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The Old Continentals
a poem by Guy McMaster

The Old Continentals
by Guy McMaster

In their ragged regimentals 
Stood the old continentals, 
Yielding not, 
When the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 
When the files 
Of the isles 
From the smoky night encampment, bore the banner of the rampant 
And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer, 
Through the morn! 
Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with guns horizontal, 
Stood our sires; 

And the balls whistled deadly, 
And in streams flashing redly 
Blazed the fires; 
As the roar 
On the shore, 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres 
Of the plain; 
And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder, 
Cracking amain! 

Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red St. George's 
And the "villainous saltpetre" 
Rung a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears; 
As the swift 
With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards' clangor 
On our flanks. 
Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire 
Through the ranks! 

Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white infernal 
And his broad-sword was swinging, 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew, 
And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden 
And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six pounder, 
Hurling death! 

The Old Continentals
by Guy McMaster

The Old Continentals - a poem by Guy McMaster

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