But the breeze of peace shall gently breathe,
Like the winds that murmur low.


The song was well received by the company, who were not disposed to be
critical. The drum and fife were then brought into play, Brown and
Hanson, without entreaty, striking up, "Come out, ye Continentallers."
This rollicking tune called up such laughable associations, that one of
the young men proposed that it should be sung. No one knew it entire,
except Brown, the fifer, who had been the musician of his mess as well
as of the company, and Brown complied with the repeated entreaties of
the young men, singing the following ludicrous words in a cracked and
weak remnant of a voice.


Come out, ye continentallers!
We're going for to go
To fight the red-coat enemy,
Who're plaguy "cute," you know.

Now, shoulder whoop!--eyes right and dress--
Front!--Davis, wipe your nose--
Port whoop!--that's slick--now, carry whoop!
Mike Jones, turn out your toes.

Charge bagnet!--that's your sort, my boys:
Now, quick time!--march!--that's right;
Just so we'd poke the enemy,
If they were but in sight.