Delaware Patriot & American Watchman

FROM THE UNITED STATES' TELEGRAPH.

LINES
On the battles of the 23d of December, 1814, and the 8th of January, 1815, near New Orleans.

McHenry's hills no longer glare
With rockets streaming thro' the air,
A longer British thunders there
Affright the peaceful scenery.

With sullied flag the vengeful foe
Turns from that field of death and woe,
Where Britain's chivalry lay low,
The price of doubtful victory.

With eager haste they swift display
The crowded sail, and scud away,
Like falcon stooping to her prey,
Like eagle from his eyrie.

Their course they bend to Southern skies;
Defenceless, see their quarry lies,
"Beauty and Booty" is their prize,
Their victim luckless Orleans!

-Nor chief nor people slumber now,-
With anxious eye they watch the foe,
With constant hearts await the blow,
And pant for deeds of chivalry

Swift to avenge a country's wrong,
Backwoodsmen raise their battle song,
And Cannons thousands sweep along
The wintry waters rapidly.

And darkness overspreads the land.
And dawn, as JACKSON leads his band
To meet the foe upon the strand,
And join in dreadful revelry.

His country's sword,—his country's shield,-
Inured to toil—untaught to yield
To savage foe in bloody field,
Or famine's ghastly menaces:

Behold! to save the land he flies,-
A thousand shouts ascend the skies,
With cheers he answers to their cries,
And fills each breast with confidence.

"Haste! haste ye to the field of death,
Seize on that pass!—the sword unsheath,
Nor yield but with your latest breath
America's Thermopylae."

Onward they rush with loud acclaim,
Their war cry a dear country's name,-
Their Chief, the foster-child of fame,-
Onward they rush to victory.

"Tis well! now raise the rampart high;—
With steady hand and blanchless eye,
And hearts prepared to win or die,
Await the rallied enemy."

With fearless hearts and haughty glance,
And flaunting banners, firm advance
The boasted conquerors of France,
The hosts of mighty Wellington!

List! List! their tramp! The death-shots part,
The rifle's aimed with fatal art,
And many a gallant Briton's heart
Now throbs in death convulsively.

With shout and soul-inspiring cheer,
The low lander and mountaineer
Thrice meet the shock, and mock at fear,
And dare the combat gallantly

And thrice did Britain's veteran band,-
Victors in every other land,-
Renew the onset hand to hand,
And wrestle for the mastery.

In vain!—The spell is at an end!
The Red Cross sinks, the Stars ascend,
In vain the hirelings contend
With Freedom's hardy yeomanry.

Enough! The moat is filled with slain,-
Their slaughtered banners strew the plain,
The Spangled Banner yet again
Waves to the breeze triumphantly.

Harp of my country! cease!—Tis not for thee.
Whose spirit frank disdains the courtly phrase,
To turn from fields like this thy minstrelsy,
E'en to the brave a flattering song to raise,
And wrong Solon's car with fulsome notes of praise.

Enough? so; come, to see the blushing maid
From all alarms protected by his hand:
Enough for him—his victor's flag displayed—
To see retire the foeman's shattered band,
While peace and joy return to bless a thankful Land!

* Victory of December 23
Battle of January 8th.