And in a cloud of dust was seen
The sheep, the horse, the goat,
The gentle heifer, ass obscene,
The yearling and the shoat.
And pack-horses with fowls came by,
Be-feather'd on each side,
Like Pegasus, the horse that I
And other poets ride.
Sublime upon his stirrups rose
The mighty Lee behind,
And drove the terror-smitten cows
Like chaff before the wind.
But sudden see the woods above
Pour down another corps,
All helter-skelter in a drove,
Like that I sung before.
Irving and terror in the van,
Came flying all abroad;
And cannon, colors, horse, and man,
Ran tumbling to the road.
Still as he fled, 'twas Irving's cry,
And his example too,
"Run on, my merry men—for why?
The shot will not go thro'."
As when two kennels in the street,
Swell'd with a recent rain,
In gushing streams together meet
And seek the neighboring drain;
So met these dung-born tribes in one,
As swift in their career,
And so to Newbridge they ran on—
But all the cows got clear.
Poor Parson Caldwell, all in wonder,
Saw the returning train,
And mourn'd to Wayne the lack of plunder
For them to steal again.
For 'twas his right to steal the spoil, and
To share with each commander,
As he had done at Staten Island
With frost-bit Alexander.