Classic Poem

My heart goes back to rhyme
Upon that olden time!
Three hundred years are fled,
The ancient speech is dead,
Since on the isle of Tinicum,
Green as an emerald fair,
Rimmed by the Delaware,
Was heard the morning drum,
Or evening church-bells' chime.
Eyeing the drowsy flood,
A mighty mansion stood;
Builded of brick and wood
Carried from Sweden's shore
By Printz, the Governor.
Herein he drank his wine,
Watching the river shine
Beyond the level fields.
Here, proud and wild,
The sachems filed,
And found him just and mild.
But never yields
The sword he wields,
Nor pales his brow of tan,
Before the Holland man,
Before Manhattan's clan.
Gaily and gallantly,
Symbol of victory,
Fair Sweden's banner blows,
Nor rival fears nor knows!