Song of Marion’s Men

OUR 1 band is few, but true and tried,   Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles   When Marion’s name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood,   Our tent the cypress-tree; We know the forest round us,   As seamen know the sea; We know its walls of thorny vines,   Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands   Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery   That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight   A strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on fire,   They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us   Are beat to earth again; And they who fly in terror deem   A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands   Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release   From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over,   And share the battle’s spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout,   As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered   To crown the soldier’s cup. With merry songs we mock the wind   That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly   On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon   The band that Marion leads,— The glitter of their rifles,   The scampering of their steeds. ’T is life to guide the fiery barb   Across the moonlight plain; ’T is life to feel the night-wind   That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp—   A moment—and away Back to the pathless forest,   Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee,   Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion,   For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band   With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer,   And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms,   And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton   Forever from our shore. Note 1. General Francis Marion, of South Carolina, renowned as a daring patriot partisan leader during the Revolutionary War. [back]