by Nathaniel Niles
Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of
Death and destruction in the field of battle,
Where blood and carnage, where blood and carnage,
Clothe the ground in crimson, sounding with death groans?
Now, Mars, I dare thee, clad in smoky pillars,
Bursting from bomb-shells, roaring from the cannon,
Rattling in grape shot, rattling in grape shot,
Like a storm of hailstones, torturing aether!
While all their hearts quick palpitate for havoc,
Let slip your bloodhounds, named the British lions,
Dauntless as death stares, dauntless as death stares,
Nimble as the whirlwind, dreadful as demons.
Life for my country, and the cause of freedom,
Is but a trifle for a worm to part with;
And if preserved, and if preserved
In so great a contest, life is redoubled.