Was something of regret he strove to hide,
And low, though resolute, those accents clear,
That fired the listener’s heart and thrilled his ear.
“Comrades and friends—my trusty, fearless few,
Still to yourselves and injured freedom true,
Our foes are here—we are at last beset—
Be calm, be firm, and we shall foil them yet.
They think us helpless, hopeless, all undone,
And scorn their conquest as too easy won;
But can we hold our post—ere morn be gray