Highlands of Hudson! ye saw them pass,
Night on the stars of their battle-flag,
Threading the maze of the dark morass
Under the frown of the Thunder Crag;

Flower and pride of the Light-armed Corps,
Trim in their trappings of Buff and Blue,
Silent, they skirted the rugged shore,
Grim in the promise of work to do.

“Cross ye the ford to the moated rock!
Let not a whisper your march betray!
Out with the flint from the musket-lock!
Now!—let the bayonet find the way!”

“Halt!” rang the sentinel's challenge clear.
Swift came the shot of the waking foe.
Bright flashed the ax of the pioneer
Smashing the abatis, blow on blow.

Little they tarried for British might!
Little they recked of the Tory jeers!
Laughing, they swarmed to the crested height,
Steel to the steel of the Grenadiers!

Storm King and Dunderberg! wake once more,
Sentinel giants of Freedom's throne,
Massive and proud! to the eastern shore
Bellow the watchword: “The fort's our own!”

Echo the cannon's triumphant peal!
Shout for the hero who led his band,
Swept on a billow of burnished steel
Over the parapet, “spear in hand!”