I tell not now the whole of the battle,
But one brigade early in the forenoon order'd forward to
     engage the red-coats,
Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march'd,
And how long and well it stood confronting death.

Who do you think that was marching steadily sternly
     confronting death?
It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong,
Rais'd in Virginia and Maryland, and most of them known
     personally to the General.

Jauntily forward they went with quick step toward Gowanus'
     waters,
Till of a sudden unlook'd for by defiles through the woods,
     gain'd at night,
The British advancing, rounding in from the east, fiercely
     playing their guns,
That brigade of the youngest was cut off and at the enemy's
     mercy.

The General watch'd them from this hill,
They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their
     environment,
Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in
     the middle,
But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and
     thinning them!

It sickens me yet, that slaughter!
I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the
     General.
I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish.

Meanwhile the British manoeuvr'd to draw us out for a
     pitch'd battle,
But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch'd battle.

We fought the fight in detachments,
Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the
     luck was against us,
Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us
     back to the works on this hill,
Till we turn'd menacing here, and then he left us.

That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men,
     two thousand strong,
Few return'd, nearly all remain in Brooklyn.

That and here my General's first battle,
No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not
     conclude with applause,
Nobody clapp'd hands here then.

But in darkness in mist on the ground under a chill rain,
Wearied that night we lay foil'd and sullen,
While scornfully laugh'd many an arrogant lord off against
     us encamp'd,
Quite within hearing, feasting, clinking wineglasses together
     over their victory.

So dull and damp and another day,
But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing,
Silent as a ghost while they thought they were sure of him,
     my General retreated.

I saw him at the river-side,
Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation;
My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all
     pass'd over,
And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him
     for the last time.

Every one else seem'd fill'd with gloom,
Many no doubt thought of capitulation.

But when my General pass'd me,
As he stood in his boat and look'd toward the coming sun,
I saw something different from capitulation.

Terminus

Enough, the Centenarian's story ends,
The two, the past and present, have interchanged,
I myself as connecter, a chansonnier of a great future, am
     now speaking.

And is this the ground Washington trod?
And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters
     he cross'd,