The Britons march'd along the shore, Two hundred men, or somewhat more; Next, through the woods they stray'd: The geese, still watchful, as they went, To save the capitol of Kent Their every step betray'd.
The british march'd with loaded gun To seize the geese that gabbling run About the isle of Kent: But, what could hardly be believed, Sir Peter was of life bereaved Before he pitch'd his tent.
Some kentish lad, to save the geese, And make their noisy gabbling cease Had took a deadly aim: By kentish hands sir Peter fell, His men retreated, with a yell And lost both geese and game!
Now what I say, I say with grief, That such a knight, or such a chief On such an errand died!!! When men of worth their lives expose For little things, where little grows They make the very geese their foes; The geese his fall deride:
And, sure, they laugh, if laugh they can, To see a star and garter'd man For life of goose expose his own, And bite the dust, with many a groan-- Alas! a gander cry'd-- "Behold, (said he,) a man of fame Who all the way from England came No more than just to get the name Of Peter Petrified!"
[207] Sir Peter Parker, commander of the British Frigate _Menelaus_, was prominent for a month in the blockading squadron in Chesapeake Bay during the summer of 1814. After the burning of Washington he was ordered down the bay "but Sir Peter said he 'must have a frolic with the yankees before he left them' and on the 30th of August after dancing and drinking they proceeded to the sport and made a circuitous route to surprise Col. Read encamped in Moore's fields not far from Georgetown X Roads on the eastern shore of Maryland. The Colonel was fully apprised of their proceedings.... The ground was obstinately contended for nearly an hour when the enemy retreated leaving thirteen killed and three wounded on the field. It is ascertained that they carried off seventeen others among whom was Sir Peter who, with several others, are since dead."--_Niles' Register._
Who had the principal command of the english army at the attack upon Baltimore, in which he fell, while out with a reconnoitering party.
Give them the shadow of the cypress bough! The chief who came our prowess to defy, Who came, to bind fresh laurels on his brow, Who came, too sure to conquer not to die:-- Low lies the chief upon th' unconscious plain, The laurels wither, and no wreathes remain.