century ago he stood,
Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood
Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm
The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm:—
From colleges, where now the gown
To arms had yielded, from the town,
Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see
The new-come chief and wonder which was he.
No need to question long; close-lipped and tall,
Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone
To bridle others' clamors and his own,
Firmly erect, he towered above them all,
The incarnate discipline that was to free
With iron curb that armed democracy.