ON DEBORAH GANNET

Ye congress men and men of weight,

Who fill the public chairs,

And many a favor have conferr'd

On some, unknown to Mars;

And ye, who hold the post of fame,

The helmsmen of our great affairs,

Afford a calm, attentive ear

To her who handled sword and spear,

A heroine in a bold career,

Assist a war-worn dame.

With the same vigorous soul inspired

As Joan of Arc, of old,

With zeal against the Briton fired,

Her spirit warm and bold,

She march'd to face her country's foes

Disguised in male attire:

Where'er they prowl'd through field or town

With steady step she follow'd on;

Resolved the conflict to sustain,

She met them on the hill, the plain,

And hostile to the English reign,

She hurl'd the blasting fire.

Now for such generous toils endured,

Her day of warfare done,

In life's decline at length reward

This faithful amazon:

She asks no thousands at your hands,

Though mark'd with many a scar;

She asks no share of indian lands,

Though lands you have to spare:

But something in the wane of days

To make her snug, and keep her warm,

A cottage, and the cheery blaze,

To shield her from the storm;

And something to the pocket too,

Your bounty might afford,

Of her, who did our foes pursue

With bayonet, gun, and sword.

Reflect how many tender ties

A female must forego

Ere to the martial camp she flies

To meet the invading foe:

How many bars has nature placed,

And custom many more,

Lest slighted woman should be graced

With trophies gain'd in war.

All these she nobly overcame,

And scorn'd a censuring age,

Join'd in the ranks, her road to fame,

Despis'd the Briton's rage;

And men, who, with contracted mind,

All arrogant, condemn

And make disgrace in womankind

What honor is in them.