Subject: The Song of Marion's Men - by Bryant Source: Lossing's Field Book of the Revolution Vol. II p.477/478 Among the bold, energetic and faithful patriots of the South, none holds a firmer place in the affections of the American people than General Francis Marion, born at Winyaw, near Georgetown, South Carolina in 1732. His adventures were full of the spirit of romance and his whole military life was an epic poem. The followers of Robin Hood were never more devoted to their chief than were the men of Marion's Brigade to their beloved leader. Bryant has sketched a graphic picture of that noble band, in his: SONG OF MARION'S MEN Our band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good green wood, Our tent the cypress tree; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass; Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English sodiery, That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight, A strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again; And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release >From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gather'd To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads, The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds, 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp - A moment - and away Back to the pathless forest. Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs, Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more, Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore. Marion's remains are in the church yard at Belle Isle in the parish of St. John's, Berkleley. Over them is a marble slab, upon which is the following inscription: "Sacred to the Memory of Brigadier General Francis Marion, who departed this life on the twenty-ninth of February, 1795, in the sixty-third year of his age, deeply regretted by all of his fellow-citizens. History will record his worth, and rising generations embalm his memory, as one of the most distinguished patriots and heroes of the American Revolution; which elevated his native country to Honor and Independence, and secured to her the blessings of liberty and peace. This tribute of veneration and gratitude is erected in com- memoration of the noble and disinterested virtues of the citizen, and the gallant exploits of the soldier, who lived without fear and died without reproach." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Transcribed by Janice Farnsworth