When the snow is on the ridge, and a rime upon the bridge
and the whippoorwill calls out in solemn tones,
Over wooden span and arch in my scarlet coat I march -
I'm the shade of British soldier William Jones.
I was raised upon this soil - a New England farm my toil -
and brought up a faithful subject of the Crown.
Though the rebels cussed and swore at the scarlet coat I wore,
I fought for King George, to put sedition down!
Though it gives some people pause, there's a true and loyal cause,
there's a greater good, a better song to sing;
In the tavern by the forge, a good health to German George
I would drink, and wish a long life to our King.
When the snow is on the ridge, and a rime upon the bridge
and the whippoorwill calls out in solemn tones,
Over wooden span and arch in my scarlet coat I march -
I'm the shade of British soldier William Jones.
Though the contrabandiers' plaint seemed legitimate - it ain't -
for the tea they dumped at Boston, it was cheap!
Contrabandiers hated tax, but our English laws were lax;
As the rebels sowed, as surely they would reap!
And the contrabandiers' ploy - throwing snowballs at a boy -
there were stones inside them to provoke a fight...
Then a "massacre" they cried, and though many people died
now their propaganda hides the truth from sight.
When the snow is on the ridge, and a rime upon the bridge
and the whippoorwill calls out in solemn tones,
Over wooden span and arch in my scarlet coat I march -
I'm the shade of British soldier William Jones.
With a Hessian on my left, and my gun at shoulder-heft,
I marched bravely from my Massachusetts farm;
With a Mohawk at my side, I set off to stem the tide
of sedition, and protect the Law from harm.
Though the foe that I did face was like me, of native race,
it was he who marched to perpetrate a lie;
Though our culture was the same - why, I even knew his name -
we were mortal, and each one of us could die.
When the snow is on the ridge, and a rime upon the bridge
and the whippoorwill calls out in solemn tones,
Over wooden span and arch in my scarlet coat I march -
I'm the shade of British soldier William Jones.
Maybe things ain't as they're taught, maybe war is good for naught -
there were heroes, there were villains on each side;
If a monument you'd raise, or you'd sing a song of praise,
then kneel on the ground where we all fought and died,
Search among the mould and spall, till you find a musket ball,
and make that your icon, set it up on high -
Such a thing can stop your breath, save your life, or bring you death...
think upon it when you ask a man to die!
When the snow is on the ridge, and a rime upon the bridge
and the whippoorwill calls out in solemn tones,
Over wooden span and arch in my scarlet coat I march -
I'm the shade of British soldier William Jones.
So I fell, and now the bones of poor farmer William Jones
lie beneath his native clay in silent rest,
On a Massachusetts farm, far from trumpet’s shrill alarm,
I would seem to sleep the slumber of the blessed.
But my lonely ghost now walks with a thousand others, stalks
o'er the old North Bridge. The beauty of the scene
Belies all the pain and blood, all the marching and the mud -
we march into dark, as though we'd never been...
When the snow is on the ridge, and a rime upon the bridge
and the whippoorwill calls out in solemn tones,
Over wooden span and arch in my scarlet coat I march -
I'm the shade of British soldier William Jones -
Through the snowy winter night, in the deathly pale moonlight,
with my spectre-comrades, dressed in blue or red.
All you people of the town, safe beneath your eiderdown,
think not on us... no... for we are all long dead!
Author notes
I thought I would write something which took issue with the American Dream from its inception, and present an alternative view of history. It is worth remembering that in the America of the 1770s, not everyone was a Revolutionary; damn near half the population was Tory, and many fought for the Crown.
In a list
A contest entry
- Old North Bridge by Tirrell.
460 points, ended March 30, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - The American Dream Winklings Contest #98 by Lyndon.
8000 points, ended August 5, 2008, 21 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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I still love this one...
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I'm quite proud of it myself - it was written during my spate of ballad-writing. I wish it had earned more recognition.
(oops - I wrote that comment having forgotten that you were one of the setters of the contests this went in for. My bad, as they say)
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Quite so...your notes lend the write a distinctive
view not seen so far in this theme. Beautifully written although it quite exceeds this theme's set
guidelines. Still, I admire the voice here and
the repetition lends a strength throughout. Blue -
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"it quite exceeds this theme's set guidelines" - you think so? Ah, I see what you mean, the length. I seem to recall checking with Ron in advance, and he asked me to enter, length notwithstanding.
I am glad you enjoyed it nonetheless.
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In the opening of mosses from an old manse, Hawthorne gives an account of the history of the grave of two brittish soldiers who fell at the bridge during the brittish retreat, and also at his curiosity to see the truth. There was a fellow from my home town, who did great things for the crown, as a spy. And later for humanity, Sir Benjermin Tompson, aka Count Rumpford.
I did enjoy this poem quite well
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Indeed. And he must be one of the most prominent Loyalists to have a statue standing in the USA - I believe it stands outside the library in Woburn, MA.
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Perfection in composition and I expect no less from one of the greatest poets I know. A ballard it is and a ballard well sung. Reading your notes after I finished the poem, I smiled. You know more about American history than most Americans.
Love,
Amera
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<- (History major)
It's a great thing when someone reviews a poem of mine and uses a word like perfection. It isn't easy to take an (accurate) swipe at a national icon, but on the other hand I have done it for Scottish icons before. I am so glad you like it.
M
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Wonderful classic effort
A moving vividly painted movie that builds to a poignant ending that although sad brings a wealth of understanding feelings. If set to music or not this is still a magnificent poem and it is great to see that it was concieved and written from the opposiate side of the world to where it was portrayed. Gripping and moving and something which will linger for a lond time even though the individual words have faded already.
Bazza
It is times like this that awarding 3 applauds becomes an insult to the calibre of the work for it is above most others I have awarded three to.
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Bazza, I can only say thank you for those words.
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As a song--excellent. As a poem, also good, but one or two of your lines scan less than perfectly. For example "I fought for King George, to put sedition down" doesn't sound right to my ears. The good definitely outweighs the bad, though.
Bill
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Eleven syllables and in the same rhythm as the corresponding lines: di di dah di dah - di dah di dah di dah (the caesura is not always there, by the way, sometimes it is shifted, but it is always implied).
I am glad you think the good outweighs the bad. That's encouraging. Thanks for the applause.
M
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proper poems that almost don't need music to become songs are the poems that I admire most. I think I have managed it 2 or 3 times but this knocks mine out of the game.
I am in awe.
Simply in awe.
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And I am deeply honoured by that comment. Thank you.
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This is a beautiful song. I love it. How did you manage to get into the mind of an English person feeling superior? I could feel this so strongly coming through. Ha ha ha. Just kidding. This is just wonderful. Do I have your permission to write a tune for it if I can spare the time?
My ancestors were there... one was an officer at Bunker Hill. I feel obligated to write an opposition song now.
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Allan, knock yourself out - really - it would be great. I have only written a few things which I think could be set to music ("The Ballad of the Northern Traveller" being one), but if you think you could fit a tune to this, go for it! Thank you.
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Aye, 'tis true what you pen.
Brilliantly penned with sorrow for those who were embroiled in such a conflict. I admire poems based on history very much and yours is splendid. 
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Thank you warmly, Melodies.
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