REJOICE, O Death! Britannia's tyrant sends From German plains his myriads to our shore; The fierce Hibernian with the Hessian joined -- Bring them, ye winds, but waft them back no more! To these far climes with stately step they come, Resolved all prayers, all prowess to defy: Smit with the love of countries not their own They come -- alas! to conquer, not to die. In the slow breeze I hear their funeral song The dance of ghosts the infernal tribes prepare; To hell's dark mansions haste the abandoned throng, Tasting from German sculls great ODIN's beer. From dire Cesarea -- forced these slaves of kings -- Quick let them take their way on eagles' wings; To thy strong posts, MANHATTAN's isle, repair, To meet the vengeance that awaits them there. |