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Burgoyne's Last March. 
 
 LOWELL 
 
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 3 1924 022 209 658 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022209658 
 
burgoyne's last march. 
 
 POEM 
 
 For the Celebration of the Hundredth Year of 
 Bemis Heights, (Saratoga) Sept. 19, 1877. 
 
 ROBERT LOWELL. 
 
 04 ydp ti 0aiita)f 'rft&t XloTivvsiicrig x@° va 
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 Eur. Pkceii. no. 
 
 1878. 
 
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Printed by L. y. Hardham, Newark, N. y. 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 A S while about some restful, wide-shored bay, 
 All hid in fog, landward and seaward lay, 
 Came far-heard voices forth, from men unseen, 
 Or low of herd, or roll of slow-worked oar, 
 Heard here and there, throughout that floating 
 
 screen, 
 Made us no longer lonely, as before ; 
 Nay, as might chance, the eyes, long-straining, 
 
 wist 
 Where shapes walked, great and dim, within 
 
 the mist, 
 
 So, we may think, with former men, that by 
 This life's still shore are to our minds yet nigh, 
 But hidden deep in folding mists of Past ; 
 
4 burgoyne's march. 
 
 Company, regiment, brigade, 
 Were marched as for a last parade, 
 Crowding the sunny port. 
 
 The town all thronged the beach : 
 
 No work was then, for far or near ; 
 
 No work, unless to see and hear ; 
 
 And little speech, but cheer on cheer ; 
 
 Or, here and there, beyond the common reach, 
 
 Some prayer, some sobbing speech ; 
 
 But shout and martial strain 
 
 Made the banks ring again, 
 
 As the men took ship, to sail up Lake Champlain 
 
 The general had stood awhile 
 
 Within the maple's shade, 
 
 With quickening eye and lofty smile ; 
 
 Since the dread game of war was played 
 
 Were never better soldiers made 
 
 To conquer for the world-conquering Isle ; 
 
burgoyne's march. 5 
 
 To win back, for the English Grown, 
 Before which, late, the might of France went 
 
 down, 
 Fortress and farm and town, 
 Along the lakes, and the rich Mohawk Vale, 
 To the old solid town that stands 
 Embosomed in fair lands, 
 And rich with many a peaceful sail, 
 
 Fort William — Beaverwyck — the good town 
 
 Albany ; 
 While Howe, or Clinton, from the Sea, 
 Should set the River country free 
 From a base rule by countryman and clown. 
 Then would a loyal wall keep wide 
 The rebel lands that lay on either side, 
 Till more calm time and wiser thought 
 Should bring all mad revolt to naught ; 
 And the great realm that rounds the world and 
 
 ever fronts the sun, 
 
6 burgoyne's march. 
 
 Once more, from shore to answering shore, 
 By land, by sea, one realm should be ; 
 Unbroken, as it was of yore, 
 Throughout all earth but one. 
 
 Strange, one might think, breathing June's happy 
 
 breath, 
 Hearing glad melodies in all the air, 
 Seeing the red and gold that brightened 
 
 everywhere ; 
 Strange that all this, so merry and so fair, 
 Should deck the trade of death ! 
 As well the clouds at sunset heaped, 
 All tinged with red and gold, 
 The while the nightfall cricket cheeped, 
 Might into sudden storm have leaped. 
 And wreck and ruin manifold, 
 With thunderbolt of fabled Thor, 
 As this become death -dealing war ! 
 
burgoyne's march. 7 
 
 It would but be a month's parade ; 
 
 The rebel fort would yield, at call, 
 
 To earth the rebel flag would fall ; 
 
 The king would be obeyed. 
 
 To sweep, with summer breeze, the lake, 
 
 In the night wind a bivouac make, 
 
 Beneath the starry arch ; 
 
 To scout, in underwood and brake, 
 
 Would be a pleasure-march ! 
 
 So, to an English eye, our country's cause would 
 
 fail, 
 (The hurried ending of a tale 
 Told overnight,) 
 
 When brave Burgoyne set sail. 
 
 Our countrymen that season lay 
 
 As men that wake in night, but fear the day. 
 
 The leaguer-fires of Bunker Hill 
 
 Were yet scarce trodden out ; and still 
 
8 BURGOYNE'S march. 
 
 There were true men, whose steadfast will 
 Set all it had at stake ; 
 Would never bow to might of ill : 
 Rather their country's soil would fill 
 With clay of heroes' make. 
 
 St. Glair and Schuyler had trod back 
 
 The long road of retreat ; 
 
 The foe was hard upon their track, 
 
 And, foot by foot — as waters roll — 
 
 So, following foot by foot, he stole 
 
 Their country from beneath their feet. 
 
 Grown Point, Ticonderoga, fell ; 
 
 Fort George, Fort Edward — need we tell 
 
 Stout Warner's gloomy overthrow ? 
 
 Or the great loss at Skenesborough ? 
 
 Let our hearts honor, as they can, 
 Schuyler, the generous gentleman. 
 His countrymen called back their trust ; 
 
burgoyne's march. 
 
 He waited not till they were just ; 
 Took lower place, and felt no shame, 
 Still gave a heart and hand, the same 
 That chose this cause when it began ; 
 And, in his honor, give its share 
 To the strong patience of St. Glair. 
 Our tide of strength was running low ; 
 On its swift ebb was borne the foe, 
 And, as men speak, God willed it so. 
 
 Not always will the tide run out : 
 Not always the strong wind of fate 
 Shall drive from off the harbor's gate 
 Those who, fast anchored, wait and wait, 
 Till their own time shall come about ; 
 Yield never to the crime of doubt. 
 
 So everywhere great hearts were true. 
 The world looked dark ; here — only here — 
 A hand-breadth of the sky was clear ; 
 
io burgoyne's march. 
 
 But the world's work was here to do ! 
 
 Manhood in France was in the dust, 
 
 The prey of rank, and greed, and lust ; 
 
 And little despots, otherwheres, 
 
 Laid out the trembling world in shares ; 
 
 And England — England of the free — 
 
 Set safe by God amidst the sea ; 
 
 To keep the light of liberty — 
 
 Under a foreign rule 
 
 Had learned in that bad school ; 
 
 Forgotten that, where law had sway, 
 
 They mud make law who law obey. 
 
 England was reading all her story back : 
 
 To our true-hearted sires all the world's sky 
 
 looked black, 
 Save one clear hand-breadth in the west 
 Darkness and clouds held all the rest. 
 
 The time soon comes : men fill our camps ; 
 On fortress- wall the sentry tramps 
 
BURGOYNE S MARCH. II 
 
 With The New Flag on high, 
 
 That in the ages down through time 
 
 Should shelter all weak things but crime : 
 
 And all strong wrongs defy. 
 
 Now gain comes in where came in loss ; 
 
 Great names are made, or take new gloss ; 
 
 As fearless Herkimer — so wise 
 
 To see beyond the young, rash eyes, 
 
 Where needless, useless danger lies ; 
 
 But fatherly and true, 
 
 To bear their rashness through ; 
 
 So Willett won at Schuyler Fort, 
 
 And the brave leader Gansevoort ; 
 
 Then, with Stark's day at Bennington, 
 
 The first great prize of war was won, 
 
 The conquering of Burgoyne begun. 
 
 There was no choosing in the dark ; 
 
 God made the general, John Stark, — 
 
 Our tide swelled toward high-water mark ! 
 
12 burgoyne's march. 
 
 Three months of summer time were past 
 
 Since, with a gallant host, 
 
 Mid beat of drum and trumpet-blast, 
 
 And with more lofty boast, 
 
 Burgoyne his march had forward cast ; 
 
 Through fort and field his easy play 
 
 Would be a conqueror's holiday. — 
 
 To that proud time his thoughts might stray 
 
 When Gates's army barred his further way. 
 
 On Bemis Heights our fathers stood, 
 
 While all the land looked on : 
 
 Could they not make their footing good ? 
 
 Then Albany was gone ! 
 
 Then all the hearts that beat for right, 
 
 Would draw sad presage from the fight ; 
 
 Then a most heavy blow would smite 
 
 The heart of Washington ! 
 
 When the day opened, fair and still, 
 
burgoyne's march. 13 
 
 And clarions, with alarum shrill, 
 Drew echoes from each other's hill, 
 How many a prayer was said ; 
 ' If man his brother's blood must spill, 
 Let not God's word, " Thou shalt not kill," 
 Bring judgment on our head ! 
 And let the right stand, come what will, 
 Though we go to the dead ! ' 
 
 They met the foe — We will not say 
 All that was done, of deadly fray ; 
 How forward, now, now back they sway, 
 Till the night settled late. 
 But by the first strong stand here made 
 Burgoyne's long summer march was stayed, 
 And many an anxious one took breath, 
 Who watched the turn, for life or death, 
 In the young country's fate. 
 
 Here, once for all, his march was crossed ; 
 
14 burgoyne's march. 
 
 He tried again ; again he lost ; 
 
 And ere the season, growing old, 
 
 Knew summer out of date, 
 
 And hung the woods with red and gold, 
 
 Burgoyne's short story had been told ; 
 
 A brave heart, but his cause was cold : 
 
 God willed our free-born state. 
 
 And so Burgoyne's last march was made : 
 
 Between our lines he led his last parade. 
 
AFTER-BREATH. 
 
 \ TOW, with still years between, where-through 
 
 we gaze, 
 On those dim dead — the strong of earlier days — 
 Now that all strife is still — the great meed 
 
 gained — 
 For them that lived, or died, with loyal heart, 
 In alien faith, but to great manhood strained 
 Unyielding sinews, honor, now ! Our part 
 To lay ourselves, as very sod or stone 
 Of trench, when called, to keep our land her 
 
 own.