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Rh In their clothes of more hues than the rainbow of summer,
 * Or the dress which the Patriarch wore when a child.

Unawed by court-martials, by fines or by fears, They glow with the feelings of free Volunteers.

Yes! long live the Militia! that free school of glory
 * Where Mapes, Colden, and Steddiford took their degree;

Lives there a man who ne’er heard their proud story,
 * What an ignorant, unlettered cub he must be!

From the Battery flag-staff their fame has ascended
 * To the sand-hills of Greenwich and plains of Bellevue;

And the belles of Park Place for the palm have contended
 * Of rewarding the feats they have promised to do!

Let the poets of Europe still scribble as hard as
 * They please, of their Cæsars and Bonys to tell—

Be ours the bright names of Laight, Ward, and Bogardus,
 * And that promising genius, the bold Colonel Pell.

H.