William Bingham Tappan (1794–1849)

HERE the foemen in conflict have met,

When revenge bade the death-brand to draw;

On the plains which their life-crimson wet,

The heroes have rush’d to the war;

Saw ye not the proud bannerate gory?

The flag of the patriot free—

The meteor exhaling to glory?

It shone, Saratoga! on thee.

’Twas the hour when dimly the star

Of America glimmer’d on night,

When the death-drum, and bugle, afar,

Called the chieftain away to the fight;

The links of cursed thraldom to sever,

The champions of Freedom arose—

Till oppression was scatter’d, should never

The sword in its scabbard repose!

With devotion the traveller here

O’er the relics of valour would tread;

He gives to their prowess the tear,

It moistens the place of the dead;

Revered be the incense—’tis holy!

Ever green be the warrior’s grave;

Columbia! cherish the glory

That haloes the deeds of the brave.