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Still from Washington some traveller, tempted by the easy grades, Through the Long Old Fields continues cantering in the evening shades, Till he hears the frogs and crickets serenading something lost, In the aguey mists of Marlb'ro' banked before him like a frost.
Inland from the river stranded in a cove between the hills, Lies old Marlb'ro' Court and village, acclimated to her chills; And the white mists nightly rising from the swamps that trench her round, Seem the sheeted ghosts of memories buried in that ancient ground.
By the high white gravelled turnpike trails the sunken, copse-grown route, Where the troops of Ross and Cockburn marched to victory, and about, Halting twice at Upper Marlb'ro', where 'tis still tradition's brag, That 'twas Barney got the victory though the British got the swag.
The officer looked at him with mingled surprise and suspicion. "'Is Majesty is sojournin' at Marlb'ro 'Ouse, just now," was the reply. "Per'aps you wants to make 'im a wissit," he continued, with lofty sarcasm. "That's it, exactly," said Rob. "I'm an American, and thought while I was in London I'd drop in on His Royal Highness and say 'hello' to him." The officer chuckled, as if much amused.
But the Capital, rebuilded, counts 'mid towns rebellious this Standing in the old slave region 'twixt it and Annapolis; And the cannons their embrasures on the Anacostia forts Open tow'rd old ruined Marlb'ro' and the dead Patuxent ports.
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