William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
A Bloody Battle
O
March’d forth to guard her own defenceless land,
From savage inroads, on her new frontiers,
To defend the people, and allay their fears.
Led on our troops near by the Prophet’s town.
After toils o’ercome, and obstructions past,
Near this savage town they encamp’d at last.
Those Indian tribes began a bloody fight;
Dark was the hour, and gloomy all around,
When horrid yells from savage tribes did sound.
Which plainly did foretell some mischief nigh;
Then on our troops they rush’d with fiercest rage,
Who quickly form’d their ranks, did them engage.
They charged those tribes, and put them all to flight;
Their tomahawks they used in firm array,
Yet to our gallant troops they soon gave way.
Our troops and savage men both mix and die;
And garments roll’d in blood, stood full in view,
Caused by that base, that wicked Indian crew.
Their dearest friends—alas! are now no more.
O! we lament so many met their doom,
New to the field, and heroes in the bloom.
And they who speak the truest, praise them most,
Their great exploits appear sublimely bright,
Shine in their native, not a borrow’d light.