AARON BURR'S WOOING
There shall come no harm from hostile arm—
No evil chance befall!
"The yongens and the meisjes
Shall have their hosen filled;
The butcher and the baker,
And every honest guild,
Shall merrily thrive and flourish;
Good-night, and be of cheer;
We may safely lay us down again
To sleep another year!"
Once more the pipes are waved,
Stout Petrus gives the sign,
The misty smoke enfolds them round,—
Him and his burghers nine.
All, when the cloud has lifted,
Have vanished quite away,
And the crowing cock and steeple clock
Proclaim 't is Christmas-Day.
1882.
AARON BURR'S WOOING
From the commandant's quarters on Westchester height
The blue hills of Ramapo lie in full sight;
On their slope gleam the gables that shield his heart's queen,
But the redcoats are wary—the Hudson's between.
Through the camp runs a jest: "There's no moon—'t will be dark;
'T is odds little Aaron will go on a spark!"
And the toast of the troopers is: "Pickets, lie low,
And good luck to the colonel and Widow Prevost!"
Eight miles to the river he gallops his steed,
Lays him bound in the barge, bids his escort make speed,
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