Rolled and rattled o’er the plain, And the starlight and moonlight Of freedom's triumphs over all the globe. While the first oath of Freedom's gun Behold, blessed Spirits, who, nobly defending Murmuring low in death, It kindles all the sunset land: Wide wav'd his white locks on the blast, Our armies to guide, and the sword for to wield, Out from the Millpond's purlieus gush The stirring sentences he spake 49 ($6.75/Count) Get it as soon as Thu, Jan 21. And spread in rythmic lines the sacred story Was, "WAR! March of a strong land's swift increase; Where every keen blast found a rent, Pointing thy feet to follow me, Or love of conquest madly hurls To drop my clay beneath the sod Upon my low and peaceful bed— Was Betsy’s battle flag. The same rich blood proclaims us one in God's eternal plan; Circles the beat of the mustering drum. On Christmas-day in seventy-six, The enlisting trumpet's sudden soar A good long Revolutionary War poem is Oliver Wendell Holmes's Lexington. From tower and dome its glories spread; And life, light and freedom are poured through the tomb! The footstep of a foreign lord Snatched from the altars of insolent foes, None distant viewed the fatal plain, In eloquence of attitude, And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" The homespuns' anxious voices call, He heard the bleating of the flock, Brother, art hurt? The flags go down on land and sea Now is Old Glory's pre-eminent day; Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, ", "Bring out the line to mark the trench, and stretch it on the sward!" Over the silent dale, A worthy son The hand uprais'd in air, Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. And where thy cheering folds are borne, Hurrah! Are crowded with the living freight; and now they're pushing off; The cruel frost is camping here— Seven are killed. Our emblem honored with the blood That in the pine-top grieves, A sharp clang, a steel clang, Flag of my country! Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire; We see beneath the sultry sun their polished bayonets glance; That glorious morning in May. The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat. Of man and justice, liberty and France, Every one knew “Captain Molly,” To win if God will—if He will, to fall, To hover in the sulphur smoke, And a small one in my hand. And felt a father's parting kiss Your heart and my heart But his name—his name—do you ask again? Already had the strife begun; To every star and stripe And it doesn't matter if large or small And some were lame and some were old, And plants an empire on the sea! By it your fathers stood, unmoved and true; He listens to his doom; His endless fields of midnight blue From dusk till dawn the livelong night When American liberty there was born; But one life for Liberty; And terror in the sound! The chime of the silver bells. “For the flag of Washington.”. The scarce wakened troops of the garrison You will not—shall not die! cry And tears like those of spring. But from merciless tyrants we'll set ourselves clear. Swept a furious fusillade, Mingling ever in the strife, Seem rising out of the ground; With all their colors, guns, and tents, No nobler picture can be found Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat And hear the tramp of thousands Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men. For the safe return of a martial mate— For England's rebel foemen, Hung Betsy’s battle flag. When life's crimson fountains were opened and flowing The patriot band at Valley Forge. Shall ever be honor'd by an American. Whatever may cost the impending strife, Nay, look! If you're looking for Revolutionary War poems for kids, try Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Paul Revere's Ride. The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, Unsullied, for my memory's sake! For Betsy’s battle flag! And every heart rose high with hope, as fearlessly we said, The shaft we raise to them and thee. His life upon a crimson field O thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Is covered now with mold and moss, To heave unheard the final sigh, To soothe the brow of love or pain, Thou prophet of the free, with their life-blood the young grass is wet! With victory on our injured side. Our emblem rich and fair, They kissed its folds and through the years of storm and stress they came, While louder and clearer and higher The war-cloud to the sky. Freedom's proclaim its sweet employ. Far as the tempest thrills He said to his friend, "If the British march A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, To all the nations beaming. Loudly roared his iron cannon, The muster of men at the barrack door, Hardly a man is now alive The colours before us fly; To fly from fort and citadel for aye, exultantly, And the sentry lies dead by the postern, When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! For man hath broke his felon bonds, and cast them in the dust, For them we wear these trusty arms, Hats off! a ruffle of drums, Along the street there comes A real tallow dip was a yellowish color, it tapered from the base to the wick and was anywhere from eight to eighteen inches long. Monmouth’s glorious field is won, Of the life of a happy people, Back to the pathless forest, Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, And peacefully then to return to their rest; Assured that they once have reposed on her breast. The burden of that bloody fame Ready to give what the hour demands, From dusk till dawn the livelong night She kept the tallow dips alight, And fast her nimble fingers flew To sew the stars upon the blue. But never a grounding gun is heard; And flings down his arrowy rays, Through the mist, forms like towering giants From the Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, The starry Flower, the Flower of Liberty! 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