No common heel it has known,
For each space, I see by the setting,
Once held some precious stone.

And here--not far from the buckle--
Do my eyes deceive their sight?--
Two letters are here engraven,
That initial a hero's might!
'G.W.'! Saints of heaven!
Can such things in our lives occur?
Do I grasp such a priceless treasure?
Was this _George Washington's spur_?

Did the brave old _Pater Patrioe_
Wear that spur like a belted knight--
Wear it through gain and disaster,
From Cambridge to Monmouth flight?
Did it press his steed in hot anger
On Long Island's day of pain?
Did it drive him, at terrible Princeton,
'Tween two storms of leaden rain?

And here--did the buckle loosen,
And no eye look down to see,
When he rode to blast with the lightning
The shrinking eyes of Lee?
Did it fall, unfelt and unheeded,
When that fight of despair was won,
And Clinton, worn and discouraged,
Crept away at the set of sun?