| Paul Revere was a rider bold— |
| Well has his valorous deed been told; |
| Sheridan's ride was a glorious one— |
| Often it has been dwelt upon; |
| But why should men do all the deeds |
| On which the love of a patriot feeds? |
| Hearken to me, while I reveal |
| The dashing ride of Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| On a spot as pretty as might be found |
| In the dangerous length of the Neutral Ground, |
| In a cottage, cozy, and all their own, |
| She and her mother lived alone. |
| Safe were the two, with their frugal store, |
| From all of the many who passed their door; |
| For Jennie's mother was strange to fears, |
| And Jennie was large for fifteen years; |
| With vim her eyes were glistening, |
| Her hair was the hue of a blackbird's wing; |
| And while the friends who knew her well |
| The sweetness of her heart could tell, |
| A gun that hung on the kitchen wall |
| Looked solemnly quick to heed her call; |
| And they who were evil-minded knew |
| Her nerve was strong and her aim was true. |
| So all kind words and acts did deal |
| To generous, black-eyed Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| One night, when the sun had crept to bed, |
| And rain-clouds lingered overhead, |
| And sent their surly drops for proof |
| To drum a tune on the cottage roof, |
| Close after a knock at the outer door |
| There entered a dozen dragoons or more. |
| Their red coats, stained by the muddy road, |
| That they were British soldiers showed; |
| The captain his hostess bent to greet, |
| Saying, "Madam, please give us a bit to eat; |
| We will pay you well, and, if may be, |
| This bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea; |
| Then we must dash ten miles ahead, |
| To catch a rebel colonel abed. |
| He is visiting home, as doth appear; |
| We will make his pleasure cost him dear." |
| And they fell on the hasty supper with zeal, |
| Close-watched the while by Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| For the gray-haired colonel they hovered near |
| Had been her true friend, kind and dear; |
| And oft, in her younger days, had he |
| Right proudly perched her upon his knee, |
| And told her stories many a one |
| Concerning the French war lately done. |
| And oft together the two friends were, |
| And many the arts he had taught to her; |
| She had hunted by his fatherly side, |
| He had shown her how to fence and ride; |
| And once had said, "The time may be, |
| Your skill and courage may stand by me." |
| So sorrow for him she could but feel, |
| Brave, grateful-hearted Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| With never a thought or a moment more, |
| Bare-headed she slipped from the cottage door, |
| Ran out where the horses were left to feed, |
| Unhitched and mounted the captain's steed, |
| And down the hilly and rock-strewn way |
| She urged the fiery horse of gray. |
| Around her slender and cloakless form |
| Pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm; |
| Secure and tight a gloveless hand |
| Grasped the reins with stern command; |
| And full and black her long hair streamed, |
| Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed. |
| And on she rushed for the colonel's weal, |
| Brave, lioness-hearted Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| Hark! from the hills, a moment mute, |
| Came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit; |
| And a cry from the foremost trooper said, |
| "Halt! or your blood be on your head"; |
| She heeded it not, and not in vain |
| She lashed the horse with the bridle-rein. |
| |
| So into the night the gray horse strode; |
| His shoes hewed fire from the rocky road; |
| And the high-born courage that never dies |
| Flashed from his rider's coal-black eyes. |
| The pebbles flew from the fearful race: |
| The raindrops grasped at her glowing face. |
| "On, on, brave beast!" with loud appeal, |
| Cried eager, resolute Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| "Halt!" once more came the voice of dread; |
| "Halt! or your blood be on your head!" |
| Then, no one answering to the calls, |
| Sped after her a volley of balls. |
| They passed her in her rapid flight, |
| They screamed to her left, they screamed to her right; |
| But, rushing still o'er the slippery track, |
| She sent no token of answer back, |
| Except a silvery laughter-peal, |
| Brave, merry-hearted Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| So on she rushed, at her own good will, |
| Through wood and valley, o'er plain and hill; |
| The gray horse did his duty well, |
| Till all at once he stumbled and fell, |
| Himself escaping the nets of harm, |
| But flinging the girl with a broken arm. |
| Still undismayed by the numbing pain, |
| She clung to the horse's bridle-rein |
| And gently bidding him to stand, |
| Petted him with her able hand; |
| Then sprung again to the saddle bow, |
| And shouted, "One more trial now!" |
| As if ashamed of the heedless fall, |
| He gathered his strength once more for all, |
| And, galloping down a hillside steep, |
| Gained on the troopers at every leap; |
| No more the high-bred steed did reel, |
| But ran his best for Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| They were a furlong behind, or more, |
| When the girl burst through the colonel's door, |
| Her poor arm helpless hanging with pain, |
| And she all drabbled and drenched with rain, |
| But her cheeks as red as fire-brands are, |
| And her eyes as bright as a blazing star, |
| And shouted, "Quick! be quick, I say! |
| They come! they come! Away! away!" |
| Then, sunk on the rude white floor of deal, |
| Poor, brave, exhausted Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| The startled colonel sprung, and pressed |
| The wife and children to his breast, |
| And turned away from his fireside bright, |
| And glided into the stormy night; |
| Then soon and safely made his way |
| To where the patriot army lay. |
| But first he bent in the dim firelight, |
| And kissed the forehead broad and white, |
| And blessed the girl who had ridden so well |
| To keep him out of a prison-cell. |
| The girl roused up at the martial din, |
| Just as the troopers came rushing in, |
| And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan, |
| Saying, "Good sirs, your bird has flown. |
| 'Tis I who have scared him from his nest; |
| So deal with me now as you think best." |
| But the grand young captain bowed, and said, |
| "Never you hold a moment's dread. |
| Of womankind I must crown you queen; |
| So brave a girl I have never seen. |
| Wear this gold ring as your valor's due; |
| And when peace comes I will come for you." |
| But Jennie's face an arch smile wore, |
| As she said, "There's a lad in Putnam's corps, |
| Who told me the same, long time ago; |
| You two would never agree, I know. |
| I promised my love to be as true as steel," |
| Said good, sure-hearted Jennie M'Neal. |
| |
| Will Carleton. |
| I live for those who love me, |
| Whose hearts are kind and true, |
| For the heaven that smiles above me, |
| And awaits my spirit, too; |
| For the human ties that bind me, |
| For the task by God assigned me, |
| For the bright hopes left behind me, |
| And the good that I can do. |
| |
| I live to learn their story |
| Who've suffered for my sake, |
| To emulate their glory, |
| And to follow in their wake; |
| Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, |
| The noble of all ages, |
| Whose deeds crowd history's pages, |
| And Time's great volume make. |
| |
| I live to hold communion |
| With all that is divine, |
| To feel there is a union |
| 'Twixt Nature's heart and mine; |
| To profit by affliction, |
| Reap truths from fields of fiction, |
| Grow wiser from conviction, |
| And fulfill each grand design. |
| |
| I live to hail that season, |
| By gifted minds foretold, |
| When men shall rule by reason, |
| And not alone by gold; |
| When man to man united, |
| And every wrong thing righted, |
| The whole world shall be lighted |
| As Eden was of old. |
| |
| I live for those who love me, |
| For those who know me true, |
| For the heaven that smiles above me, |
| And awaits my spirit, too; |
| For the cause that lacks assistance, |
| For the wrong that needs resistance, |
| For the future in the distance, |
| And the good that I can do. |
| |
| George Linnaeus Banks. |