The New Hampshire Gazette

POETRY.
From the Philadelphia Sentinel.
THE BATTLE OF NEW-ORLEANS.
IN IMITATION OF CAMPBELL'S HOHENLINDEN.
On Orleans' plains, at break of day,
Their might you view the dread array
Of either army, fixed for fray—
Their leaders mounted gallantly.
The rising sun his lustre bent
Fall on the Briton's gaudy tent,
And to the stranger's gaze he lent
A sight of modern chivalry.
Bright in the sun their armour glanced;
Light in the breeze their banners danced;
Impatiently their chargers pranced,
To join the dreadful fray.
Far to the west, in darker hue,
The striped banner bravely flew,
O'er gallant hearts and coats of blue,
Waiting for combat eagerly.
The sun is up, the Britons come!
And in their march all else is dumb,
Save measured tread, and rolling drum,
And chargers neighing furiously.
They halt! their leader rides along
To cheer the spirits of the throng,
And make them for the battle strong,
Ready for death or victory.
With shouts they to the combat streamed,
Their muskets flashed, their bay'nets gleamed,
And of success each soldier dreamed
In plundering Orleans City.
Brave Jackson then his war note blew,
Each warrior to his station flew,
Resolved in blood his hands to strew,
For freedom and Columbia.
The batteries oped their jaws of death,
And straitly laid, as in a swathe,
The charging ranks upon the heath,
Groaning in mortal agony.
Then dark the cloud of battle lowered.
Like wintry hail, the bullets showered,
And bold the rampart lion cowered,
And red-cross of Britannia.
'Tis noon! but scarce the god of day,
Can pierce the war-cloud with his ray,
Where thunders roll and lightnings play,
And death stalks round triumphantly.
The foemen charge with manly steel,
Their well aimed volleys loudly peal,
And thrice they storm with stubborn zeal,
Worthy their chieftain Wellington.
And hark! their columns, shouting high;
"Beauty and Booty" is their cry;
But Jackson sent them quick reply—
The deadly shot of artillery.
And Jackson's men with hearts of oak,
Disdaining British tyrant's yoke,
Deal fiercely round the deadly stroke,
With sinews of a Hercules.
And louder as the war-note blew,
And darker as the conflict grew,
Swifter aloft the Eagle flew,
Guarding his loved Columbia.
The sun has set! the contest's o'er,
No more is heard the battle's roar;
But mangled heaps, and streams of gore,
Mark out the dreadful theatre.
The foe retired with hasty stride,
With broken ranks and wounded pride,
But many a sod o'er which they glide,
Shall mark their brethren's sepulchre.
Now every freeman again should pay,
On the ensuing Election day,
Their united suffrages to the chief,
Without the least reluctancy.
NORMAN.