9 Best American Revolution Poems

1. Liberty Tree by Thomas Paine (1775)

This poem by Founding Father Thomas Paine celebrates the Liberty Tree, an elm tree that stood in Boston.

The Liberty Tree was used as a starting point for Patriot meetings and protests before the Revolutionary War began, and became a symbol of the resistance effort.

In a chariot of light, from the regions of the day,
The Goddess of Liberty came,
Ten thousand celestials directed her way,
And hither conducted the dame.
A fair budding branch from the gardens above,
Where millions with millions agree,
She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love,
And the plant she named Liberty Tree.

The celestial exotic stuck deep in the ground,
Like a native it flourished and bore;
The fame of its fruit drew the nations around,
To seek out this peaceable shore.
Unmindful of names or distinctions they came,
For freemen like brothers agree;
With one spirit endued, they one friendship pursued,
And their temple was Liberty Tree.

Beneath this fair tree, like the patriarchs of old,
Their bread in contentment they ate,
Unvexed with the troubles of silver or gold,
The cares of the grand and the great.
With timber and tar they Old England supplied,
And supported her power on the sea;
Her battles they fought, without getting a groat,
For the honor of Liberty Tree.

But hear, O ye swains (’tis a tale most profane),
How all the tyrannical powers,
Kings, Commons and Lords, are uniting amain
To cut down this guardian of ours.
From the East to the West blow the trumpet to arms,
Thro’ the land let the sound of it flee;
Let the far and the near all unite with a cheer,
In defense of our Liberty Tree.

2. The American Soldier by Philip Freneau (1790)

Freneau tells the story of a soldier who fought in the Battle of Saratoga, and fell into poverty after the war was won – lamenting the lack of support available to veterans.

Deep in a vale, a stranger now to arms,
Too poor to shine in courts, too proud to beg,
He, who once warred on Saratoga’s plains,
Sits musing o’er his scars, and wooden leg.

Remembering still the toil of former days,
To other hands he sees his earnings paid;–
They share the due reward—he feeds on praise.
Lost in the abyss of want, misfortune’s shade.

Far, far from domes where splendid tapers glare,
‘Tis his from dear bought peace no wealth to win,
Removed alike from courtly cringing ‘squires,
The great-man’s Levee, and the proud man’s grin.

Sold are those arms which once on Britons blazed,
When, flushed with conquest, to the charge they came;
That power repelled, and Freedom’s fabrick raised,
She leaves her soldier—famine and a name!

3. The Battle of the Kegs by Francis Hopkinson (1791)

The Battle of the Kegs provides a humorous recount of an incident that occurred on January 8, 1778, on the Delaware River.

American forces filled kegs with gunpowder and sent them down the river towards the British, hoping they would act as underwater mines, sinking British ships.

The kegs were not effective, but prompted a panicked response from the British, who spent the entire day shooting into the water to blow up any and all pieces of debris they could spot.

Gallants attend, and hear a friend
Trill forth harmonious ditty;
Strange things I’ll tell, which late befel
In Philadelphia city.

‘Twas early day, as Poets say,
Just when the sun was rising;
A soldier stood on a log of wood
And saw a sight surprising.

As in a maze he stood to gaze,
The truth can’t be deny’d, Sir;
He spy’d a score of kegs, or more,
Come floating down the tide, Sir.

A sailor too, in jerkin blue,
This strange appearance viewing,
First damn’d his eyes in great surprize,
Then said — “Some mischief’s brewing:

“These kegs now hold the rebels bold
Pack’d up like pickl’d herring,
And they’re come down t’attack the town
In this new way of ferrying.”

The soldier flew, the sailor too,
And scar’d almost to death, Sir,
Wore out their shoes to spread the news,
And ran ’til out of breath, Sir.

Now up and down throughout the town
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cry’d, which some deny’d,
But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran thro’ the streets half naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a snoring;
Nor dreamt of harm, as he lay warm
In bed with Mrs. Loring .

Now in a fright he starts upright,
Awak’d by such a clatter;
First rubs his eyes, then boldly cries,
“For God’s sake, what’s the matter?”

At his bed side he then espy’d
Sir Erskine at command, Sir;
Upon one foot he had one boot
And t’other in his hand, Sir.

“Arise, arise, ” Sir Erskine cries,
“The rebels — more’s the pity!
Without a boat, are all afloat
And rang’d before the city.

“The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, Sir,
Pack’d up in bags, and wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, Sir.

“Therefore prepare for bloody war,
These kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despis’d shall be,
And British valour doubted.”

The royal band now ready stand,
All rang’d in dread array, Sir,
On every slip, in every ship,
For to begin the fray, Sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began I’m sure no man
E’er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales — the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded;
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,
Attack’d from ev’ry quarter;
Why sure, thought they, the De’il’s to pay
‘Mong folks above the water.

The kegs, ’tis said, tho’ strongly made
Of rebel staves and hoops, Sir,
Could not oppose their pow’rful foes,
The conqu’ring British troops, Sir.

From morn to night these men of might
Display’d amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retir’d to sup their porridge.

One hundred men, with each a pen
Or more, upon my word, Sir,
It is most true, would be too few
Their valour to record, Sir.

Such feats did they perform that day
Against these wicked kegs, Sir,
That years to come, if they get home ,
They’ll make their boasts and brag, Sir.

4. Paul Revere’s Ride by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1861)

This poem celebrates Paul Revere’s midnight ride on April 18-19, 1775, when he famously rode from Boston to Lexington, along with other Patriots, to warn others about an oncoming British advance.

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,—
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,—
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,—
A line of black, that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed on the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
That rises when the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

5. To His Excellency General Washington by Phillis Wheatley (1776)

Phillis Wheatley arrived in America from West Africa as a slave of the Wheatley family. While enslaved, she began writing poetry, and is the nation’s first famous African-American poet.

In 1776, she wrote this poem praising George Washington’s leadership during the Revolutionary War.

Celestial choir! enthron’d in realms of light,
Columbia’s scenes of glorious toils I write.
While freedom’s cause her anxious breast alarms,
She flashes dreadful in refulgent arms.
See mother earth her offspring’s fate bemoan,
And nations gaze at scenes before unknown!
See the bright beams of heaven’s revolving light
Involved in sorrows and the veil of night!

The Goddess comes, she moves divinely fair,
Olive and laurel binds Her golden hair:
Wherever shines this native of the skies,
Unnumber’d charms and recent graces rise.

Muse! Bow propitious while my pen relates
How pour her armies through a thousand gates,
As when Eolus heaven’s fair face deforms,
Enwrapp’d in tempest and a night of storms;
Astonish’d ocean feels the wild uproar,
The refluent surges beat the sounding shore;
Or think as leaves in Autumn’s golden reign,
Such, and so many, moves the warrior’s train.
In bright array they seek the work of war,
Where high unfurl’d the ensign waves in air.
Shall I to Washington their praise recite?
Enough thou know’st them in the fields of fight.
Thee, first in peace and honors—we demand
The grace and glory of thy martial band.
Fam’d for thy valour, for thy virtues more,
Hear every tongue thy guardian aid implore!

One century scarce perform’d its destined round,
When Gallic powers Columbia’s fury found;
And so may you, whoever dares disgrace
The land of freedom’s heaven-defended race!
Fix’d are the eyes of nations on the scales,
For in their hopes Columbia’s arm prevails.
Anon Britannia droops the pensive head,
While round increase the rising hills of dead.
Ah! Cruel blindness to Columbia’s state!
Lament thy thirst of boundless power too late.

Proceed, great chief, with virtue on thy side,
Thy ev’ry action let the Goddess guide.
A crown, a mansion, and a throne that shine,
With gold unfading, WASHINGTON! Be thine.

6. The Wild Honeysuckle by Philip Freneau (1786)

A less literal take on the American Revolution, this poem uses the metaphor of a flower to illustrate the transformative nature of the war, as it gave birth to the United States.

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouch’d thy honey’d blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature’s self in white array’d,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see thy future doom;
They died—nor were those flowers more gay,
(The flowers that did in Eden bloom)
Unpitying frosts and Autumn’s power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The mere idea of a flower.

7. Lexington by Oliver Wendell Holmes (unknown)

Wendall Holmes reflects on the opening battle of the Revolutionary War, describing the grim reality of the conflict, contrasted with the beauty of the landscape on which the fighting occurred.

8. The British Prison Ship by Philip Freneau

9. The Divine Source of Liberty by Samuel Adams (unknown)

In this poem, Founding Father Samuel Adams describes liberty as God’s divine gift.

All temporal power is of God,
And the magistratal, His institution, laud,
To but advance creaturely happiness aubaud:
Let us then affirm the Source of Liberty.

Ever agreeable to the nature and will,
Of the Supreme and Guardian of all yet still
Employed for our rights and freedom’s thrill:
Thus proves the only Source of Liberty.

Though our civil joy is surely expressed
Through hearth, and home, and church manifest,
Yet this too shall be a nation’s true test:
To acknowledge the divine Source of Liberty.