Of proud Virginia Riflemen,
Tall hunters of the deer,—
To round the boastful Briton's flank
And take him in the rear.
We left the dell, we scaled the fell,
And up the crest we sprang,
When swift and sharp along the scarp
A deadly volley rang;
And down went Leitch of Weedon's corps!
Deep hurt, but gallant still;
And down went Knowlton!—he that bore
The sword of Bunker Hill.
I raised his head. But this he said,
Death-wounded as he lay:
"Lead on the fight! I hold it light
If we but get the day!"
In open rank we struck their flank,
And oh! the fight was hot!
Up came the Hessian Yagers!
Up came the kilted Scot!
Up came the men of Linsingen,
Von Donop's Grenadiers!
But soon we sped the vengeful lead
A-whistling 'bout their ears!
They buckled front to Varnum's brunt;
We crumpled up their right,
And hurling back the crimson wrack
We swept along the height.
The helmets of the Hessians
Are tumbled in the wheat;
The tartan of the Highlander
Shall be his winding-sheet!
A mingled rout, we drove them out
From orchard, field, and glen;
In goodly case it seemed to chase
Our hunters home again!
We flaunted in their faces
The flag they thought to scorn,
And left them with a loud "Hurrah!"
To choke their bugle-horn!