A Tale of Common Things

Ye gentlemen and ladies fair
Who grace this famous city,
Just listen, if you’ve time to spare,
While I rehearse a ditty;
And for the opportunity
Conceive yourselves quite lucky,
For ’tis not often that you see
A hunter from Kentucky.

Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky!
Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky!

We are a hardy, free-born race,
Each man to fear a stranger;
Whate’er the game, we join in chase,
Despising toil and danger.
And if a daring foe annoys,
Whate’er his strength and forces,
We’ll show him that Kentucky boys
Are alligator horses.

I s’pose you’ve read it in the prints,
How Packenham attempted
To make old Hickory Jackson wince,
But soon his scheme repented;
For we, with rifles ready cock’d,
Thought such occasion lucky,
And soon around the gen’ral flock’d,
The hunters of Kentucky.

You’ve heard, I s’pose, how New-Orleans
Is fam’d for wealth and beauty—
There’s girls of ev’ry hue, it seems,
From snowy white to sooty.
So Packenham he made his brags,
If he in fight was lucky,
He’d have their girls and cotton bags,
In spite of old Kentucky.

But Jackson he was wide awake,
And was not scar’d at trifles,
For well he knew what aim we take,
With our Kentucky rifles:
So he led us down by Cypress swamp,
The ground was low and mucky;
There stood John Bull in martial pomp,
And here was old Kentucky.

A bank was rais’d to hide our breasts,
Not that we thought of dying,
But that we always like to rest,
Unless the game is flying.
Behind it stood our little force,
None wished it to be greater,
For ev’ry man was half a horse,
And half an alligator.

They did not let our patience tire,
Before they show’d their faces;
We did not choose to waste our fire,
So snugly kept our places.
But when so near we saw them wink,
We thought it time to stop ’em,
And ’twould have done you good, I think,
To see Kentuckians drop ’em.

The British found, ’twas vain to fight,
Where lead was all their booty,
And so they wisely took to flight,
And left us all the beauty.
And now, if danger e’er annoys,
Remember what our trade is;
Just send for us Kentucky boys,
And we’ll protect ye, ladies.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

The fearful night came to an end,
Liberty sublime
Is spreading the dawns
Of its invincible light.
The whole of humanity,
Which is groaning under chains,
Understands the words
Of the One who died on the Cross.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

"INDEPENDENCE," cries
The American world;
In heroes' blood is bathing
The Land of Columbus.
But this great principle:
"THE KING IS NOT SOVEREIGN,"
Resounds, and those who suffer
Praise the passion in it.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

On the shores of the Caribbean,
the famished people fight,
choosing the horrors
over fickle health.
O, aye! for Cartagena
heavy is the hardship,
but her virtue
disdains death's rubble.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

From Boyacá in the fields,
the genius of glory,
for every ear a hero
undefeated crowned.
Soldiers without breastplate
won victory;
their virile breath
as shield served.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

Bolívar crosses the Andes
that two oceans bathe,
swords as sparks
shine in Junín.
Untameable centaurs
descend to the plains,
and a prescience begins to be felt,
the epic' end has come.

Oh unfading glory!
Oh immortal joy!
In furrows of pain
Good is already germinating.

The victorious trumpet
in Ayacucho loudly thunders,
that in every triumph grows
its formidable sound.
In its expansive thrust
Liberty is worn for the first time,
from the American sky
a pavilion forming up.

Oh, unfading glory!
Oh, inmortal joy!
In furrows of pain,
the good now germinates

In agony, the Virgin
Tears out her hair,
and bereft of her love,
leaves it to hang on a cypress.
Regretting her hope
is covered by a cold headstone,
but glorious pride
hallows her fair skin.

Oh, unfading glory!
Oh, inmortal joy!
In furrows of pain,
the good now germinates

Thus the motherland is formed,
Thermopylaes are breaking forth;
constellation of cyclops
its night brightened.
The trembling flower
finding the wind mortal,
underneath the laurels
its safety sought.

Oh, unfading glory!
Oh, inmortal joy!
In furrows of pain,
the good now germinates

But it's not complete glory
to defeat in battle,
that the arm that fights
is encouraged by truth.
For independence alone
The great clamour doesn't silence;
if the sun illuminates everyone,
justice is liberty.

Oh, unfading glory!
Oh, inmortal joy!
In furrows of pain,
the good now germinates

From men the rights
Nariño's preaching,
the soul of struggle
was prophetically taught.
When Ricaurte in San Mateo,
in atoms flying,
"Duty before life,"
with flames he wrote.