Late commander of the United States frigate Chesapeake, who fell in the action, with the british ship of war Shannon, June 1st. 1813
To lift his name to high renown His native merits led the way; His morning sun resplendent shone Till clouds obscured the fading ray: His country's voice his worth confess'd, His country's tears disclose the rest, In battle brave, his lofty mind Aspired to all that fame relates Of those, who on her page we find Defenders of insulted states: Of all who fought, or all who fell, The noblest part he copied well.
For Lawrence dead, his Jersey mourns, With tearful eye laments the day When all the worth that men adorns One fatal moment snatch'd away! On honor's bed his doom he found, In honor's cause, the deadly wound.
To what vast heights his mind aspired, Who knew him best can best relate:-- A longer term the cause required That urged him to an early fate: But He, whose fires illumed his breast, Knew what was right and what was best.
His country to her breast receives His mangled form, and holds it dear; She plants her marble, while she grieves, Where all, who read, might drop a tear, And say, while memory calls to mind The chief, who with our worthies shined, Here Lawrence rests, his country's pride, On valor's decks who fought and died!
Where Niagara's awful roar Convulsive shakes the neighboring shore, Alarm'd I heard the trump of war, Saw legions join!
And such a blast, of old, they blew, When southward from st. Lawrence flew The indian, to the english true, Led by Burgoyne.
United, then, they sail'd Champlain, United now, they march again, A land of freedom to profane With savage yell.
For this they scour the mountain wood; Their errand, death, their object, blood: For this they stem thy subject flood, O stream Sorel!
Who shall repulse the hireling host, Who force them back through snow and frost, Who swell the lake with thousands lost, Dear freedom? say!--
Who but the sons of freedom's land, Prepared to meet the bloody band; Resolved to make a gallant stand Where lightnings play.
Their squadrons, arm'd with gun and sword, Their legions, led by knight and lord Have sworn to see the reign restored Of George, the goth;
Whose mandate, from a vandal shore, Impels the sail, directs the oar, And, to extend the flames of war, Employs them both.