THE GRANDMOTHER.
241
And eager faces would gather round,
All anxious to catch the slightest sound
Of the tales she often before had told,
Of those trying times, the times of old.
All anxious to catch the slightest sound
Of the tales she often before had told,
Of those trying times, the times of old.
She can tell how wildly her heart did thrill
When she heard the cannon from Bunker Hill,
And almost break, when called to view
The death of some gallant friend she knew;
She can tell how freely her aid she gave,
Some trembling fugitive to save,
And how her heart would swell in wrath
Against those who followed upon his path.
When she heard the cannon from Bunker Hill,
And almost break, when called to view
The death of some gallant friend she knew;
She can tell how freely her aid she gave,
Some trembling fugitive to save,
And how her heart would swell in wrath
Against those who followed upon his path.
And her voice will fail when she tells of one,
Of her youngest-born and favorite son,
Who marched, with the weapon he scarce could wield,
In his home-spun garb, to the battle-field;
How nobly he fought by his father's side,
How nobly he battled, how bravely died,
In the rebel ranks, in the foremost line,
On the fatal banks of the Brandywine.
Of her youngest-born and favorite son,
Who marched, with the weapon he scarce could wield,
In his home-spun garb, to the battle-field;
How nobly he fought by his father's side,
How nobly he battled, how bravely died,
In the rebel ranks, in the foremost line,
On the fatal banks of the Brandywine.
She can tell how her heart with pain would beat.
When she saw the naked and bleeding feet
Of those who fought for their country's rights,
Through scorching days and wintry nights;
How her eyes with indignant fire would flash,
When she saw the British squadrons dash
When she saw the naked and bleeding feet
Of those who fought for their country's rights,
Through scorching days and wintry nights;
How her eyes with indignant fire would flash,
When she saw the British squadrons dash
