With knees pressing the saddle, erect in his seat
Hans rode into town through long Albany Street
Where he gazed with fresh joy at the tall stately stores
All with large, painted signs overhanging their doors,
So distinctly each lettered on wood, or on tin;
Without asking he knew who were merchants within.
In the heart of the city appeared to his ken
The endless long line of fair women and men,
And though bells were not ringing he had not a doubt
That service, was over, and church was just out,
And surmised, as he gazed on the gaily dressed crowd,
That New Brunswick's fine town-folks were all over-proud
In not giving to strangers that shake of the hand
That plain folks would give in Neshanic's green land.
At a window where brokers pile high their bright gold
He was gazing, and dreaming of riches untold,
When he heard a voice cry, "The British have come!"
Then approaching him near the clear tap of the drum.
Soon quivered the air to the bugle's loud blast,
And in martial array came a squad marching fast-
Not the soldiers of Howe and in red coats of flame,
But wild urchins, who mimicked war's blustering game.
On perceiving them Hans was stricken with fear
That each boy in the ranks seemed a tall grenadier;
Each gay feather a plume arid each broomstick a gun,
With a bayonet flashing the light of the sun.
Then the whip and the spur with wild vigor applying,
Up long Albany Street he rode galloping, flying
Far away from the foeman who had taken the town.
With a hand on the pommel to hold his weight down,
He rode galloping, flying past meadow and wood,
With the wild fear of danger ever chilling his blood,
And as thus he rode on, like an aspen he shook
When he turned in his saddle behind him to look,
For a cloud of red dust that arose in his rear
Seemed a British dragoon at a charge with a spear.
As in his mad flight he was riding adown
The broad highway that leads to old Middlebush town,
Some stray cows that were grazing along the roadside
The wild horse and his rider in wonderment eyed;
And when started the leader, alarmed at the sight,
With long tails high in air, the whole herd took to flight,
And then swiftly together pell-mell they came down
Horse, rider, and cows on old Middlebush town;
While the citizens hearing the noise and the clatter
From their houses all ran to see what was the matter;
And preceding the cloud wreath they knew that there must
Be strong winds in its folds to uphold the red dust.
'Twas a whirling tornado, destructive in wrath,
Such as sweeps the green fields, as it speeds on its path,
Bare as lands in the east that the locusts encamp on,
Or the fields through which ran the red foxes of Sampson.
Continue to Part 3 here