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Yet round thee are assembled now
New chieftains, all intent as thou
On hard militia duty:
Here’s King,¹³ conspicuous for his hat,
And Ferris Pell, for God knows what,
And Bayard, for his beauty.

These are but colonels—there are hosts
Of higher grades, like Banquo’s ghosts,
Upon my sight advancing;
In truth they made e’en Jackson stare,
When in the Park, up-tossed in air,
He saw their plumage dancing.

Yet I should wrong them not to name
Two Major-Generals, high in fame,
By Heaven! a gallant pair!
(They haven’t any soldiers yet,)
His Honor, General by brevet,
Bogardus, brevet Mayor.

Should England dare to send again
Her scoundrel red-coats o’er the main,
I fear some sad disaster;
Each soldier wears an epaulette,
The Guards have turned a capering set,
And want a dancing-master.