| |
| WE follow where the Swamp Fox guides, | |
| His friends and merry men are we; | |
| And when the troop of Tarleton rides, | |
| We burrow in the cypress tree. | |
| The turfy hammock is our bed, | 5 |
| Our home is in the red deer’s den, | |
| Our roof, the tree-top overhead, | |
| For we are wild and hunted men. | |
| |
| We fly by day and shun its light, | |
| But, prompt to strike the sudden blow, | 10 |
| We mount and start with early night, | |
| And through the forest track our foe. | |
| And soon he hears our chargers leap, | |
| The flashing sabre blinds his eyes, | |
| And ere he drives away his sleep, | 15 |
| And rushes from his camp, he dies. | |
| |
| Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed, | |
| That will not ask a kind caress | |
| To swim the Santee at our need, | |
| When on his heels the foemen press,— | 20 |
| The true heart and the ready hand, | |
| The spirit stubborn to be free, | |
| The twisted bore, the smiting brand,— | |
| And we are Marion’s men, you see. | |
| |
| Now light the fire and cook the meal, | 25 |
| The last perhaps that we shall taste; | |
| I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal, | |
| And that ’s a sign we move in haste. | |
| He whistles to the scouts, and hark! | |
| You hear his order calm and low. | 30 |
| Come, wave your torch across the dark, | |
| And let us see the boys that go. | |
| |
| We may not see their forms again, | |
| God help ’em, should they find the strife! | |
| For they are strong and fearless men, | 35 |
| And make no coward terms for life; | |
| They ’ll fight as long as Marion bids, | |
| And when he speaks the word to shy, | |
| Then, not till then, they turn their steeds, | |
| Through thickening shade and swamp to fly. | 40 |
| |
| Now stir the fire and lie at ease,— | |
| The scouts are gone, and on the brush | |
| I see the Colonel bend his knee, | |
| To take his slumbers too. But hush! | |
| He ’s praying, comrades; ’t is not strange; | 45 |
| The man that ’s fighting day by day | |
| May well, when night comes, take a change, | |
| And down upon his knees to pray. | |
| |
| Break up that hoe-cake, boys, and hand | |
| The sly and silent jug that ’s there; | 50 |
| I love not it should idly stand | |
| When Marion’s men have need of cheer. | |
| ’T is seldom that our luck affords | |
| A stuff like this we just have quaffed, | |
| And dry potatoes on our boards | 55 |
| May always call for such a draught. | |
| |
| Now pile the brush and roll the log; | |
| Hard pillow, but a soldier’s head | |
| That ’s half the time in brake and bog | |
| Must never think of softer bed. | 60 |
| The owl is hooting to the night, | |
| The cooter crawling o’er the bank, | |
| And in that pond the flashing light | |
| Tells where the alligator sank. | |
| |
| What! ’t is the signal! start so soon, | 65 |
| And through the Santee swamp so deep, | |
| Without the aid of friendly moon, | |
| And we, Heaven help us! half asleep! | |
| But courage, comrades! Marion leads, | |
| The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night; | 70 |
| So clear your swords and spur your steeds, | |
| There ’s goodly chance, I think, of fight. | |
| |
| We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, | |
| We leave the swamp and cypress-tree, | |
| Our spurs are in our coursers’ sides, | 75 |
| And ready for the strife are we. | |
| The Tory camp is now in sight, | |
| And there he cowers within his den; | |
| He hears our shouts, he dreads the fight, | |
| He fears, and flies from Marion’s men. | 80 |
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