In many a fainting clime, in many a war,
Still bright-browed Victory drew the patriot’s car.
Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe
By oceanic Mississippi’s flow;
Or where the southern swamps, with steamy breath,
Smite the worn warrior with no warrior’s death;
Or where, like surges on the rolling main,
Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain;
Dawn—and the field the haughty foe o’erspread,
Sunset—and Rio Grande’s waves run red;