She plucked the petals and blew them out,
A rain of red they fluttered about.
Over the floor and through the air
Rushed the officers here and there;
When lo! a cry! The door burst in!
"The enemy!" Tumult, terror, and din!
Flew a hand unto every side,—
Swords?—Penelope, arms thrown wide
Leapt that heap of steel before;
Swords behind her upon the floor;
Facing her countrymen staunch and bold,
Who dared the river of death and cold,
Who swept them down on a rollicking horde,
And found they never a man with sword!
And so it happened (but not by chance),
In '76 there was given a dance
By a witch with a rose and a satin gown
(Painted in Philadelphia town),
Mistress Penelope Penwick, she,
Called by her father, "My Sweet P."
Virginia Woodward Cloud.
The British soldiers, thinking the war virtually ended, had grown careless, and Howe and Cornwallis had returned to New York to celebrate Christmas. It was at this juncture that Washington decided to attack. More than ten hours were consumed in getting across the river, which was blocked with ice. At daybreak on the 26th, Washington entered Trenton, and surprised the enemy.
ACROSS THE DELAWARE
The winter night is cold and drear,
Along the river's sullen flow;
The cruel frost is camping here—
The air has living blades of snow.
Look! pushing from the icy strand,
With ensigns freezing in the air,
There sails a small but mighty band,
Across the dang'rous Delaware.
Oh, wherefore, soldiers, would you fight
The bayonets of a winter storm?
In truth it were a better night
For blazing fire and blankets warm!
We seek to trap a foreign foe,
Who fill themselves with stolen fare;
We carry freedom as we go
Across the storm-swept Delaware!
The night is full of lusty cheer
Within the Hessians' merry camp;
And faint and fainter on the ear
Doth fall the heedless sentry's tramp.
O hirelings, this new nation's rage
Is something 'tis not well to dare;
You are not fitted to engage
These men from o'er the Delaware!
A rush—a shout—a clarion call,
Salute the early morning's gray:
Now, roused invaders, yield or fall:
The refuge-land has won the day!
Soon shall the glorious news be hurled
Wherever men have wrongs to bear;
For freedom's torch illumes the world,
And God has crossed the Delaware!