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34. Some men were chose to meet this flag,

Our colonel was the chief,

Who soon returned and in his mouth,
He brought an olive leaf.

35. This olive leaf was granted life,
But then we must no more
Pretend to fight with Britain's king,
Until the wars are o'er.

36. And now poor Westmoreland is lost,
Our forts are all resigned,
Our buildings they are all on fire,-
What shelter can we find?

37. They did agree in black and white,
If we'd lay down our arms,
That all who pleased might quietly
Remain upon their farms.

38. But O! they've robbed us of our all,
They've taken all but life,

And we'll rejoice and bless the Lord,
If this may end the strife.

39. And now I've told my mournful tale,
I hope you'll all agree,

To help our cause and break the jaws
Of cruel tyranny.

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THE MONUMENT.

"Death is the worst-a fate that all must try-
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die:
The gallant man, though slain in fight he be,
Yet leaves his nation safe, his children free;
Entails a debt on all the grateful state-
His own brave friends shall glory in his fate;
His wife live honour'd; all his race succeed,
And late posterity enjoy the deed."

ILIAD, Book, 15, v. 580.

NOT doubting it will prove a subject of interest to many readers, and perhaps be a matter of useful reference hereafter, we proceed to place on record the measures adopted to procure the erection of a monument over the remains of those patriots who fell in the battle, and the steps which were taken to obtain from Connecticut some mark of recognition and regard in requital for the sufferings of the Wyoming people in her cause.

So early as 1809, 36 years ago, several essays were published intended to awaken public attention to the fitness of erecting a monument over the remains of those who fell in the battle. Among others, it being the second or third written by the author of this work, the following appeared in the Wilkesbarre paper of Nov. 3d of that year.

"THE WYOMING MASSACRE.

"Alas!-the horrors of that bloody scene are still fresh in my recollection. The time that has passed since that fatal day seems only like a dream of the night, and all the circumstances of the battle rise on my memory like the events of yesterday. I behold our little band of warriors, full of ardour, marching forth to the engagement; I see the commander, firm and steady, cheering the soldiers to do their duty like men, worthy of themselves and worthy of their country. I well remember, on the morning of the battle, an old man-God bless his memory, for he was a brave one-who insisted on joining the little band of patriots. He had fought under Wolfe at Quebec, and had approved himself a soldier, but age had unnerved his arm, and the frosts of seventy winters had whitened his locks like the snows that crown the summit of Cotopaxi. Two of his sons had already joined the troops; a younger one of seventeen was preparing to follow. The drum sounded the alarm, the hum of active preparation arose from the camp; the old man's eye beamed with the ardour of the warrior; his soul swelled with the proud hope that he could be useful to his country; he seized his rifle, and vain were the entreaties of his son; his daughter dissuaded him in vain; he rushed to the camp resolved to conquer or to perish. The battle raged on our right. Brandt with his savage myrmidons poured from the thicket that flanked our left wing; vain were all our efforts to bear up against the vast superiority of numbers. Like a torrent from the mountain swelled with ceaseless rain, pouring with irresistible fury on the valley, so poured forth the herds of savages from their coverts on our devoted left, until retreat was hopeless and victory impossible. Fickle fortune smiled for awhile on our right. There the gallant Butler, cool and intrepid, directed the storm. He rode steadily in our front, pressed on the foe, and victory hovered over and fanned him with her pinions. But alas, unsustained, every effort was vain, and the reluctant retreat was forced by a prudent affection for the safety of the troops that were left. Then followed all the fury of savage warfare. Fiends seemed to have joined the engagement. I still hear the savage yell rise and mingle with the groans of the dying. I see the spear gleam dreadful, as it flies and arrests its victim. I saw

the old man turn like a wounded panther on the foe; three savages fell by his arm, but a fourth cleft his white locks: he died gloriously. Ruin wide and awful extended o'er the plains. The flames of our habitations rose and threw a lurid light athwart the gloom of the evening. But dreadful was the night that followed. The fearful anxiety of the friends of those who went to battle, the agonizing cries of those who had fallen alive into the hands of the savages, the horrors of the midnight sacrifice, all form a scene that, even at this distant day, the mind cannot contemplate without horror.

"Few only escaped the slaughter. Many were the brave men who fell. Never have I rested in quiet since that day, because no testimonial of respect has been paid to the memory of the slain. Now since it is proposed to raise a monument over them do I rejoice. Our old men will be glad that those who fell in the cause of freedom are not unregarded. Our young men shall gather round the tomb; reflect on the virtues of their fathers; their souls shall catch fire as at the altarthey shall swear a new devotion to liberty, and new fealty to their country. Thus shall the monument do justice to the memory of departed patriots.

"The old shall be gratified; the young shall be inspired-I will give my mite with pleasure. Where is the patriot who will not?"

Subsequently, in March, 1810, an irregular ode, of soul-stirring interest, understood to be from the pen of CHARLES F. WELLS, Esq., was published.

"WARRIORS OF WYOMING.

"O! haughty was the hour,

The hum, the brave array,

When sallied forth Wyoming's power,
Upon the battle day.

"But soon, when hemmed by sudden foes,
They gathered round to fight and die,
O! horrid was the shout that rose,
And long and deep the dying cry.

"Fierce was the fight of strong despair
And fierce the savage yell,
And dreadful was the carnage where
The warriors of Wyoming fell.

"No shouting of victorious pride

Deceived the brave man's dying breath,

But murder rag'd on every side,

And heavy blows, and blood and death.

"O, gloomy was the day,

When the widow'd mother heard

The roar of battle die away,

And no returning band appear'd.

"No more their burning hamlets gleam,
Along the narrow heath,

Nor stretching o'er the midnight stream,
Reflect the fire of death.

"No more their little fort around,

The warriors of Wyoming throng,
They sleep beneath the frozen ground
Where the wind howls loud and long.

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