Classic Poem

On ce more run Lacquey Muse the Councel tell,
What sad Defeat our hopeful Band befell:
Since Fifty odd of Valours choicest Sons,
Sinke into Deaths retiring Room at once.
The Natives Scouts, like living baits were trail'd,
With Umbrages of mighty Rocks and Holes;
(Eit Pallaces for such perfideous souls.
Some to our Linx-ey'd Centinels appear,
And quickly run as if possest with fear:
Ours chase, they halt; We gain, they lightly fly,
As if some Gad be stung upon the Thigh.
One while they linger, falsly to give hope,
While to trapan, is their disguized scope;
Into a Labyrinth) or a natural maze,
Of hideous thickets and unbeaten wayes;
Ours close pursue them, and as close their fate,
Smelling their Treachery when 'twas too late,
A Race of Natives, as if newly hatcht,
Starts from their Dens, and soon our friends dispatch,
Here was of Indians too a plenteous Fair,
The Chapmen Devils, hovering in the Air:
But ah with Tears I may the Reader tell,
A little Host of English down there fell:
Two hardy Captains, many manly hearts,
Then felt the Bullets with the venom'd darts.
The Parents Vesture with the purple stain'd
Of his Ascanius by him newly braind.
Euryalus his Soul reaks through the wound,
Of Nisus gasping by upon the ground;
While the Rutilian like enraged bears,
The Garments; with Mens Skins, asunder tears:
One seeks his Head, scrambling for breathing room,
By Lethal pangs; a second reads his doom
In Vellome Rolls, flead off his right hand man:
Which they send home for Sagamores to tan;
With Scalpes, according to whose number they,
Receive brave Titles and some rich Array:
Our numerous Scars, like stars in bodies shone,
Who have for each a glorious Trophie wone:
From this Aceldama they post away,
To the Grand General for their ready pay:
While fellow Soudiers who escape the dint,
Bounce our Exchecquers, but find little in't.