Arms And The Man. - The Continentals.

A poem by James Barron Hope

In hunting shirts, or faded blue and buff,
And many clad in simple, rustic stuff,
Their ensigns torn but held by Freedom's hand,
In long-drawn lines the Continentals stand.
To them precision, if not martial grace;
Each heart triumphant but composed each face;
Well taught in military arts by brave Steuben,
With port of soldiers, majesty of men,
All fathers of their Country like a wall
They stand at rest to see the curtain fall.
Well-taught were they by one who learned War's trade
From Frederick, whom not Ruin's self dismayed; -
Well-taught by one who never lost the heat
Caught on an anvil where all Europe beat; -
Beat in a storm of blows, with might and main,
But on that Prussian anvil beat in vain!
And to the gallant race of Steuben's name
That long has held close intercourse with Fame,
This great Republic bows its lofty crest,
And folds his kinsmen to her ample breast:
At fray, or festival, on march or halt,
Von Steuben always far above the salt!

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