Faster each minute and faster
The yeomen swarm over the wall,
And narrower grows the circle
And thicker the Britons fall;
Till Baum with his Hessian swordsmen
Swift to the rescue flies,
The frown of the Northland on their brows
And the war-light in their eyes.
Back reeled the men of Berkshire,
The mountaineers gave back,
But Stark and his Hampshire yeomen
Flung full across their track.
The stern Teutonic mother
Well might she grandly eye
The prowess dread of her war-swarms red
As they racked the earth and sky.
Like rival wrestling athletes
Grappled the East and West.
With straining thews and staring eyes
They swayed and strove for the royal prize,
A continent's virgin breast.
Till at last as a strong man's wrenching
Shatters a brittle vase,
The lustier arms of the Westland
Shattered the elder race.
Baum and his bravest cohorts
Lay on the trampled sod,
And Stark's strong cry rose clear and high,
"Yield in the name of God!"
Then the sullen Hessians yielded,
Girt by an iron ring,
And down from the summit fluttered
The flag of the British king.
Vainly the tardy Breyman
May strive that height to gain;
More work for the Hampshire war-clubs!
More room for the Hessian slain!
The giant's arm is severed,
The giant's blood flows free,
And he staggers in the pathway
That leads to the distant sea.