The Poems of Philip Freneau, Poet of the American Revolution. Volume 2 (of 3)
by Philip Morin Freneau · English · Gutenberg #38529 · 612,105 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Poems of Philip Freneau, Poet of the American Revolution. Volume 2 (of 3)
Author: Philip Morin Freneau
Editor: Fred Lewis Pattee
Release date: January 8, 2012 [eBook #38529]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by David Starner, Stephen Hope and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF PHILIP FRENEAU, POET OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. VOLUME 2 (OF 3) ***
Produced by David Starner, Stephen Hope and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
POEMS OF PHILIP FRENEAU
VOLUME II
THE
POEMS OF PHILIP FRENEAU
POET OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
EDITED FOR
THE PRINCETON HISTORICAL ASSOCIATION
BY
FRED LEWIS PATTEE
OF THE PENNSYLVANIA STATE COLLEGE, AUTHOR OF
"A HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE"
"THE FOUNDATIONS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE" ETC.
VOLUME II
PRINCETON, N.J.
THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
1903
Copyright 1902 by
The Princeton University Library
_C S. Robinson & Co. University Press_
_Princeton N. J._
CONTENTS
PAGE
VOLUME II
PART II _Continued_
_The First Poetic Period. 1775-1781_
GEORGE THE THIRD'S SOLILOQUY 3
SIR HARRY'S INVITATION 7
DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY AND MR. FOX 9
THE BRITISH PRISON SHIP 18
THE SPY 39
PART III
_Era of the Freeman's Journal. 1781-1790_
ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY OF PAUL JONES 75
AN ADDRESS 81
A NEW-YORK TORY 84
TO LORD CORNWALLIS 86
A LONDON DIALOGUE 87
LORD CORNWALLIS TO SIR HENRY CLINTON 89
THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE 91
ON THE FALL OF GENERAL EARL CORNWALLIS 92
TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS 101
ARNOLD'S DEPARTURE 103
PLATO TO THEON 104
PROLOGUE TO A THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENT 108
RUINS OF A COUNTRY INN 110
THE ROYAL ADVENTURER 112
LORD DUNMORE'S PETITION 114
EPIGRAM 116
A SPEECH BY THE KING OF BRITAIN 117
RIVINGTON'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT 120
LINES OCCASIONED BY MR. RIVINGTON'S NEW TITULAR TYPES 124
LINES ON MR. RIVINGTON'S NEW ENGRAVED KING'S ARMS 125
A PROPHECY, WRITTEN 1782 126
THE ARGONAUT OR LOST ADVENTURER 128
THE POLITICAL BALANCE 130
DIALOGUE AT HYDE PARK CORNER 140
ON THE LATE ROYAL SLOOP OF WAR GENERAL MONK 142
TRUTH ANTICIPATED 143
BARNEY'S INVITATION 147
SONG ON CAPTAIN BARNEY'S VICTORY 149
ON SIR HENRY CLINTON'S RECALL 153
SIR GUY CARLETON'S ADDRESS 156
SCANDANAVIAN WAR SONG 159
THE PROJECTORS 160
ON GENERAL ROBERTSON'S PROCLAMATION 162
A PICTURE OF THE TIMES 165
PRINCE WILLIAM HENRY'S SOLILOQUY 167
SATAN'S REMONSTRANCE 169
THE REFUGEES' PETITION TO SIR GUY CARLETON 172
SIR GUY'S ANSWER 173
TO A CONCEALED ROYALIST 174
TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST, IN ANSWER TO A SECOND ATTACK 177
TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST ON HIS FAREWELL 179
TO THE ROYALIST UNVEILED 181
TO SHYLOCK AP-SHENKIN 185
THE PROPHECY OF KING TAMMANY 187
RIVINGTON'S REFLECTIONS 190
NEW YEAR'S VERSES, JANUARY 1, 1783 197
NEW YEAR'S VERSES, JANUARY 8, 1783 198
HUGH GAINE'S LIFE 201
STANZAS OCCASIONED BY THE DEPARTURE OF THE BRITISH FROM
CHARLESTON, DECEMBER 14, 1782 214
ON THE BRITISH KING'S SPEECH 217
A NEW-YORK TORY'S EPISTLE 219
MANHATTAN CITY 223
VERSES OCCASIONED BY GENERAL WASHINGTON'S ARRIVAL IN
PHILADELPHIA 225
RIVINGTON'S CONFESSIONS 229
A NEWS-MAN'S ADDRESS 238
NEW YEAR'S VERSES, JANUARY 7, 1784 240
THE HAPPY PROSPECT 242
THE DYING INDIAN, TOMO-CHEQUI 243
LINES INTENDED FOR MR. PEALE'S EXHIBITION 246
THE HURRICANE 250
TO THE KEEPER OF THE KING'S WATER WORKS 252
LINES WRITTEN AT PORT ROYAL 253
TO SIR TOBY, A SUGAR PLANTER 258
ELEGY ON MR. ROBERT BELL 260
ON THE FIRST AMERICAN SHIP THAT EXPLORED THE ROUT TO INDIA 261
THE NEWSMONGER 263
SKETCHES OF AMERICAN HISTORY 269
THE PROGRESS OF BALLOONS 276
ON THE EMIGRATION TO AMERICA 280
THE SEASONS MORALIZED 282
ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL LAURENS 283
ON THE VICISSITUDES OF THINGS 284
PEWTER-PLATTER ALLEY IN PHILADELPHIA 287
ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL JOSEPH REED 288
A RENEGADO EPISTLE 290
THE AMERICAN SIBERIA 293
EPISTLE TO SYLVIUS 295
THE DEPARTURE, 1785 298
A NEWSMAN'S ADDRESS 301
LITERARY IMPORTATION 303
THE ENGLISHMAN'S COMPLAINT 305
THE WILD HONEY SUCKLE 306
ON A BOOK CALLED UNITARIAN THEOLOGY 307
TO ZOILUS 309
ON THE LEGISLATURE OF GREAT-BRITAIN PROHIBITING THE SALE OF
DR. RAMSAY'S HISTORY 312
THE DEATH SONG OF A CHEROKEE INDIAN 313
STANZAS WRITTEN AT THE FOOT OF MONTE SOUFFRIERE 314
ON THE CREW OF A CERTAIN VESSEL 317
THE BERMUDA ISLANDS 318
FLORIO TO AMANDA 319
PHILANDER: OR THE EMIGRANT 321
THE FAIR SOLITARY 325
AMANDA IN A CONSUMPTION 326
ELEGIAC LINES 328
THE INSOLVENT'S RELEASE 329
MAY TO APRIL 331
TO AN AUTHOR 332
TO MISFORTUNE 335
TO CRACOVIUS PUTRIDUS 336
SLENDER'S JOURNEY 338
THE HERMIT OF SABA 359
THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND 369
THE INDIAN STUDENT 371
THE MAN OF NINETY 374
ALCINA'S ENCHANTED ISLAND 376
HORACE, LIB. I. ODE 15 377
A SUBSCRIPTION PRAYER 379
EPISTLE TO THE PATRIOTIC FARMER 380
PALEMON TO LAVINIA 381
A NEWSMAN'S ADDRESS 383
ON THE PROSPECT OF A REVOLUTION IN FRANCE 385
TO A DOG 387
TO LYDIA 387
TO CYNTHIA 391
AMANDA'S COMPLAINT 392
HATTERAS 394
ST. CATHARINE'S 397
TO MR. CHURCHMAN 398
THE PROCESSION TO SYLVANIA 399
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 401
SANGRADO'S EXPEDITION TO SYLVANIA 402
THE DISTREST THEATRE 404
TO MEMMIUS 406
PART II (_Continued_)
THE FIRST POETIC PERIOD
1775-1781
THE
POEMS OF PHILIP FRENEAU
GEORGE THE THIRD'S SOLILOQUY[1]
What mean these dreams, and hideous forms that rise
Night after night, tormenting to my eyes--
No real foes these horrid shapes can be,
But thrice as much they vex and torture me.
How cursed is he--how doubly cursed am I-- 5
Who lives in pain, and yet who dares not die;
To him no joy this world of Nature brings,
In vain the wild rose blooms, the daisy springs.
Is this a prelude to some new disgrace,
Some baleful omen to my name and race!-- 10
It may be so--ere mighty Caesar died
Presaging Nature felt his doom, and sighed;
A bellowing voice through midnight groves was heard,
And threatening ghosts at dusk of eve appeared--
Ere Brutus fell, to adverse fates a prey, 15
His evil genius met him on the way,
And so may mine!--but who would yield so soon
A prize, some luckier hour may make my own?
Shame seize my crown ere such a deed be mine--
No--to the last my squadrons shall combine, 20
And slay my foes, while foes remain to slay,
Or heaven shall grant me one successful day.
Is there a robber close in Newgate hemmed,
Is there a cut-throat, fettered and condemned?
Haste, loyal slaves, to George's standard come, 25
Attend his lectures when you hear the drum;
Your chains I break--for better days prepare,
Come out, my friends, from prison and from care,
Far to the west I plan your desperate sway,
There 'tis no sin to ravage, burn, and slay, 30
There, without fear, your bloody aims pursue,
And shew mankind what English thieves can do.
That day, when first I mounted to the throne,
I swore to let all foreign foes alone.
Through love of peace to terms did I advance, 35
And made, they say, a shameful league with France.[2]
But different scenes rise horrid to my view,
I charged my hosts to plunder and subdue--
At first, indeed, I thought short wars to wage
And sent some jail-birds to be led by Gage,[3] 40
For 'twas but right, that those we marked for slaves
Should be reduced by cowards, fools, and knaves;
Awhile directed by his feeble hand,
Whose troops were kicked and pelted through the land,
Or starved in Boston, cursed the unlucky hour 45
They left their dungeons for that fatal shore.
France aids them now, a desperate game I play,
And hostile Spain will do the same, they say;
My armies vanquished, and my heroes fled,
My people murmuring, and my commerce dead, 50
My shattered navy pelted, bruised, and clubbed,
By Dutchmen bullied, and by Frenchmen drubbed,
My name abhorred, my nation in disgrace,
How should I act in such a mournful case!
My hopes and joys are vanished with my coin, 55
My ruined army, and my lost Burgoyne!
What shall I do--confess my labours vain,
Or whet my tusks, and to the charge again!
But where's my force--my choicest troops are fled,
Some thousands crippled, and a myriad dead-- 60
If I were owned the boldest of mankind,
And hell with all her flames inspired my mind,
Could I at once with Spain and France contend,
And fight the rebels on the world's green end?--
The pangs of parting I can ne'er endure, 65
Yet part we must, and part to meet no more!
Oh, blast this Congress, blast each upstart State,
On whose commands ten thousand captains wait;
From various climes that dire Assembly came,
True to their trust, as hostile to my fame, 70
'Tis these, ah these, have ruined half my sway,
Disgraced my arms, and led my slaves astray--
Cursed be the day when first I saw the sun,
Cursed be the hour when I these wars begun:
The fiends of darkness then possessed my mind, 75
And powers unfriendly to the human kind.
To wasting grief, and sullen rage a prey,
To Scotland's utmost verge I'll take my way,
There with eternal storms due concert keep
And while the billows rage, as fiercely weep-- 80
Ye highland lads, my rugged fate bemoan,
Assist me with one sympathizing groan,[4]
For late I find the nations are my foes,
I must submit, and that with bloody nose,
Or, like our James, fly basely from the state, 85
Or share, what still is worse--old Charles's fate.
[1] From the edition of 1809. The poem was first published in the May
number of the _United States Magazine_, 1779, and much revised and
enlarged for the edition of 1786, where it bore the title, "George III.
His Soliloquy for 1779." This earliest version, which began with the
startling line,
"O Damn this Congress, damn each _upstart_ state,"
was made up as follows, the numbering referring to the above version:
Lines 68-72, 47-64, followed by
"Yet rogues and savage tribes I must employ,
And what I cannot conquer will destroy."
Lines 23-32, followed by
"Ye daring hosts that croud Columbia's shore,
Tremble ye traitors, and exult no more;
Flames I shall hurl with an unceasing hand,
Till fires eternal blaze throughout your land,
And every dome and every town expires,
And traitors perish in the unfeeling fires;
But hold--though this be all my soul's desire,
Will my own towns be proof to _rebel_ fire.
If in revenge my raging foes should come,
And burn my London--it would strike me dumb,
To see my children and my queen in tears,
And these tall piles come tumbling round my ears,
Would to its inmost caverns fright my mind,
And stun ourself, the boldest of mankind."
Lines 73-76, followed by
"My future years I consecrate to woe,
For this great loss my soul in tears shall flow."
Ending with lines 77-82.
[2] Alluding to the peace of 1761 and the forced retirement of Pitt.
[3] "And sent a scoundrel by the name of Gage."--_Ed. 1786._
[4]
"O let the earth my rugged fate bemoan,
And give at least one sympathizing groan."
--_United States Magazine, 1779._
SIR HARRY'S INVITATION[5]
Come, gentlemen Tories, firm, loyal, and true,
Here are axes and shovels, and something to do!
For the sake of our king,
Come, labour and sing;
You left all you had for his honour and glory,
And he will remember the suffering Tory:
We have, it is true,
Some small work to do;
But here's for your pay
Twelve coppers a day,
And never regard what the rebels may say,
But throw off your jerkins and labour away.
To raise up the rampart, and pile up the wall,
To pull down old houses and dig the canal,
To build and destroy--
Be this your employ,
In the day time to work at our fortifications,
And steal in the night from the rebels your rations:
The king wants your aid,
Not empty parade;
Advance to your places
Ye men of long faces,
Nor ponder too much on your former disgraces,
This year, I presume, will quite alter your cases.
Attend at the call of the fifer and drummer,
The French and the Rebels are coming next summer,
And forts we must build
Though Tories are kill'd--
Then courage, my jockies, and work for your king,
For if you are taken no doubt you will swing--
If York we can hold
I'll have you enroll'd;
And after you're dead
Your names shall be read
As who for their monarch both labour'd and bled,
And ventur'd their necks for their beef and their bread.
'Tis an honour to serve the bravest of nations,
And be left to be hang'd in their capitulations--
Then scour up your mortars
And stand to your quarters,
'Tis nonsense for Tories in battle to run,
They never need fear sword, halberd, or gun;
Their hearts should not fail 'em,
No balls will assail 'em,
Forget your disgraces
And shorten your faces,
For 'tis true as the gospel, believe it or not,
Who are born to be hang'd, will never be shot.
[5] According to Frank Moore's _Songs and Ballads of the Revolution_,
this poem was first issued as a ballad-sheet in 1779. It was reprinted
in the _Freeman's Journal_, April 17, 1782, and was published in the
author's three editions. The text follows the edition of 1795.
Sir Henry Clinton was left in command of New York City, July 5, 1777,
when Howe started on his expedition for the capture of Philadelphia.
Freneau's poem indicates his treatment of the Tory refugees.
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY AND MR. FOX[6]
Supposed to have passed about the time of the approach of the
combined fleets of France and Spain to the British coasts,
August, 1779.
_King G._
Good master Fox,[7] your counsel I implore,
Still George the third, but potent George no more.
By North conducted to the brink of fate,
I mourn my folly and my pride too late:
The promises he made, when once we met
In Kew's gay shades,[A] I never shall forget,
That at my feet the western world should fall,
And bow to me the potent lord of all--
Curse on his hopes, his councils and his schemes,
His plans of conquest, and his golden dreams,
These have allur'd me to the jaws of hell,
By Satan tempted thus Iscariot fell:
Divested of majestic pomp I come,
My royal robes and airs I've left at home,
Speak freely, friend, whate'er you choose to say,
Suppose me equal with yourself to-day:
How shall I shun the mischiefs that impend?
How shall I make Columbia[B] yet my friend?
I dread the power of each revolted State,
The convex East hangs balanc'd with their weight.
How shall I dare the rage of France and Spain,
And lost dominion o'er the waves regain?
Advise me quick, for doubtful while we stand,
Destruction gathers o'er this wretched land:
These hostile squadrons to my ruin led,
These Gallic thunders fill my soul with dread,
If these should conquer--Britain, thou must fall
And bend, a province, to the haughty Gaul:
If this must be--thou earth, expanding wide,
Unlucky George in thy dark entrails hide--
Ye oceans, wrap me in your dark embrace--
Ye mountains, shroud me to your lowest base--
Fall on my head, ye everlasting rocks--
But why so pensive, my good master Fox?[8]
[A] The royal gardens at Kew.--_Freneau's note._
[B] America, so called, by poetical liberty, from its
discoverer.--_Freneau's note._
_Fox_
While in the arms of power and peace you lay,
Ambition led your restless soul astray.
Possest of lands extending far and wide,
And more than Rome could boast in all her pride,
Yet, not contented with that mighty store,
Like a true miser, still you sought for more;
And, all in raptures for a tyrant's reign,
You strove your subjects dearest rights to chain:
Those ruffian hosts beyond the ocean sent,
By your commands on blood and murder bent,
With cruel hand the form of man defac'd,
And laid the toils of art and nature waste.
(For crimes like these imperial Britain bends,
For crimes like these her ancient glory ends)
These lands, once truest to your name and race,
Whom the wide ocean's utmost waves embrace,
Your just protection basely you deny'd,
Their towns you plunder'd, and you burnt beside.
Virginia's slaves, without one blush of shame,
Against their lords[9] you arm'd with sword and flame;
At every port your ships of war you laid,
And strove to ruin and distress their trade,
Yet here, ev'n here, your mighty projects fail'd;
For then from creeks their hardy seamen sail'd,
In slender barques they cross'd a stormy main,
And traffick'd for the wealth of France and Spain;
O'er either tropic and the line they pass'd,
And, deeply laden, safe return'd at last:
Nor think they yet had bow'd to Britain's sway,
Though distant nations had not join'd the fray,
Alone they fought your armies and your fleet,
And made your Clintons and your Howes retreat,
And yet while France stood doubting if to join,
Your ships they captur'd, and they took Burgoyne!
How vain is Briton's strength, her armies now
Before Columbia's bolder veterans bow;
Her gallant veterans all our force despise,
Though late from ruin[C] we beheld them rise;
Before their arms our strongest bulwarks fall,
They storm the rampart and they scale the wall;[D]
With equal dread, on either service sent,
They seize a fortress, or they strike a tent.
But should we bow beneath a foreign yoke,
And potent France atchieve the humbling stroke,
Yet every power, and even ourselves, must say,
"Just is the vengeance of the skies to-day:"
For crimes like ours dire vengeance[10] must atone;
Forbear your fasts, and let the skies[11] alone--
By cruel kings, in fierce Britannia bred,
Such seas of blood have first and last been shed,
That now, distrest for each inhuman deed,
Our turn has come--our turn has come to bleed:
Forbear your groans; for war and death array,
March to the foe, and give the fates their way.
Can you[12] behold, without one hearty groan,
The fleets of France superior to your own?
Can you behold, without one poignant pang,
The foreign conquests of the brave D'Estaing?[E]
North is your friend, and now destruction knocks,
Still take his counsel, and regard not Fox.
[C] The Year 1776.--_Freneau's note._
[D] Stoney Point, Powles Hook, &c.--_Ib._
[E] Grenada, &c.--_Ib._
_King G._
Ah! speak not thus--your words will break my heart,
Some softer counsel to my ears impart,
How can I march to meet the insulting foe,
Who never yet to hostile plains did go?
When was I vers'd in battles or in blood?
When have I fought upon the faithless flood?
Much better could I at my palace door
Recline and hear the distant cannons roar.
Generals and admirals Britain yet can boast,
Some fight on land, and some defend the coast;
The fame of these throughout the globe resounds,
To these I leave the glory and the wounds;
But since this honour for no blood atones,
I must and will be careful of my bones.
What pleasure to your monarch would it be,
If Lords and Commons could at last agree;
Could North with Fox in firm alliance stand,
And Burke with Sandwich shake the social hand,
Then should we bring the rebels to our feet,
And France and Spain ingloriously retreat,
Her ancient glories to this isle return,
And we no more for lost Columbia mourn.
_Fox_
Alliance!--what![F]--Your Highness must be mad:
Say, what alliance can with these be had?
Can lambs and wolves in social bands ally?
When these prove friendly, then will North and I.
Alliance! no--I curse the horrid thought;
Ally with those their country's ruin sought!
Who to perdition sold their native land,
Leagu'd with the foe, a close connected band--
Ally with these!--I speak it to your face--
Alliance here is ruin and disgrace.
Angels and devils in such bonds unite,
So hell is ally'd to the realms of light--
Let North or Germaine[13] still my prayers deride,
Let turn-coat Johnston[G] take the courtly side,
Even Pitt, if living, might with these agree;
But no alliance shall they have with me.
But since no shame forbids your tongue to own
A royal coward fills Britannia's throne;
Since our best chiefs must fight your mad campaigns,
And be disgrac'd at last by him who reigns,[H]
No wonder, heaven! such ill success attends!
No wonder North and Mansfield are your friends!
Take my advice, with these to battle go,
These book-learned heroes may confront the foe--
Those first who led us tow'rds the brink of fate,
Should still be foremost when at Pluto's gate;
Let them, grown desperate by our run of woes,
Collect new fury from this host of foes,
And, ally'd with themselves, to ruin steer,
The just conclusion of their mad career.
[F] _Alliance!--what_, &c. See his speech in the House of Commons,
_June 22, 1779_, in answer to Lord Nugent.--_Freneau's note._
[G] _Let turn-coat Johnston_, &c. The worthy British commissioner,
of bribing memory, who, for the sake of a few guineas, belied
his own conscience, and sided with the majority.--_Ib._
[H] _And be disgrac'd at last by him who reigns._ As Gage, the
Howes, Burgoyne, &c, for not doing impossibilities.--_Ib._
_King G._
No comfort in these cruel words I find--
Ungrateful words to my tormented mind!
With me alone both France and Spain contend,
And not one nation will be call'd my friend:
Unpitying now the Dutchman sees me fall,
The Russian leaves me to the haughty[14] Gaul,
The German, grown as brutish[15] as the Dane,
Consigns my carcase to the jaws of Spain.
Where are the hosts they promis'd me of yore,
When rich and great they heard my thunders roar,
While yet confess'd the master of the sea,
The Germans drain'd their wide domain for me,
And aiding Britain with a friendly hand,
Helpt to subdue the rebels and their land?[I]
Ah! rebels, rebels! insolent and mad;
My Scottish rebels were not half so bad,[J]
They soon submitted to superior sway;[K]
But these grow stronger as my hosts decay:
What hosts have perish'd on their hostile shore!
They went for conquest, but return'd no more.
Columbia, thou a friend in better times!
Lost are to me thy pleasurable climes.
You wish me buried in eternal night,
You curse the day when first I saw the light--
Thy[16] commerce vanish'd, hostile nations share,
And thus you leave me[17] naked, poor, and bare;
Despised by those who should my[18] cause defend,
And helpless left without one pitying friend.
These dire afflictions shake my changeful throne,
And turn my brain--a very idiot grown:
Of all the isles, the realms with which I part,
Columbia sits the heaviest at my heart,
She, she provokes the deepest, heaviest sigh,
And makes me doubly wretched ere I die.
Some dreary convent's unfrequented gloom
(Like Charles of Spain)[L] had better be my doom:
There while in absence from my crown I sigh,
The[19] Prince of Wales these ills may rectify;
A happier fortune may his crown await,
He yet perhaps may save this sinking state.
I'll to my prayers, my bishops and my beads,[M]
And beg God's pardon for my heinous deeds;
Those streams of blood, that, spilt by my command,
Call out for vengeance on this guilty land.
[I] The Hessians, Waldeckers, Anspachers, &c.--_Freneau's note._
[J] The Year 1745.--_Ib._
[K] Culloden.--_Ib._
[L] _Like Charles of Spain_, &c. Charles V. who, in 1556,
resigning the crown to his son Philip II., shut himself
up in the monastery of St. Just, in Spain, where he died
two years after.--_Ib._
[M] _I'll to my prayers, my bishops, and my beads._ This is
not said without foundation, as he established the Roman
Catholic religion in Canada, in 1775.--_Ib._
_Fox_
You ask for mercy--can you cry to God,[20]
Who had no mercy on poor parson Dodd?[N]
No inward image of the power divine,
No gentle feelings warm that soul of thine;
Convents you have--no need to look for new,
Your convents are the brothel and the stew.
One horrid act[O] disgrac'd old Jesse's son,
And that one blemish have you hit upon;
You seiz'd an English Quaker's tempting wife,[P]
And push'd him off to lose his sneaking life;
Even to that coast where freedom sent to quell,
All in their pride the flower of Britain fell.
But ruin'd was your scheme, the plan was vain,
For when were Quakers in a battle slain?
As well might Whales by closing waves expire,
Or Salamanders perish in the fire.
When France and Spain are thund'ring at your doors,
Is this a time for kings to lodge with whores?
In one short sentence take my whole advice,
(It is no time to flatter and be nice)
With all your soul for instant peace contend,
Thus shall you be your country's truest friend--
Peace, heavenly[21] peace, may stay your tottering throne,
But wars and death and blood can profit none.
To Russia[22] send, in humblest guise array'd,
And beg her intercession, not her aid:
Withdraw your armies from th' Americ' shore,
And vex Columbia[23] with your fleets no more;
Vain are their conquests, past experience shews,
For what this hour they gain, the next they lose.
Implore the friendship of these injur'd States;
No longer strive against the stubborn fates.
Since heav'n has doom'd Columbia to be free,
What is her commerce and her wealth to thee?
Since heav'n that land of promise has denied,
Regain by prudence[24] what you lost by pride:
Immediate ruin each delay attends,
Imperial Britain scarce her coast defends;
Hibernia sees the threat'ning foes advance,
And feels an ague at the thoughts of France;
Jamaica mourns her half-protected state,
Barbadoes soon may share Grenada's fate,
And every isle that owns your reign to-day,
May bow to-morrow to great Louis'[25] sway.
Yes--while I speak, your empire, great before,
Contracts its limits, and is great no more.
Unhappy prince! what madness has possest,
What worse than madness seiz'd thy vengeful breast,
When white-rob'd peace before thy portal stood,
To drive her hence, and stain the world with blood?
For this destruction threatens from the skies;
See hostile navies to our ruin rise;
Our fleets inglorious shun the force of Spain,
And France triumphant stems the subject main.
[N] Dr. William Dodd, whose history is well known.--_Freneau's
note._
[O] In the case of Uriah.--_Ib._
[P] "The connection between vice and meanness is a fit object
for satire; but when the satire is a fact, it cuts with the
irresistible power of a diamond. If a Quaker, in defence of
his just rights, his property, and the chastity of his house,
takes up a musket, he is expelled the meeting; but the present
king of England, who seduced and took into keeping a sister
of their society, is reverenced and supported with repeated
testimonies, while the friendly noodle from whom she was
taken, (and who is now in this city) continues a drudge in
the service of his rival, as if proud of being cuckolded by a
creature called a king."--_American Crisis_, No. 3, _Printed
at Philadelphia_, 1777.--_Ib._
[6] First published in the _United States Magazine_, December, 1779. The
test follows the edition of 1786.
"Early in June, the French fleet of thirty-one ships of the line,
yielding to Spanish importunities, put to sea from Brest; and yet they
were obliged to wait off the coast of Spain for the Spaniards. After a
loss of two months in the best season of the year, a junction was
effected with more than twenty ships of war under the command of ...
Count Gaston; and the combined fleet, the largest force that had ever
been afloat, sailed for the British Channel.... The united fleet rode
unmolested by the British.... On the 16th of August they appeared off
Plymouth, but did not attack the town. After two idle days a strong wind
drove them to the west; when the gale had abated, the allies rallied,
returned up the channel, and the British retreated before them. No
harmony existed between the French and Spanish officers. A deadly malady
ravaged the French ships and infected the Spanish. The combined fleet
never had one chief. The French returned to port and remained there; the
Spaniards sailed for Cadiz, execrating their allies."--_Bancroft._
[7] "Charly Fox."--_Ed. 1795._
[8] Fox's opposition to the American war is too well known to need
comment.
[9] "Their cause."--_Ed. 1795._
[10] "Sufferings."--_Ed. 1809._
[11] "Gods."--_Ed. 1795._
[12] "We."--_Ib._
[13] "_Sackville._"--_Ed. 1795._
[14] "Thundering."--_Ib._
[15] "Careless."--_Ib._
[16] "Our."--_Ed. 1795._
[17] "Us."--_Ib._
[18] "Our."--_Ib._
[19] "George."--_Ed. 1795._
[20] This and the following seventeen lines omitted from the edition
of 1795.
[21] "Instant."--_Ed. 1795._
[22] "Catharine."--_Ib._
[23] "Her oceans."--_Ib._
[24] "Cunning."--_Ed. 1809._
[25] "The Frenchman's."--_Ed. 1795._
THE BRITISH PRISON SHIP[26]
Written 1780
CANTO I.--THE CAPTURE
_Amid these ills no tyrant dared refuse
My right to pen the dictates of the muse,
To paint the terrors of the infernal place,
And fiends from Europe, insolent as base._
Assist me, Clio! while in verse I tell
The dire misfortunes that a ship befell,
Which outward bound, to St. Eustatia's shore,
Death and disaster through the billows bore.
From Philadelphia's crowded port she came;
For there the builder plann'd her lofty frame,
With wond'rous skill, and excellence of art
He form'd, dispos'd, and order'd every part,
With joy beheld the stately fabric rise
To a stout bulwark of stupendous size,
'Till launch'd at last, capacious of the freight,
He left her to the Pilots, and her fate.
First from her depths the tapering masts ascend,
On whose firm bulk the transverse yards depend,
By shrouds and stays secur'd from side to side
Trees grew on trees, suspended o'er the tide,
Firm to the yards extended, broad and vast
They hung the sails susceptive of the blast,
Far o'er the prow the lengthy bowsprit lay,
Supporting on the extreme the taught Gib-stay,
Twice ten six pounders at their port holes plac'd
And rang'd in rows, stood hostile in the waist:
Thus all prepar'd, impatient for the seas,
She left her station with an adverse breeze,
This her first outset from her native shore,
To seas a stranger, and untry'd before.
From the bright radiance that his glories spread
Ere from the east gay Phoebus lifts his head,
From the sweet morn, a kindred name she won,
_Aurora_ call'd, the offspring of the sun,
Whose form projecting, the broad prow displays,
Far glittering o'er the wave, a mimic blaze.
The gay ship now, in all her pomp and pride,
With sails expanded, flew along the tide;
'Twas thy deep stream, O Delaware, that bore
This pile intended for a southern shore,
Bound to those isles where endless summer reigns,
Fair fruits, gay blossoms, and enamell'd plains;
Where sloping lawns the roving swain invite,
And the cool morn succeeds the breezy night,
Where each glad day a heaven unclouded brings
And sky-topt mountains teem with golden springs.
From Cape Henlopen, urg'd by favouring gales,
When morn emerg'd, we sea-ward spread our sails,
Then east-south-east explor'd the briny way,
Close to the wind, departing from the bay;
No longer seen the hoarse resounding strand,
With hearts elate we hurried from the land,
Escap'd the dangers of that shelvy ground,
To sailors fatal, and for wrecks renown'd.--
The gale increases as we stem the main,
Now scarce the hills their sky-blue mist retain,
At last they sink beneath the rolling wave
That seems their summits, as they sink, to lave;
Abaft the beam the freshening breezes play,
No mists advancing to deform the day,
No tempests rising o'er the splendid scene,
A sea unruffled, and a heaven serene.
Now Sol's bright lamp, the heav'n born source of light,
Had pass'd the line of his meridian height,
And westward hung--retreating from the view
Shores disappear'd, and every hill withdrew,
When, still suspicious of some neighbouring foe,
Aloft the Master bade a Seaman go,
To mark if, from the mast's aspiring height
Through all the round a vessel came in sight.
Too soon the Seaman's glance, extending wide,
Far distant in the east a ship espy'd,
Her lofty masts stood bending to the gale,
Close to the wind was brac'd each shivering sail;
Next from the deck we saw the approaching foe,
Her spangled bottom seem'd in flames to glow
When to the winds she bow'd in dreadful haste
And her lee-guns lay delug'd in the waste:
From her top-gallant flow'd an English Jack;
With all her might she strove to gain our track,
Nor strove in vain--with pride and power elate,
Wing'd on by hell, she drove us to our fate;
No stop no stay her bloody crew intends,
(So flies a comet with its host of fiends)
Nor oaths, nor prayers arrest her swift career,
Death in her front, and ruin in her rear.
Struck at the sight, the Master gave command
To change our course, and steer toward the land--
Swift to the task the ready sailors run,
And while the word was utter'd, half was done:
As from the south the fiercer breezes rise
Swift from her foe alarm'd Aurora flies,
With every sail extended to the wind
She fled the unequal foe that chac'd behind;
Along her decks dispos'd in close array
Each at its port, the grim artillery lay,
Soon on the foe with brazen throat to roar;
But, small their size, and narrow was their bore;
Yet faithful they their destin'd station keep
To guard the barque that wafts them o'er the deep,
Who now must bend to steer a homeward course
And trust her swiftness rather than her force,
Unfit to combat with a powerful foe;
Her decks too open, and her waist too low.
While o'er the wave with foaming prow she flies,
Once more emerging, distant landscapes rise;
High in the air the starry streamer plays,
And every sail its various tribute pays:
To gain the land we bore the weighty blast;
And now the wish'd for cape appear'd at last;
But the vext foe, impatient of delay,
Prepar'd for ruin, press'd upon her prey;
Near, and more near, in aweful grandeur came
The frigate _Iris_, not unknown to fame;
_Iris_ her name, but _Hancock_ once she bore,
Fram'd and completed on New Albion's shore,
By Manly lost, the swiftest of the train
That fly with wings of canvas o'er the main.
Now, while for combat some with zeal prepare,
Thus to the heavens the Boatswain sent his prayer:
"List, all ye powers that rule the skies and seas!
"Shower down perdition on such thieves as these,
"Fate, strike their hearts with terror and dismay,
"And sprinkle on their powder salt-sea spray!
"May bursting cannon, while his aim he tries,
"Destroy the Gunner, and be-damn his eyes--
"The chief who awes the quarter-deck, may he,
"Tripp'd from his stand, be tumbled in the sea.
"May they who rule the round-top's giddy height
"Be canted headlong to perpetual night;
"May fiends torment them on a leeward coast,
"And help forsake them when they want it most--
"From their wheel'd engines torn be every gun--
"And now, to sum up every curse in one,
"May latent flames, to save us, intervene,
"And hell-ward drive them from their magazine!"--
The Frigate now had every sail unfurl'd,
And rush'd tremendous o'er the wat'ry world;
Thus fierce Pelides, eager to destroy,
Chac'd the proud Trojan to the gates of Troy--
Swift o'er the waves while hostile they pursue
As swiftly from their fangs _Aurora_ flew,
At length Henlopen's cape we gain'd once more,
And vainly strove to force the ship ashore;
Stern fate forbade the barren shore to gain,
Denial sad, and source of future pain!
For then the inspiring breezes ceas'd to blow,
Lost were they all, and smooth the seas below;
By the broad cape becalm'd, our lifeless sails
No longer swell'd their bosoms to the gales;
The ship, unable to pursue her way,
Tumbling about, at her own guidance lay,
No more the helm its wonted influence lends,
No oars assist us, and no breeze befriends;
Meantime the foe, advancing from the sea,
Rang'd her black cannon, pointed on our lee,
Then up she luff'd, and blaz'd her entrails dire,
Bearing destruction, terror, death and fire.
Vext at our fate, we prim'd a piece, and then
Return'd the shot, to shew them we were men.
Dull night at length her dusky pinions spread,
And every hope to 'scape the foe was fled;
Close to thy cape, Henlopen, though we press'd,
We could not gain thy desert, dreary breast;
Though ruin'd trees beshroud thy barren shore
With mounds of sand half hid, or cover'd o'er,
Though ruffian winds disturb thy summit bare,
Yet every hope and every wish was there;
In vain we sought to reach the joyless strand,
Fate stood between, and barr'd us from the land.
All dead becalm'd, and helpless as we lay,
The ebbing current forc'd us back to sea,
While vengeful _Iris_, thirsting for our blood,
Flash'd her red lightnings o'er the trembling flood,
At every flash a storm of ruin came
'Till our shock'd vessel shook through all her frame--
Mad for revenge, our breasts with fury glow
To wreak returns of vengeance on the foe;
Full at his hull our pointed guns we rais'd,
His hull resounded as the cannon blaz'd;
Through his main top-sail one a passage tore,
His sides re-echo'd to the dreadful roar,
Alternate fires dispell'd the shades of night--
But how unequal was this daring fight!
Our stoutest guns threw but a six-pound ball,
Twelve pounders from the foe our sides did maul,
And, while no power to save him intervenes,
A bullet struck our captain of Marines;
Fierce, though he bid defiance to the foe
He felt his death and ruin in the blow,
Headlong he fell, distracted with the wound,
The deck distain'd, and heart blood streaming round.
Another blast, as fatal in its aim,
Wing'd by destruction, through our rigging came,
And, whistling tunes from hell upon its way,
Shrouds, stays, and braces tore at once away,
Sails, blocks, and oars in scatter'd fragments fly--
Their softest language was--_submit, or die!_
Repeated cries throughout the ship resound;
Now every bullet brought a different wound;
'Twixt wind and water, one assail'd the side,
Through this aperture rush'd the briny tide--
'Twas then the Master trembled for his crew,
And bade thy shores, O Delaware, adieu!--
And must we yield to yon' destructive ball,
And must our colours to these ruffians fall!--
They fall!--his thunders forc'd our pride to bend,
The lofty topsails with their yards descend,
And the proud foe, such leagues of ocean pass'd,
His wish completed in our woe at last.
Convey'd to York, we found, at length, too late,
That Death was better than the prisoner's fate;
There doom'd to famine, shackles and despair,
Condemn'd to breathe a foul, infected air
In sickly hulks, devoted while we lay,
Successive funerals gloom'd each dismal day--
But what on captives British rage can do,
Another Canto, friend, shall let you know.
CANTO II.--THE PRISON SHIP
The various horrors of these hulks to tell,
These Prison Ships where pain and horror dwell,
Where death in tenfold vengeance holds his reign,
And injur'd ghosts, yet unaveng'd, complain;
This be my task--ungenerous Britons, you
Conspire to murder those you can't subdue.--
Weak as I am, I'll try my strength to-day
And my best arrows at these hell-hounds play,
To future years one scene of death prolong,
And hang them up to infamy, in song.
That Britain's rage should dye our plains with gore,
And desolation spread through every shore,
None e'er could doubt, that her ambition knew,
This was to rage and disappointment due;
But that those monsters whom our soil maintain'd,
Who first drew breath in this devoted land,
Like famish'd wolves, should on their country prey,
Assist its foes, and wrest our lives away,
This shocks belief--and bids our soil disown
Such friends, subservient to a bankrupt crown,
By them the widow mourns her partner dead,
Her mangled sons to darksome prisons led,
By them--and hence my keenest sorrows rise,
My friend, my guardian, my Orestes dies;
Still for that loss must wretched I complain,
And sad Ophelia mourn her favourite swain.
Ah! come the day when from this bloody shore
Fate shall remove them to return no more--
To scorch'd Bahama shall the traitors go
With grief and rage, and unremitting woe,
On burning sands to walk their painful round,
And sigh through all the solitary ground,
Where no gay flower their haggard eyes shall see,
And find no shade but from the cypress tree.
So much we suffer'd from the tribe I hate,
So near they shov'd me to the brink of fate,
When two long months in these dark hulks we lay,[27]
Barr'd down by night, and fainting all the day
In the fierce fervours of the solar beam,
Cool'd by no breeze on Hudson's mountain-stream;
That not unsung these threescore days shall fall
To black oblivion that would cover all!--
No masts or sails these crowded ships adorn,
Dismal to view, neglected and forlorn!
Here, mighty ills oppress the imprison'd throng,
Dull were our slumbers, and our nights too long--
From morn to eve along the decks we lay
Scorch'd into fevers by the solar ray;
No friendly awning cast a welcome shade,
Once was it promis'd, and was never made;
No favours could these sons of death bestow,
'Twas endless cursing, and continual woe:
Immortal hatred doth their breasts engage,
And this lost empire swells their souls with rage.
Two hulks on Hudson's stormy bosom lie,
Two, farther south, affront the pitying eye--
There, the black _Scorpion_ at her mooring rides,
There, _Strombolo_ swings, yielding to the tides;
Here, bulky _Jersey_ fills a larger space,
And _Hunter_, to all hospitals disgrace--
Thou, _Scorpion_, fatal to thy crowded throng,
Dire theme of horror and Plutonian song,
Requir'st my lay--thy sultry decks I know,
And all the torments that exist below!
The briny wave that Hudson's bosom fills
Drain'd through her bottom in a thousand rills,
Rotten and old, replete with sighs and groans,
Scarce on the waters she sustain'd her bones;
Here, doom'd to toil, or founder in the tide,
At the moist pumps incessantly we ply'd,[28]
Here, doom'd to starve, like famish'd dogs we tore
The scant allowance, that our tyrants bore.
Remembrance shudders at this scene of fears--
Still in my view some English brute appears,
Some base-born Hessian slave walks threat'ning by,
Some servile Scot with murder in his eye
Still haunts my sight, as vainly they bemoan
Rebellions manag'd so unlike their own!
O may I never feel the poignant pain
To live subjected to such fiends again,
Stewards and Mates that hostile Britain bore,
Cut from the gallows on their native shore;[29]
Their ghastly looks and vengeance-beaming eyes
Still to my view in dismal colours rise--
O may I ne'er review these dire abodes,
These piles for slaughter, floating on the floods,--
And you, that o'er the troubled ocean go,
Strike not your standards to this miscreant foe,
Better the greedy wave should swallow all,
Better to meet the death-conducted ball,
Better to sleep on ocean's deepest bed,
At once destroy'd and number'd with the dead,
Than thus to perish in the face of day
Where twice ten thousand deaths one death delay.
When to the ocean dives the western sun,
And the scorch'd Tories fire their evening gun,
"Down, rebels, down!" the angry Scotchmen cry,
"Damn'd dogs, descend, or by our broad swords die!"
Hail, dark abode! what can with thee compare--
Heat, sickness, famine, death, and stagnant air--
Pandora's box, from whence all mischief flew,
Here real found, torments mankind anew!--
Swift from the guarded decks we rush'd along,
And vainly sought repose, so vast our throng:
Three hundred wretches here, denied all light,
In crowded mansions pass the infernal night,
Some for a bed their tatter'd vestments join,
And some on chests, and some on floors recline;[30]
Shut from the blessings of the evening air,
Pensive we lay with mingled corpses there,
Meagre and wan, and scorch'd with heat below,
We loom'd like ghosts, ere death had made us so--
How could we else, where heat and hunger join'd
Thus to debase the body and the mind,
Where cruel thirst the parching throat invades,
Dries up the man, and fits him for the shades.
No waters laded from the bubbling spring
To these dire ships the British monsters bring--
By planks and ponderous beams completely wall'd
In vain for water, and in vain, I call'd--
No drop was granted to the midnight prayer,
To Dives in these regions of despair!--
The loathsome cask a deadly dose contains,
Its poison circling through the languid veins;
"Here, generous Britain, generous, as you say,
"To my parch'd tongue one cooling drop convey,
"Hell has no mischief like a thirsty throat,
"Nor one tormentor like your David Sproat."[A]
Dull flew the hours, till, from the East display'd,
Sweet morn dispells the horrors of the shade;
On every side dire objects meet the sight,
And pallid forms, and murders of the night,
The dead were past their pain, the living groan,
Nor dare to hope another morn their own;
But what to them is morn's delightful ray,
Sad and distressful as the close of day,
O'er distant streams appears the dewy green,
And leafy trees on mountain tops are seen,
But they no groves nor grassy mountains tread,
Mark'd for a longer journey to the dead.
Black as the clouds that shade St. Kilda's shore,
Wild as the winds that round her mountains roar,
At every post some surly vagrant stands,
Pick'd from the British or the Irish bands,
Some slave from Hesse, some hangman's son at least
Sold and transported, like his brother beast--
Some miscreant Tory, puff'd with upstart pride,
Led on by hell to take the royal side;
Dispensing death triumphantly they stand,
Their musquets ready to obey command;
Wounds are their sport, as ruin is their aim;
On their dark souls compassion has no claim,
And discord only can their spirits please:
Such were our tyrants here, and such were these.
Ingratitude! no curse like thee is found
Throughout this jarring world's extended round,
Their hearts with malice to our country swell
Because in former days we us'd them well!--
This pierces deep, too deeply wounds the breast;
We help'd them naked, friendless, and distrest,
Receiv'd their vagrants with an open hand,
Bestow'd them buildings, privilege, and land--
Behold the change!--when angry Britain rose,
These thankless tribes became our fiercest foes,
By them devoted, plunder'd, and accurst,
Stung by the serpents whom ourselves had nurs'd.
But such a train of endless woes abound,
So many mischiefs in these hulks are found,
That on them all a poem to prolong
Would swell too high the horrors of my song--
Hunger and thirst to work our woe combine,
And mouldy bread, and flesh of rotten swine,
The mangled carcase, and the batter'd brain,
The doctor's poison, and the captain's cane,
The soldier's musquet, and the steward's debt,
The evening shackle, and the noon-day threat.
That juice destructive to the pangs of care
Which Rome of old, nor Athens could prepare,
Which gains the day for many a modern chief
When cool reflection yields a faint relief,
That charm, whose virtue warms the world beside,
Was by these tyrants to our use denied,
While yet they deign'd that healthy juice to lade
The putrid water felt its powerful aid;
But when refus'd--to aggravate our pains--
Then fevers rag'd and revel'd through our veins;
Throughout my frame I felt its deadly heat,
I felt my pulse with quicker motions beat:
A pallid hue o'er every face was spread,
Unusual pains attack'd the fainting head,
No physic here, no doctor to assist,
My name was enter'd on the sick man's list;
Twelve wretches more the same dark symptoms took,
And these were enter'd on the doctor's book;
The loathsome _Hunter_ was our destin'd place,
The _Hunter_, to all hospitals disgrace;
With soldiers sent to guard us on our road,
Joyful we left the _Scorpion's_ dire abode;
Some tears we shed for the remaining crew,
Then curs'd the hulk, and from her sides withdrew.
[A] Commissary of Prisoners at New-York.--_Freneau's note._
CANTO III.--THE HOSPITAL PRISON SHIP
Now tow'rd the _Hunter's_ gloomy sides we came,
A slaughter-house, yet hospital in name;[31]
For none came there (to pass through all degrees)
'Till half consum'd, and dying with disease;--
But when too near with labouring oars we ply'd,
The Mate with curses drove us from the side;
That wretch who, banish'd from the navy crew,
Grown old in blood, did here his trade renew;
His serpent's tongue, when on his charge let loose,
Utter'd reproaches, scandal, and abuse,
Gave all to hell who dar'd his king disown,
And swore mankind were made for George alone:
Ten thousand times, to irritate our woe,
He wish'd us founder'd in the gulph below;
Ten thousand times he brandish'd high his stick,
And swore as often that we were not sick--
And yet so pale!--that we were thought by some
A freight of ghosts from Death's dominions come--
But calm'd at length--for who can always rage,
Or the fierce war of endless passion wage,
He pointed to the stairs that led below
To damps, disease, and varied shapes of woe--
Down to the gloom I took my pensive way,
Along the decks the dying captives lay;
Some struck with madness, some with scurvy pain'd,
But still of putrid fevers most complain'd!
On the hard floors these wasted objects laid,
There toss'd and tumbled in the dismal shade,
There no soft voice their bitter fate bemoan'd,
And Death strode stately, while the victims groan'd;
Of leaky decks I heard them long complain,
Drown'd as they were in deluges of rain,
Deny'd the comforts of a dying bed,
And not a pillow to support the head--
How could they else but pine, and grieve, and sigh,
Detest a wretched life--and wish to die?
Scarce had I mingled with this dismal band
When a thin spectre seiz'd me by the hand--
"And art thou come, (death heavy on his eyes)
"And art thou come to these abodes," he cries;
"Why didst thou leave the _Scorpion's_ dark retreat,
"And hither haste a surer death to meet?
"Why didst thou leave thy damp infected cell?
"If that was purgatory, this is hell--
"We, too, grown weary of that horrid shade,
"Petitioned early for the doctor's aid;
"His aid denied, more deadly symptoms came,
"Weak, and yet weaker, glow'd the vital flame;
"And when disease had worn us down so low
"That few could tell if we were ghosts or no,
"And all asserted, death would be our fate--
"Then to the doctor we were sent--too late.
"Here wastes away Autolycus the brave,
"Here young Orestes finds a wat'ry grave,
"Here gay Alcander, gay, alas! no more,
"Dies far sequester'd from his native shore;
"He late, perhaps, too eager for the fray,
"Chac'd the vile Briton o'er the wat'ry way
"'Till fortune jealous, bade her clouds appear,
"Turn'd hostile to his fame, and brought him here.
"Thus do our warriors, thus our heroes fall,
"Imprison'd here, base ruin meets them all,
"Or, sent afar to Britain's barbarous shore,
"There die neglected, and return no more:
"Ah! rest in peace, poor, injur'd, parted shade,
"By cruel hands in death's dark weeds array'd,
"But happier climes, where suns unclouded shine,
"Light undisturb'd, and endless peace are thine."--
From Brookland groves a Hessian doctor came,
Not great his skill, nor greater much his fame;
Fair Science never call'd the wretch her son,
And Art disdain'd the stupid man to own;--
Can you admire that Science was so coy,
Or Art refus'd his genius to employ!--
Do men with brutes an equal dullness share,
Or cuts yon' grovelling mole the midway air?
In polar worlds can Eden's blossoms blow?
Do trees of God in barren desarts grow?
Are loaded vines to Etna's summit known,
Or swells the peach beneath the torrid zone?--
Yet still he doom'd his genius to the rack,
And, as you may suppose, was own'd a quack.
He on his charge the healing work begun
With antimonial mixtures, by the tun,
Ten minutes was the time he deign'd to stay,
The time of grace allotted once a day--
He drencht us well with bitter draughts, 'tis true,
Nostrums from hell, and cortex from Peru--
Some with his pills he sent to Pluto's reign,
And some he blister'd with his flies of Spain;
His cream of Tartar walk'd its deadly round,
Till the lean patient at the potion frown'd,
And swore that hemlock, death, or what you will,
Were nonsense to the drugs that stuff'd his bill.--
On those refusing he bestow'd a kick,
Or menac'd vengeance with his walking stick;
Here uncontroul'd he exercis'd his trade,
And grew experienced by the deaths he made;
By frequent blows we from his cane endur'd
He kill'd at least as many as he cur'd;
On our lost comrades built his future fame,
And scatter'd fate, where'er his footsteps came.
Some did not seem obedient to his will,
And swore he mingled poison with his pill,
But I acquit him by a fair confession,
He was no Englishman--he was a Hessian,[32]--
Although a dunce, he had some sense of sin,
Or else the Lord knows where we now had been;
Perhaps in that far country sent to range
Where never prisoner meets with an exchange--
Then had we all been banish'd out of time
Nor I return'd to plague the world with rhyme.
Fool though he was, yet candour must confess
Not chief Physician was this dog of Hesse--
One master o'er the murdering tribe was plac'd,
By him the rest were honour'd or disgrac'd;--
Once, and but once, by some strange fortune led
He came to see the dying and the dead--
He came--but anger so deform'd his eye,
And such a faulchion glitter'd on his thigh,
And such a gloom his visage darken'd o'er,
And two such pistols in his hands he bore!
That, by the gods!--with such a load of steel
He came, we thought, to murder, not to heal--
Hell in his heart, and mischief in his head,
He gloom'd destruction, and had smote us dead,
Had he so dar'd--but fate with-held his hand--
He came--blasphem'd--and turn'd again to land.
From this poor vessel, and her sickly crew
An English ruffian all his titles drew,
Captain, esquire, commander, too, in chief,
And hence he gain'd his bread, and hence his beef,
But, sir, you might have search'd creation round
Ere such another miscreant could be found--
Though unprovok'd, an angry face he bore,
We stood astonish'd at the oaths he swore;
He swore, till every prisoner stood aghast,
And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast;
He wish'd us banish'd from the public light,
He wish'd us shrouded in perpetual night!
That were he king, no mercy would he show,
But drive all rebels to the world below;
That if we scoundrels did not scrub the decks
His staff should break our damn'd rebellious necks;
He swore, besides, that if the ship took fire
We too should in the pitchy flame expire;
And meant it so--this tyrant, I engage,
Had lost his breath to gratify his rage.--
If where he walk'd a captive carcase lay,
Still dreadful was the language of the day--
He call'd us dogs, and would have us'd us so,
But vengeance check'd the meditated blow,
The vengeance from our injur'd nation due
To him, and all the base, unmanly crew.
Such food they sent, to make complete our woes,
It look'd like carrion torn from hungry crows,
Such vermin vile on every joint were seen,
So black, corrupted, mortified, and lean
That once we try'd to move our flinty chief,
And thus address'd him, holding up the beef:
"See, captain, see! what rotten bones we pick,
"What kills the healthy cannot cure the sick:
"Not dogs on such by Christian men are fed,
"And see, good master, see, what lousy bread!"
"Your meat or bread (this man of flint replied)
"Is not my care to manage or provide--
"But this, damn'd rebel dogs, I'd have you know,
"That better than you merit we bestow;
"Out of my sight!"----nor more he deign'd to say,
But whisk'd about, and frowning, strode away.
Each day, at least three carcases we bore,
And scratch'd them graves along the sandy shore;
By feeble hands the shallow graves were made,
No stone memorial o'er the corpses laid;
In barren sands, and far from home, they lie,
No friend to shed a tear, when passing by;
O'er the mean tombs insulting Britons tread,
Spurn at the sand, and curse the rebel dead.
When to your arms these fatal islands fall,
(For first or last they must be conquer'd all)
Americans! to rites sepulchral just,
With gentlest footstep press this kindred dust,
And o'er the tombs, if tombs can then be found,
Place the green turf, and plant the myrtle round.
Americans! a just resentment shew,
And glut revenge on this detested foe;
While the warm blood exults the glowing vein
Still shall resentment in your bosoms reign,
Can you forget the greedy Briton's ire,
Your fields in ruin, and your domes on fire,
No age, no sex from lust and murder free,
And, black as night, the hell born refugee!
Must York forever your best blood entomb,
And these gorg'd monsters triumph in their doom,
Who leave no art of cruelty untry'd;
Such heavy vengeance, and such hellish pride!
Death has no charms--his realms dejected lie
In the dull climate of a clouded sky;
Death has no charms, except in British eyes,
See, arm'd for death, the infernal miscreants rise;
See how they pant to stain the world with gore,
And millions murder'd, still would murder more;
This selfish race, from all the world disjoin'd,
Perpetual discord spread throughout mankind,
Aim to extend their empire o'er the ball,
Subject, destroy, absorb, and conquer all,
As if the power that form'd us did condemn
All other nations to be slaves to them--
Rouse from your sleep, and crush the thievish band,
Defeat, destroy, and sweep them from the land,
Ally'd like you, what madness to despair,
Attack the ruffians while they linger there;
There Tryon sits, a monster all complete,
See Clinton there with vile Knyphausen meet,
And every wretch whom honour should detest
There finds a home--and Arnold with the rest.
Ah! traitors, lost to every sense of shame,
Unjust supporters of a tyrant's claim;
Foes to the rights of freedom and of men,
Flush'd with the blood of thousands you have slain,
To the just doom the righteous skies decree
We leave you, toiling still in cruelty,
Or on dark plans in future herds to meet,
Plans form'd in hell, and projects half complete:
The years approach that shall to ruin bring
Your lords, your chiefs, your miscreant of a king,
Whose murderous acts shall stamp his name accurs'd,
And his last triumphs more than damn the first.
[26] First published in Philadelphia, by Francis Bailey, in 1781.
Freneau wrote the poem during the summer of 1780, immediately after his
exchange. The original manuscript is in the possession of Miss Adele M.
Sweeney, a great-granddaughter of the poet. The text follows the edition
of 1786.
On May 25, 1780, Freneau, in the ship _Aurora_, started from
Philadelphia as a passenger for Santa Cruz. The next day, while off Cape
Henlopen, the ship was captured by the British frigate _Iris_, Capt.
Hawkes, and the crew and passengers sent to New York as prisoners. For
Freneau's account of his capture and captivity, see _Some Account of the
Capture of the Ship Aurora_, 1899.
[27] Freneau was placed on board the _Scorpion_, June 1, and was
exchanged July 12, 1780.
[28] "The weather was very stormy and the river uncommonly rough. The
ship rolled considerably, and the water gushed into some of the lower
ports, which made some of the landsmen who slept in the cable tier
imagine she was sinking. In a moment the alarm became general. 'The ship
is sinking! the ship is sinking!' was echoed fore and aft. I expected
every moment to feel myself afloat in the berth where I lay; but at the
same time considering it would be a folly to drown between decks when I
perhaps might get on shore somehow, I jumped up and hurried toward the
main hatchway, where a multitude was endeavouring to get out; the
sentries at the same time beating on their heads with their drawn swords
and marquets without mercy.... Some lamented that they should never see
their wives and children again; others begged by the love of God to be
let upon deck and they would bind themselves slaves forever on board a
man-of-war, or any other service.... After some trouble we got a light,
and examining the pump-well, found the ship dry and tight."--_Freneau's
Journal._
[29] "One, Gauzoo, was steward of the ship--one of the most brutal of
mankind, who abused us continually. It is impossible for words to give
his character; it seemed as though he could not give any of us a civil
word upon the most indifferent occasion. When he was not cursing us, he
kept in his cabin in gloomy reserve, the most vile and detestable of
mortals."--_Freneau's Journal._
[30] "At sundown we were ordered down between the decks, to the number
of nearly three hundred of us. The best lodgings I could procure this
night was on a chest, almost suffocated with the heat and stench. I
expected to die before morning, but human nature can bear more than one
would at first suppose."--_Freneau's Journal._
[31] "The _Hunter_ had been very newly put to the use of a
hospital-ship. She was miserably dirty and cluttered. Her decks leaked
to such a degree that the sick were deluged with every shower of rain.
Between decks they lay along struggling in the agonies of death; dying
with putrid and bilious fevers; lamenting their hard fate to die at such
a fatal distance from their friends; others totally insensible, and
yielding their last breath in all the horrors of light-headed frenzy....
Our allowance in the _Hunter_, to those upon full diet, was one pound of
bread and one pound of fresh beef per diem; to those upon half diet, one
pound of bread and one-half pound of beef or mutton per diem. Every
other day we had a cask of spruce beer sent on board. Our fresh meat was
generally heads or shanks, and would just answer to make
soup."--_Freneau's Journal._
[32] "A German doctor attended every morning at eight o'clock and
administered such remedies as were thought proper. Thus things went on,
two or three dying every day, who were carried on shore and buried in
the bank, till three of our crew, who had got pretty hearty, stole the
boat one night and made their escape. This occasioned new trouble. The
doctor refused to come on board, and as he rowed past us next morning to
see somebody in the _Jersey_, which lay near us, some of the sick
calling to him for blisters, he told them to put tar on their backs,
which would serve as well as anything, and so rowed away. However, after
two or three days his wrath was appeased, and he deigned to come on
board again."--_Freneau's Journal._
THE SPY[33]
Sir Henry Clinton, Major Andre, Lucinda, Amelia, Arnold, Gen.
Green, Servants to Arnold, Peasants, Knyphausen, Gen. Robertson.
SCENE I.--_West Point Fort._ Jeffery _and_ Pasquin, _servants to_
ARNOLD, _working in a garden_.
_Pasq._ (_Throwing down his spade_) Faith, Jeffery, I am weary of
toiling among these rocks and precipices. I must e'en give o'er. Our
master should have fetched his soil along with him to these savage
retreats. We may work till we are gray-headed ere we can produce a
turnip or a cabbage for him on these barren, unthrifty rocks.
_Jeff._ Be not discouraged, Pasquin, we shall have better soil to work
in ere long.
_Pasq._ How know you that?
_Jeff._ I overheard my master t'other day telling a friend of his, whom,
by the by, the people of this country call a Tory, that he had planned
matters so that in a little time the war would be over, and then he
would purchase one of the most fertile tracts of land in America and
entitle it a Manor; that he would settle the same goodly possession with
tenants and vassals, and so being master among them, spend the remainder
of his days in quiet.
_Pasq._ I pray for the speedy fulfilling of this design. Our master, I
know, is an able general. Why, I suppose he intends to rout the enemy
out of New York, retake Charleston, conquer the warships of Britain,
kill the king, and so force the English nation to make peace with the
Americans.
_Jeff._ Heaven only knows in what manner he intends to act or what his
plan may be, but this I am sure of, he keeps it very secret, and I
believe there are not above one or two of his friends that know anything
of it.
_Pasq._ Well, the sooner he gets a new garden for us the better. I have
worn out a dozen mattocks and as many spades on these cursed craggy
rocks. One's tools to work here should be made of adamant. But, Jeffery,
do you not observe how gracious and intimate our master has been for
these several months past with some who are called disaffected?
_Jeff._ I have had it in my mind to make the same observation to you,
and do you not perceive that their intimacy daily increases?
_Pasq._ And then, when our master is at table with some of these chosen
favorites, how he sneers and hints ludicrous things against the American
officers and army. One would think he heartily despised them, by his
behaviour.
_Jeff._ And what was it he said of the French the other day? Did he not
say they were a perfidious nation of knaves, a herd of needy scoundrels
who were endeavoring to conquer this country from the king of Britain,
that they might add it to their own dominions and make the people here
slaves?
_Pasq._ And when the general gives a dance or an entertainment or a
ball, we see none of the true-heart Americans invited. His guests are a
lukewarm, half-disaffected sort of people, who say more than for their
own sakes I would choose to mention to everybody.
_Jeff._ Well, this may all be true, and yet I cannot help thinking our
master is a hearty friend to his country. He does these things for a
feint, under a mask, as it were, to find out secrets from the enemy. In
good faith, I am of opinion he will shortly drive every British soldier
off the continent and then become possessed of his Lordship or Manor, or
what-so you call it.
_Pasq._ Amen, I say, and so let us work on in hopes of better times.
SCENE II.--_Scene changes to New York._ SIR HENRY CLINTON _and_ MAJOR
ANDRE _in a private apartment_.
_Sir Henry._ Andre, my friend and faithful confidant,
Since Fortune now vouchsafes to smile again,
And stubborn Charlestown bends to Britain's yoke,
What shall we next attempt or next achieve?
I have transmitted home a full account
Of that great capture, that important city
Which long has bid defiance to our arms,
With all particulars and circumstances
Attending on the siege, and in the list
Of British officers with honour mentioned,
You, sir, are not forgot. I must confess,
By your advice I planned that expedition,
Which now shall set me high in royal favor,
By your unconquered spirit and perseverance,
A mind that laughs at toils and difficulties,
I carried on the siege with fire and vigour
Against a foe with hearts of adamant,
And found them to submit--but princely favor
Is like a fire that only burns as long
As you afford it fuel. Before this conquest
Of Charlestown wears away, and hardly leaves
A faint impression on the royal mind,
Let's hatch some great exploit, some daring action
That strikes into the heart of this rebellion,
That one deed, treading on the heels of t'other,
May make us great indeed.
_Maj. Andre._ I have been thinking
Some time, Sir Henry, what we should be doing.
'Tis yet but early in the active season;
The summer scarce has finished her career,
And in this mild, this pleasing temperate climate
Three months as yet are open for campaigns;
But then our worn-out, dying, wounded soldiers
Demand our pity. Those who came from Charlestown
Have brought with them a lingering hectic fever
Which hardly one survives. Our soldiers here
Who do the duty of the garrison,
With constant watching, unremitted labor,
Cannot be spared from hence. Were we sufficient
In horse and foot to combat with the foe,
I forthwith would advise your Excellency
Once more to try the force of Washington,
That so, by killing and by captivating
Him and his troops, we totally might ruin
This only stay, this bulwark of rebellion.
But since our circumstances don't allow
With open force t' attack the hostile lines,
Let's try the witching power of bribery.
We read the Prince of Macedon declared
That those strong gates his javelins could not pierce
Nor battering ram effect a breach upon,
Were open still to gold. [_Pauses_
_Sir Henry._ Speak on, my friend,
For I approve the motion to my soul
If any project likely to succeed,
Or well-planned scheme thou canst impart to me,
Gold shall not be deficient. Millions lie
Appropriated to this very purpose,
And often have I sent to sound some chiefs
Whose qualities and influence are great
In yonder hostile camp, but their stern souls
Are so well armed with more than Spartan virtue
That there corruption seems to have no power,
And all my schemes and plans are come to nothing.
_Maj. Andre._ I know a man
Who, wouldst thou think it, by his chieftain trusted,
And even this moment placed in high command,
And honoured to profusion by his country--
The Americans in truth almost adore him--
That I do correspond with daily. O Britain, Britain,
That one descended from thy true-born sons
Should plot against the soil that gave him birth,
And for the value of a little gold
Betray its dearest rights.
But traitors are the growth of every country
And Arnold is our own!
_Sir Henry._ What say you? Arnold?
Can Arnold then be bought? I greet you now!
Arnold, in chief command at West Point fort?
Arnold, who galled our sides in Canada?
Arnold, who took and plundered Montreal?
Gold shall not here be scarce if gold can buy him;
Ten thousand sterling pounds are at his service,
And twice ten thousand more if he deliver
This West Point fort with its dependencies
Into the hand of Clinton.
_Maj. Andre._ If we can gain the fort we all things gain,
The country round must at our mercy lie;
Then may our shipping sail to Albany,
Disbark the troops that march for Saratoga,
Who, taking thence the route to Lake Champlain,
May soon reduce the forts, and in a month
Open a new acquaintance with the north,
Communicated free to Canada.--
Another great advantage we shall gain:
By being masters then of Hudson's river,
We shall cut off all intercourse and passage
Between the eastern and the southern states,
Which I conceive will be of consequence
Toward the speedy ending of the war.
_Sir Henry._ And so you say that we can buy the fort;
Then happy I--my fame and fortune sure;
This service will be of such eminence
That Britain never can requite Sir Henry.
_Maj. Andre._ I do report that you can buy the fort,
For well I know the man I have to deal with;
For just ten thousand guineas
The troops, the fort, and Arnold are your own.
And to this man, altho' he be a rascal,
You must consider we are obligated.
He quits his friends, his honour, and his country,
The fame of all his great and brilliant actions,
And the encomiums both of France and Spain,
Perhaps all Europe, Britain not excepted,
Sold for ten thousand guineas and to serve us.
_Sir Henry._ And obligated we confess ourselves.
This West Point fort--for this a long campaign
I spent along the shores of Hudson's river,
And failed at last with loss of Stony Point,
The works, the stores, and twice three hundred soldiers,
The prime of all my pack;--yes, powerful gold,
I own thy aid in this extremity.
Tho' Britain be the greatest in the world
In ships and men with genius for the sea,
Yet cannot her stout navy take this fort
By open force with all its weight of cannon.
It stands upon a craggy eminence,
All fenced around with towers and battlements,
The works of mighty nature.
To these subjoined the nicest aids of art--
Glacis and bastions, flanks and counter scarps,
Horn works and moat, half moons and covert way,
Trenches and mines, tenaille and battery,
With guns of every size and every bore,
And such a host of desperadoes there,
Who to the last drop of their blood would hold it,
That none but devils, I presume, can take it.
Beside, in sailing up the Hudson river,
When from this fort you're yet a full mile distant,
You turn a point at whose extremity
So high the mountains swell above the flood
That in a moment all your sails are lifeless;
The southern breezes die that blew with vigor,
And there you lie at mercy of the fort,
Your ships raked fore and aft and ruin around you.
But all these difficulties cease if Arnold
Betray the place, as you would fain assure me.
Now tell me, friend, the manner, how and when
You did entice this champion from his duty.
_Maj. Andre._ From some connection I have had with him,
I found the leading feature of his soul
Was avarice. He could feign and counterfeit,
Persuade you black was white or white was black,
And swear, as interest prompted, false or true.
This known, I reasoned thus: If his base soul
Can toil and fret and browbeat death itself,
Endure the summer suns and winter snows
In tedious route through hyperborean wilds,
And sordid wealth alone incites him to it,
Why may not British gold have some effect
On such a slavish soul? I wrote him straight
(Your pardon, sir, it was without your leave)
And by a trusty lad I sent the letter,
Sewed in a jacket, to the following import:
That if he would forego his present station,
Betray the fortress and the garrison,
And he himself come over to our interest,
He should be recompensed in such a manner
That he might sit him down at ease in England,
Up to the eyes in wealth and laugh at rebels.
_Sir Henry._ And, pray, what answer did he send to this?
_Maj. Andre._ One that almost outdid my expectation.
He wrote me back that if I would adventure
To trust myself within the Americ lines,
He would, by means of secret friends and passports,
Gain me admittance to his residence;
Or meeting close in personal interview
In some lone place hereafter to be fixed on,
Confer with me upon the fittest means
Of rendering up his charge. He further added
That he was weary of this damned rebellion,
For ten thousand guineas would be yours,
That doing thus he meant his country's good,
And would pursue it to his utmost power.
_Sir Henry._ Upon a lucky hour you thought of Arnold.
But, friend, I charge you, if this scheme succeed,
Take not the merit of it to yourself;
But let the world imagine it was Clinton
Who schemed, who plotted, and seduced the villain;
That by this deed more honour I may gain
Than if I had defeated Washington
By dint of blows on yonder Jersey plain.
Your recompense shall not be wanting, Andre;
My trusty friend, go make haste toward the highlands.
A frigate shall be ready to convey you.
Accept the proffered conference, and bring
Plans of the fort and all its avenues,
The number of the soldiers that defend it,
And whate'er else may be of service to us;
That tho' if by chance his treason be discovered,
And his designments lose their consummation,
We may have somewhat to facilitate--
Some bold attack that may hereafter be
Upon this proud and self-sufficient fortress.
_Maj. Andre._ But, sir, consider. If I undertake
So bold a stroke as this, I risk my life,
Perhaps may meet an ignominious death.
When once I pass the British lines, that instant
Do I become a spy. That character
Ever belongs to common, vulgar men,
To suttlers and to pedlars, desperate wretches,
The rubbish and the scourings of the world;
Can I descend to so desperate an office?
_Sir Henry._ But, then, your country!--
Consider what it is you owe your country.
Distressed she combats with revolted nations,
And can't by force reduce them to subjection;
Assist her while you can, and take my word,
You need not fear an apprehension.
I charge you, be not found within their lines;
Remember still to keep on neutral ground,
Unless a flag of truce be sent from Arnold
That will secure your person and the plot.
But if by chance you should be questioned
By any scouting parties of militia,
A purse of shillings scattered to the wretches
Will soon procure a passage unmolested.
I long to hear the upshot of this meeting,
The _Vulture_ man-of-war is at your service,
And shall to-morrow take you up the river
As far as she with safety may adventure.
_Maj. Andre._ Then for the sake of Britain and of you
Will I to Arnold haste away, Sir Harry.
If things succeed, as I expect they shall,
Within three days will I be back to tell you
The means we fall upon to gain the fort.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--_Enter an aide-de-camp from_ GENERAL WASHINGTON _to_ ARNOLD.
_Scene, West Point Fort. Time, midnight._
_Aide D. C._ Sir, I am sent by our renowned general
To let you know that in his best opinion
Five hundred men in reason are too few
To man the works of this important post.
Three thousand, he informs, are at your service,
Lying at camp, with stores and baggage ready,
Whene'er you send a requisition for them.
_Arnold._ Five hundred are too few! Why, sir, what means he?
I do assert, and do insist upon it,
That with the aid of scant two hundred men
I could defend this fort and all its outworks
(Its strength is so prodigious in defence)
Against ten legions of the boldest Britons,
With Clinton at the head to lead them on,
Whether he choose to come by sea or land.
_Aide D. C._ Well be it so. I have discharged my duty
In bringing you our noble general's message.
Pray, sir, have you commands to send from hence?
My time to stay is short; I must be going.
_Arnold._ Tho' I am steady to my sentiment,
That these five hundred men are full sufficient,
Yet, to comply with the spirit of his meaning,
You may inform the general, two hours' warning
Will bring me in four thousand of militia.
They are as rugged and as hardy fellows,
As bold and desperate in the works of war,
As skilled to hit the mark or push the bagnet,
As any of the choicest continentals.
Pray tell the general this, and I am sure,
I'm satisfied, he'll be of my opinion. [_Exit Aide D. C._
_Arnold_ (_solus_). This is the time for dark and dangerous action;
This is the time that thieves and murderers choose
To execute their desperate designs.
But art thou, Arnold, less than murderer,
Who thus prepare to stab thy bleeding country?
And can I then descend to be a traitor!
By honest toils a name have I acquired,
Great and unequalled in the rolls of fame;
And shall that name to infamy be doomed
By one base act that mars and cankers all?
For this have I in winter's joyless reign
Explored the naked wilds of northern clime,
When mid the snows and frosts and chilling winds
Cold earth has been my bed. Ambition, rise
And fire my soul to nobler purposes.
To-morrow Major Andre comes to meet me,
And I am to consult on ways and means
To give this fort up to my country's foes.
Shall I repent of my unjust proceedings,
Admit this daring Briton to my portal,
And say I did thus to entrap the man
Who is grand vizar to Sir Henry Clinton?
Whose scheming head doth hurt our country more
Than all their host beside?
But that would be ungenerous--more than that,
Ten thousand guineas are the offered price
Of my desertion--more than that, perhaps
I shall henceforward be caressed by kings
And bear a generalship that may reduce
These states revolted back to Britain's sway.
* * * * * For now I do imagine
They have no rights, no claims to independence.
Born were we all, subjected to a king,
And that subjection must return again.
The people are not dull republicans,
By nature they incline to monarchy.
How glorious should I be to have a share
In bringing back my country to allegiance.
Can France uphold them in their proud demand,
That race of puny, base, perfidious dogs?
Sooner shall all the house of Bourbon sink
Their Rochambault, D'Estang and La Fayette,
And Spain confederate cease to be a nation,
And all their allies dwindle into atoms,
Ere Britain will withdraw her righteous claim
Or yield a jot of her dominion here
To any people living. Then, Andre, come,
The sooner Britain gains this fort the better.
SCENE II.--MAJOR ANDRE, LUCINDA. _Parlor._
_Maj. Andre._ I cannot leave this city, sweet Lucinda, without imparting
to you that I am going a little way toward the American lines, at the
request of his Excellency, upon some business of importance. I am come
to chat a little with you ere I go. It may be some days before you see
me again.
_Lucinda._ If it be not too great a presumption in me, my dear Major, I
would beg to know whether you depart on a peaceable or hostile errand.
You must pardon a woman's curiosity. I had a frightful dream about you a
few nights ago, which I cannot banish from my mind ever since.
_Maj. Andre._ I am happy, madam, in being the subject of your dreams.
But dreams are delusions of the mind, mere vagaries and whimsies not to
be attended to. You may remember that, prior to our Charlestown
expedition, you discouraged me a good deal with a vision you had of a
vessel shipwrecked, and myself with the other passengers drowned, and
yet little or nothing was intimated thereby. We made our passage safe,
conquered the place, and returned with victory and honor.
_Lucinda._ True. But your fleet endured a terrible hurricane, in which
many perished.
_Maj. Andre._ O Lucinda, thou art a dreamer of dreams, thou thinkest,
love.
_Lucinda._ This last was represented to my mind in quite a different
manner, in such lively colours that I cannot help thinking some evil is
foreboded to you.
_Maj. Andre._ Poh! Let's hear the extraordinary dream, then, that we may
laugh a little at it.
_Lucinda._ I imagined myself in a country where the skies were forever
cloudy and gloomy, with frequent bursts of thunder and flashes of
lightning. Among many other objects, all of which seemed disconsolate
and melancholy, I saw you endeavouring to reach the summit of a sharp,
craggy precipice. You leaped with surprising agility over dark gulfs and
apertures therein, which no other man would have thought of passing. The
spectators admired your activity and daring spirit. The continual
obstacles in your way seemed nothing to you, and at length you bid fair
to gain the summit, when, catching hold of a shrub, which was but
slightly rooted in one of the crevices of the rock, it instantly gave
way, and you tumbled to the bottom, dashed to pieces on the pointed
crags and torn in a shocking manner. I shrieked out and waked.
_Maj. Andre._ Your dream was frightful indeed; but still it was nothing
but a dream. Why, I have imagined before now in my sleep that I have
tumbled down ten thousand fathoms in a perpendicular line; but all this
was owing to mere mechanical causes, the motion of the animal spirits or
the veins being rather too replete with blood.
_Lucinda._ Well, be it so. I hope my dream may be the forerunner of no
mischief. But are you going out on a fighting expedition, sir, if I may
be so bold to ask the question?
_Maj. Andre._ My dearest love, I will conceal nothing from you. I know
you are the girl of a thousand for keeping a secret. It must not take
air. I have corrupted General Arnold. He is to sell West Point fort to
me, and this evening I am to set out and consult with him upon the
fittest means to blind the eyes of the Samson and deliver up the place
to Sir Henry without danger of failure.
_Lucinda._ But could not some person be deputized for this purpose whose
life is not of such value to Britain as yours? You are a proud soul to
Sir Henry Clinton. He enterprises nothing without first having your
advice and direction. If you should be intercepted in your way by the
Americans, would it not endanger your life, my dear Andre, to be found
without some mission or any plausible excuse for being within an enemy's
lines?
_Maj. Andre._ You are too timorous, Lucinda. I shall go and come by
water in an armed ship. I may perhaps just venture on shore in a
----[34] of time, but shall take care not to expose myself to any
danger. I well know how far to venture, but if the worst come to the
worst, I can tell them I have deserted from the British. Then I shall be
caressed among them till such times as I can find an opportunity to
escape and join my countrymen.
_Lucinda._ You venture all this, you say, at the request of Sir Henry?
_Maj. Andre._ Yes; but chiefly to serve my country. Had I a thousand
lives, I would lay them all down for Britain and my king. But I must go.
You deject my spirits, my girl. A woman is destructive to the spirit of
enterprise in a man. Poh! I am growing melancholy too. You must cheer my
drooping soul, Lucinda. I heard you humming a little song the other day.
Do let's have it. I think it begins thus: "My native shades delight no
more."
_Lucinda._ Although I am in no humour for music, you shall hear it, my
love. I suppose it was made by some British officer on his setting out
for America, who was as great an idolater to his king and country as
most English gentlemen.
[_Sings_
My native shades delight no more,[35]
I haste to meet the ocean's roar,
I seek a wild inclement shore
Beyond the Atlantic main:
'Tis virtue calls!--I must away!--
Nor care nor pleasure tempts my stay,
Nor all that love himself can say,
A moment shall detain.
To meet those hosts who dare disown
Allegiance to Britannia's throne,
I draw the sword that pities none,
I draw their rebel blood;
Amazement shall their troops confound,
When hackt and prostrate on the ground;
My blade shall drink from every wound
A life-restoring flood!
The swarthy Indian, yet unbroke,
Shall bind his neck to Britain's yoke,
Or flee from her avenging stroke
To deserts all unknown;
The southern isles shall own her sway,
Peru and Mexico obey,
And those who yet to Satan pray
Beyond the southern zone.
For George the Third I dare to fall,
Since he to me is all in all;
May he subdue this earthly ball
And nations tribute bring.
Yon western states shall wear his chain,
Where traitors now with tyrants reign,
And subject shall be all the main
To George, our potent king.
When honour calls to guard his throne,
My life I dare not call my own;
My life I yield without a groan
For him whom I adore.
In lasting glory shall he reign,
'Tis he shall conquer France and Spain,
Tho' I perhaps may ne'er again
Behold my native shore.
_Maj. Andre._ You sing charmingly, Lucinda. The poor fellow's resolution
pleases me. He engages to give his life, if necessary, for his king and
country, and yet perhaps he feels the ingratitude of both every hour in
the day. It must, however, be so. Nature has formed us with a principle
of love to our native land. What say you, Lucinda?
_Lucinda._ It may be so, sir; and yet that love need not carry us to
such an idolatrous extravagance as is manifested in the little stanzas I
had the pleasure of singing to you.
_Maj. Andre._ Indeed you are in the right, but we are slaves to custom.
_Lucinda._ I have sung to please you, my love; now, if you have leisure,
I would beg your attention a moment to a little ditty that pleases
myself.
_Maj. Andre._ Most gladly, my angel; I can prolong half an hour yet in
your agreeable company.
[_Looking at his watch_
_Lucinda sings_[36]
You chide me and tell me I must not complain
To part a few days from my favourite swain.
He is gone to the battle and leaves me to mourn,
And say what you please, he will never return.
When he left me he kissed me, and said, my sweet dear,
In less than a month I again will be here;
With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn,
And I wept, being sure he would never return.
I said, my dear creature, I beg you would stay,
But he with his soldiers went strutting away.
Then why should I longer my sorrows adjourn,
For I know in my heart he will never return.
Whenever there's danger he loves to be there,
He fights like a hero when others despair.
In this expedition he goes to his urn;
You call me a fool if he ever return.
_Maj. Andre._ The application of this I must take to myself, I suppose.
Fie upon you, lady; you need to divert me with merry jokes and a strain
of wit peculiar to yourself. You now are pensive, demure, and
melancholy. You make me so, too.
_Lucinda._ Yonder comes Sir Henry. I suppose he has some private
business with you. I must retire.
[_Exit Lucinda. Enter Sir Henry and others_
_Maj. Andre._ How do your Excellencies? Will you please to sit?
_Sir Henry._
Till you return from this important errand
I am a slave to impatience, Major Andre.
I beg you would this night equip with speed,
And on an eagle's wings to Arnold haste.
The frigate lies at single anchor ready,
And winds propitious to our purpose blow.
But hark ye, friend, and tell the general then
That if he can by any means at all,
On any artful, plausible pretence,
So manage matters and with such address
As to entice the great Americ chief,
At that same hour the fort is yielded to us,
There to be present on some feigned business,
That so we may be master of his person,
Tell him if he does this his pay is double.
Besides ten thousand guineas we have promised,
Ten thousand more with gratitude I'll pay,
And think him cheaply bought. He is the soul,
The great upholder of this long contention.
I dread his prudence and his courage more
Than all the armies that the Congress raise,
Than all the troops or all the ships of France.
_Maj. Andre._
Well thought! I shall obey your Excellency.
It is a bold and dangerous undertaking,
'Tis hazardous, but not impossible.
To win on this great chief--'tis a bright thought.
He'll think himself as safe at West Point Fort
As in the bosom of his spacious camp,
And therefore will not hesitate to come
Only attended by a score of guards.
The same attempt may seize the fort and him.
_Sir Henry._
And be precise to fix the time, when we
Must take possession of the citadel.
Against the hour that I expect you back
Five thousand troops shall be embarked and ready
To execute whatever plan you fix on.
[_Exit Sir Henry. Reenter Lucinda with a handkerchief to her eyes_
_Maj. Andre._ The time is come that is appointed for my departure. It is
impossible that even beauty or wit or tears can now withhold me from my
purpose. I have promised his Excellency and now to hesitate would prove
me to be a coward, one altogether unworthy to be trusted with any
business that requires wit and dexterity.
_Lucinda._ Your resolution is fixed, and I do not desire you to fall
from it; only if heaven should so order that any fatal accident befall
you, remember the unfortunate Lucinda. She sends her good wishes along
with you, and prays for all imaginable prosperity on every undertaking
in which Major Andre bears a part.
_Maj. Andre._ My thanks to you, my dearest. If a heart so good as thine
petition heaven for my safety, I have nothing to fear. Thy prayers are
my guardian angels, and will protect me in every danger. My honour calls
me and I must go. Give me a parting kiss, my dear. Adieu, adieu.
[_He leaves her_
Now native courage warm my wavering breast,
And fires of resolution blaze within me,
For I must on a dangerous errand go,
With secret cunning to deceive the foe,
Whose active souls in dire connections meet,
Where one false step my ruin makes complete.
Ye guardian powers that still protect the brave,
Some pity on distressed Britain have.
By me she seeks some portion to regain
Of her lost empire, tried so oft in vain.
But dreadful scenes before my eyes appear,
And dangers thicken as they draw more near.
But soft--no dangers can my heart appal,
I have a soul that can despise them all.
More than an equal chance for life I see,
But life and death must be the same to me. [_Exit_
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_Robinson's house. A stormy night._ ARNOLD. PASQUIN.
_Arnold._ How looks the weather?
_Pasquin._ Stormy, sir; very stormy; it blows terrifically and there is
heavy rain.
_Arnold._ Pasquin!
_Pasquin._ Sir.
_Arnold._ Tell the sentries upon duty to-night that I expect a gentleman
of my acquaintance here about ten o'clock. When he comes to the outer
gate, bid one of them conduct him to my apartment.
_Pasquin._ Your honour shall be obeyed. [_Exit_
_Arnold_ (_solus_).
Peace to this gloomy grove that sees me acting
What open daylight would disdain to own.
Ye wood, be witness of my dark designs,
And shade me o'er, ye lofty eminences;
Tremendous gloom, encompass me around
In clouds that wing from Greenland's foggy caves,
Plutonian darkness on your pinions bring,
Conceal my base intent from human view,
And be the daylight still a stranger to it.
Storm on, ye wind, the tempest that ye make
In the broad regions of the troubled ether
Is quiet to the tumult of my soul!
Departing honour,--take thy last adieu,
'Tis this night's deed that stamps me for a villain.
Who comes there? [_Enter Pasquin_
_Pasquin._ Sir, there is a traveller just alighted at Sergeant Jones's
quarters, who desires to know whether he can have a little private
conference with you, and asked me whether you were alone or no.
_Arnold._ A traveller? How is he dressed?
_Pasquin._ He has on a plain suit of blue clothes, a cocked beaver hat
and draw boots. He rides a common bay horse, and by his general
appearance one would suppose him to be a commissary, or perhaps a
quarter-master.
_Arnold._ How came you to know all these particulars; the night being so
dark and stormy?
_Pasquin._ I had a glimpse of him by means of a lanthorn we carried out
when he got off his horse. Over all, I forgot to mention, he had a
fear-naught riding coat.
_Arnold._ A plain blue suit, you say?
_Pasquin._ Yes.
_Arnold._ And draw boots?
_Pasquin._ Yes.
_Arnold._ And wore he sword?
_Pasquin._ No; he had no sword, that I saw.
_Arnold._ And what aspect is he? Is he a well-looking man?
_Pasquin._ As handsome a man, please your honour, as ever the sun shone
upon. It did me good to look upon him.
_Arnold_ (_aside_). This must be him.
[_To Pasquin_] Bid the sergeant show him the way to me immediately, and
put up his horse in my own stable. He is from Philadelphia, a friend and
relative of mine.
[_Exit Pasquin_
_Arnold_ (_solus_). This is Major Andre, indeed. We have agreed in our
correspondence that he shall pass here under the name of Captain Ashton,
to prevent suspicion.
[_Sergeant introduces Major Andre_
_Arnold._ Captain Ashton, my friend, how are you? Please to draw near
the fire and sit. How do our friends at Philadelphia? [_Exit sergeant_]
The booby is now gone, and we may talk freely without suspicion.
_Maj. Andre._ I am happy at length to see General Arnold, with whom I
have corresponded so long at a distance. I hope, my dear general, you
are ready to perform your promise.
_Arnold._ Undoubtedly the fort shall be yours within three days, upon
the conditions I mentioned to you in my last letter. I hope you have
apprised Sir Henry of them.
_Maj. Andre._ Yes, sir. He is satisfied, and thinks your demand really
moderate; but now let us to the point. We must fall upon some plan by
which we must act without much danger of miscarriage. Would it not be
best that our troops should seem to take the fort by surprise, and thus
prevent the world from having any suspicion of treachery in the case?
_Arnold._ I have had the same thought, my dear sir. Besides, if we can
make this pass, I shall become a prisoner of war to you in appearance,
be exchanged after a little time, and so be in a capacity to serve you
again; or, pretending the fort not tenable, I may make my escape during
your attack, and all this without any suspicion on the part of the
Americans.
_Maj. Andre._ God grant your scheme may be successful.
_Arnold._ Now hear what I have to propose further. When you are embarked
with your army, suppose one or two thousand men or more sail up the
river as far as you safely can, short of the fort, and endeavour to make
the country believe you are on a plundering expedition. I shall have
companies out who will give me notice of all your movements. Then land
your men, march up to the fort, demand a surrender, which I will
absolutely refuse. Upon which hang out your bloody flag and fire against
the walls point blank, without mercy. In that part of the fortress where
I shall be, you will see a small white flag flying. Do not fire to that
quarter. The garrison shall discharge the artillery three times over
your heads, after which I will surrender and open the gates to you.
Then, by not putting one of the garrison to death, which would be your
right, you having stormed it, you will have an excellent opportunity of
giving the world a new instance of British humanity. Then you may pour
your troops into the fort, take possession of it, and hoist the British
flag. The prisoners may immediately be sent to the shipping and ordered
to New York before the Continental forces will have a chance of
hindering the embarkation. What say you?
_Maj. Andre._ Excellently well imagined. I hope it may succeed. The
money shall be paid you on your arrival at York; but there is another
service Sir Henry would fain hope you could indulge him in, and your
reward shall be double.
_Arnold._ What may it be?
_Maj. Andre._ He is eager to be possessed of your Commander-in-Chief.
Could you contrive no way to get him into our hands? He is the soul of
this obstinate rebellion. Were he a prisoner to us, America would soon
be ours again.
_Arnold_ (_pausing_). Why, true, it would greatly facilitate the
recovery of the colonies. Let me see. I will endeavour to prevail upon
him to spend a day or two at Robinson's home. Nay, I am sure he will be
here next Monday, and the garrison. There are a number of disaffected
people not far from hence, whom I can engage to secure his person and
convey him on board the _Vulture_ ship of war.
_Maj. Andre._ If we become by your means possessed of these two jewels,
General Washington and this important fort, we shall never think the
obligation sufficiently acknowledged. You will become the greatest man
in the world. Britain will adore you. She will kiss the very ground you
tread upon, besides lavishing wealth upon you by millions.
_Arnold._ She is heartily welcome to such poor services as I can render
her. What I do is from principle, from the consciousness of a rectitude
of heart and love to my country.
_Maj. Andre._ Sir, you were born to be a great man. Now, if you will be
pleased to deliver me the plan of the fort, signals of recognizance and
other papers of consequence in this affair, I will be going. I do not
think myself safe till such times as I get within the British lines
again.
_Arnold._ The danger is trifling. With a passport from me, you may go
anywhere in these colonies.
_Maj. Andre._ Sir, I thank you. It may be of service indeed.
_Arnold._ I will write it immediately. There, sir; and here is the
packet. I will not detain you, because I know the business requires
dispatch. You will, however, sup with me, and take a glass of wine
before you go.
_Maj. Andre._ I shall hardly have time; however, I will wait half an
hour.
_Arnold._ Walk with me into this other apartment; we soldiers do not
stand upon ceremony. But how do you carry these papers so as to conceal
them in case you meet with any over-curious persons?
_Maj. Andre._ I have an expedient. I can carry them in the foot of my
boot. Do you see how snug they lie?
[_Putting them on_
_Arnold._ Aye, faith, that was well thought of; but do not put the
passport in your boot.
_Maj. Andre._ No, no. That goes into my pocket.
SCENE II.--_An ancient stone building in the Dutch taste. Three
officers_, VINCENT, AMBROSE, ASMITH. VINCENT _and_ ASMITH _entering_.
_Am._ Well are we met in these sequestered wilds;
Whence come ye, brothers, at so late an hour?
_Vin._ From scouring all the country up and down,
To seize, if fortune please, illicit traders,
Who are so bold and unscrupulous grown
That oft in open day, as well as night,
They bear large cargoes of provision down
To yonder ships that still infest our river.
How I detest these underhanded scoundrels,
Who, hungry as the grave for British gold,
Feed the vile foe that lurks within our harbours.
_Am._ Gods! Can they be so base,--but there are they
Who sell their country for a mess of pottage,--
A servile, scheming race whose god is gain,
Who for a little gold would stab their fathers
And plunder life from her who gave them life.
These are not true Americans. They are
A spurious race--scum, dregs, and bastards all.
They are not true Americans, I say.
_As._ They cannot be, they help toward our ruin.
But, gentlemen, I'll tell you what I think;
We have so many lurking foes within,
And such a potent enemy without,
That I almost despair, I must confess,
That ever we shall rend these thirteen States
From persevering Britain, and compel
Acknowledgment of independence here.
_Vin._ Say not so.
The rights of humanity, 'tis these we fight for,
And not to carry ruin round the globe.
Appearances are so much in our favour
That he who doubts that this event shall be,
Must be as blind as he whose useless orbs
Have never drank the radiated light.
Nay, he who doubts of this, who dares to doubt
(If nature be not ----[37] to miracles
And devils rule with delegated sway)
Deserves not nor is worthy to enjoy
The paradise we look for.
_Amb._ Be it so.
But let us leave the great event to fate,
Who soon or late will bring to light its purpose;
Our duty to our country must be done,
And in so doing we its freedom hasten.
But, friends, why stay we here? By yonder stars
That still revolving point toward the pole,
I find it must be midnight.
_Vin._ I do expect a score of peasants here,
A set of hardy, bold, and faithful fellows,
Whom I can trust in all emergencies.
In different parties I shall these despatch
Toward the hostile lines, for I suspect
That intercourse too often doth subsist
Between our disaffected and the foe.
_Amb._ And are these peasants armed?
_Vin._ Armed with a musquet and a bayonet;
A true and desperate soldier wants no more.
_As._ And thirty cartridges to every man,
With three days' victuals in their knapsacks stored.
_Amb._ It is enough. I hope they will not tarry.
SCENE III.--_A number of armed peasants in an outhouse._
_1st P._ Do you know what we are sent for, brother Harry?
_2nd P._ To go on some secret expedition, I suppose.
_1st P._ And which way shall we bend, think ye?
_2nd P._ God bless you. Why do you ask such a question? It is not for us
to know where we are going. We shall know bye and bye, I warrant you,
after we have marched two or three score of miles.
_1st P._ And where are our officers?
_2nd P._ They are in the adjoining house. They will be with us
presently.
_3rd P._ And how shall we pass the time till they come?
_2nd P._ O, merrily enough. We can dance and sing.
_1st P._ Harry, you can sing. Give us a song.
_2nd P._ [_Sings_
Ours not to sleep in shady bowers,[38]
When frosts are chilling all the plain,
And nights are cold and long the hours
To check the ardor of the swain,
Who parting from his cheerful fire
All comforts doth forego,
And here and there
And everywhere
Pursues the prowling foe.
_2nd P._ How like you that?
_3rd P._ O, very well. I love to hear anything that touches upon the
hardships of a soldier's life.
_4th P._ Give us the rest; give us the rest. I love that song, Harry.
_2nd P._
But we must sleep in frost and snows,
No season shuts up our campaign;
Hard as the oaks, we dare oppose
The autumn's or the winter's reign.
Alike to us the winds that blow
In summer's season gay,
Or those that rave
On Hudson's wave
And drift his ice away.
For Liberty, celestial maid,
With joy all hardships we endure.
In her blest smiles we are repaid,
In her protection are secure.
Then rise superior to the foe,
Ye freeborn souls of fire;
Respect these arms,
'Tis freedom warms,
To noble deeds aspire.
Winter and death may change the scene,
The cold may freeze, the ball may kill,
And dire misfortunes intervene;
But freedom shall be potent still
To drive these Britons from our shore,
Who, cruel and unkind,
With slavish chain
Attempt in vain
Our freeborn limbs to bind.
_Pasq._ O, excellent--"Our freeborn limbs to bind"--by my soul, they
never shall bind mine. Harry, give us another song on our affairs and
then we'll be ready.
_All._ Ay, ay; another, another.
_2nd P._ I have not many by heart. I do recollect one at present, but it
was made at the beginning of the war.
_All._ No matter, no matter; let's hear it.
_2nd P._ [_Sings_
The cohorts of Britain are now all complete,
She has brushed up her soldiers and manned out her fleet;
The lion has roared whose trade is to kill,
And we are the victims whose blood he must spill.
But ere I am slaughtered and wrapped in a shroud
I must tell you the motive that makes him so proud.
The monkeys and puppies that bow to his rule
Have told him a lie and deceived the old fool.
They say we are cowards, not dressed in red coats,
That he without danger may cut all our throats;
If we see but a Briton, confounded with fear,
We'll throw down our muskets and run like a deer.
That one thousand men with a captain would dare
To march from New Hampshire to Georgia, they swear.
But here lies the trick of these wonderful men,
They tell us they'll do it, but do not say when.
Such a motive to fight would you ever conceive,
Yet such is the motive that makes him so brave.
On such a presumption, in hopes of applause,
He whets up his grinders and sharpens his claws.
But hark, Mr. Lion, and be not so stout,
In fancy alone you have put us to rout.
To show you how little your threat'nings avail,
Here's a kick at your breech and a clip at your tail.[39]
* * * * * * *
But everything seems poisoned where I tread,
And I am tortured to perfection.
[_Exit. Enter an officer of the guard_
SCENE IV.--_Another apartment in said house. Enter_ AIDE _to_ GEN.
ARNOLD.
_Aide._ General Arnold here?
_Jeff._ Two hours have hardly yet elapsed since he
Across the river to the garrison
On some important business went in haste,
So as I told to his attendant here.
For since the general parted I arrived.
Is he, then, at the garrison? by heaven,
We'll have him in a trice.
_Aide._ You'll have him in a trice. Pray, what means that?
_Jeff._ I see your ignorance, my honest friend.
Why such a damned, unnatural plot has happened
That when I mention it, if you have feeling,
At the first word your blood must chill with horror
And admiration shake your very soul.
This traitor Arnold, this vile, abandoned traitor,
This monster of ingratitude unequalled,
Has been conspiring with an English spy
To render tip the fort to General Clinton.
_Aide._ What fort? the fort at West Point, mean you?
_Jeff._ The fort at West Point, on my sacred honour,
The garrison, dependencies, and stores,
And, what is more, the person of our leader.
Five thousand troops at York are now embarked,
And even wait this night to take possession.
_Aide._ Is this reality; sure you are jesting.
And yet you serious seem to be of countenance.
Lips that quiver, eyes that glow with passion,
Tempt me to think your story may be true.
And yet I doubt it. Came you here to seize him?
_Jeff._ Nay, doubt it not. I have the papers with me
That at a glance betray this horrid treason.
_Aide._ For what could he do this?
Was it Resentment, Avarice, Ambition
That prompted him to act the traitor's part?
And yet I'm sure it never could be avarice.
His country lavishes her wealth upon him;
He has the income of a little king,
And perquisites that by a hundred ways
Not only the base wants of life supply,
But deck him out in elegance and grandeur.
Perhaps, indeed, he has ambitious views:
He aims to make his court to Britain's king,
And rise upon the ruins of his country.
Perhaps it is resentment and disgust,
For many hate him, and have often said
He fattens on the plunder of the public.
_Jeff._ 'Tis avarice, sir, that base, unmanly motive.
The glare of British gold has captivated
This hero, as we thought him. What a curse,
That human souls can of such stuff be moulded,
That they, foregoing fame and character,
E'en for the sake of what is despicable,
Be foe to virtue and to virtue's friend.
But such are to be found, and every age has seen 'em,
Who, for the sake of mere external show,
Some qualities that seemed to them attractive----[40]
[33] This fragment of a drama, as far as I can find, was never
published. Freneau, judging from indications, wrote it shortly after his
"Prison Ship," in the autumn of 1780, only a few weeks after the events
took place which it records. It exists, as far as I know, only in
Freneau's fragmentary and much-revised autograph manuscript now in the
possession of Miss Adele M. Sweeney of Jersey City. The arrest of Andre
took place September 23, 1780.
[34] Here occurs an illegible word in Freneau's manuscript.
[35] This poem was first published in the edition of 1786 under the
title, "The English Quixote of 1778; or, Modern Idolatry." In the 1809
edition Freneau added the following:
EPILOGUE
'Tis so well known 'tis hardly worth relating
That men have worshipped gods, though of their own creating:
Art's handy work they thought they might adore,
And bowed to gods that were but logs before.
Idols, of old, were made of clay or wood,
And, in themselves, did neither harm nor good,
Acted as though they knew the good old rule,
"Friend, hold thy peace, and you'll be thought no fool."
Britons! their case is yours--and linked in fate,
You, like your Indian allies--good and great--
Bow to some frowning block yourselves did rear,
And worship _wooden monarchs_--out of fear.
[36] This lyric has been used by Freneau in his poem, "Mars and Hymen,"
_q. v._
[37] An illegible word.
[38] This poem had also been used in "Mars and Hymen." In later editions
it was printed as a distinct lyric, with the title "The Northern
Soldier." The present version, reprinted from Freneau's manuscript, will
be seen to differ considerably from the others.
[39] A part of the manuscript is missing at this point.
[40] Here the manuscript ends abruptly.
* * * * *
PART III
ERA OF THE FREEMAN'S JOURNAL
1781--1790
ERA OF THE FREEMAN'S JOURNAL
1781--1790[41]
[41] This period began in August, 1781, when Freneau became connected
with Mr. Francis Bailey's _Freeman's Journal_, in Philadelphia. In June,
1784, he left Philadelphia for a wandering career upon the ocean, which
continued until 1790, when his assumption of the editorship of the _New
York Advertiser_ and his marriage put an end for a time to his
wanderings. The greater part of the poems written during this period
appeared originally in the _Freeman's Journal_.
ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY[42]
Obtained by the gallant Captain Paul Jones, of the _Good Man Richard_,
over the _Seraphis_, etc., under the command of Captain Pearson.
Written August, 1781
1
O'er the rough main with flowing sheet
The guardian of a numerous fleet,
_Seraphis_ from the Baltic came;
A ship of less tremendous force
Sail'd by her side the self-same course,
_Countess of Scarb'ro'_ was her name.
2
And now their native coasts appear,
Britannia's hills their summits rear
Above the German main;
Fond to suppose their dangers o'er,
They southward coast along the shore,
Thy waters, gentle Thames, to gain.
3
Full forty guns _Seraphis_ bore,
And _Scarb'ro's Countess_ twenty-four,
Mann'd with Old England's boldest tars--
What flag that rides the Gallic seas
Shall dare attack such piles as these,
Design'd for tumults and for wars!
4
Now from the top-mast's giddy height
A seaman cry'd--"Four sail in sight
"Approach with favouring gales;"
Pearson, resolv'd to save the fleet,
Stood off to sea these ships to meet,
And closely brac'd his shivering sails.
5
With him advanc'd the _Countess_ bold,
Like a black tar in wars grown old:
And now these floating piles drew nigh;
But, muse, unfold what chief of fame
In th' other warlike squadron came,
Whose standards at his mast head fly.
6
'Twas Jones, brave Jones, to battle led
As bold a crew as ever bled
Upon the sky surrounded main;
The standards of the Western World
Were to the willing winds unfurl'd,
Denying Britain's tyrant reign.
7
The _Good Man Richard_ led the line;
The _Alliance_ next: with these combine
The Gallic ship they _Pallas_ call:
The _Vengeance_, arm'd with sword and flame,
These to attack the Britons came--
But two accomplish'd all.
8
Now Phoebus sought his pearly bed:
But who can tell the scenes of dread,
The horrors of that fatal night!
Close up these floating castles came;
The _Good Man Richard_ bursts in flame;
_Seraphis_ trembled at the sight.
9
She felt the fury of her ball,
Down, prostrate down, the Britons fall;
The decks were strew'd with slain:
Jones to the foe his vessel lash'd;
And, while the black artillery flash'd,
Loud thunders shook the main.
10
Alas! that mortals should employ
Such murdering engines, to destroy
That frame by heav'n so nicely join'd;
Alas! that e'er the god decreed
That brother should by brother bleed,
And pour'd such madness in the mind.
11
But thou, brave Jones, no blame shalt bear;
The rights of men demand thy care:
For these you dare the greedy waves--
No tyrant on destruction bent
Has planned thy conquests--thou art sent
To humble tyrants and their slaves.
12
See!--dread _Seraphis_ flames again--
And art thou, Jones, among the slain,
And sunk to Neptune's caves below--
He lives--though crowds around him fall,
Still he, unhurt, survives them all;
Almost alone he fights the foe.
13
And can thy ship these strokes sustain?
Behold thy brave companions slain,
All clasp'd in ocean's dark embrace.
"Strike, or be sunk!"--the Briton cries--
"Sink, if you can!"--the chief replies,
Fierce lightnings blazing in his face.
14
Then to the side three guns he drew,
(Almost deserted by his crew)
And charg'd them deep with woe:
By Pearson's flash he aim'd the balls;
His main-mast totters--down it falls--
Tremendous was the blow.[43]
15
Pearson as yet disdain'd to yield,
But scarce his secret fears conceal'd,
And thus was heard to cry--
"With hell, not mortals, I contend;
"What art thou--human, or a fiend,
"That dost my force defy?
16
"Return, my lads, the fight renew!"
So call'd bold Pearson to his crew;
But call'd, alas! in vain;
Some on the decks lay maim'd and dead;
Some to their deep recesses fled,
And more were bury'd in the main.[44]
17
Distress'd, forsaken, and alone,
He haul'd his tatter'd standard down,
And yielded to his gallant foe;
Bold _Pallas_ soon the _Countess_ took,
Thus both their haughty colours struck,
Confessing what the brave can do.
18
But, Jones, too dearly didst thou buy
These ships possest so gloriously,
Too many deaths disgrac'd the fray:
Thy barque that bore the conquering flame,
That the proud Briton overcame,
Even she forsook thee on thy way;
19
For when the morn began to shine,
Fatal to her, the ocean brine
Pour'd through each spacious wound;
Quick in the deep she disappear'd,
But Jones to friendly Belgia steer'd,
With conquest and with glory crown'd.
20
Go on, great man, to daunt the foe,
And bid the haughty Britons know
They to our Thirteen Stars shall bend;
The Stars that veil'd in dark attire,
Long glimmer'd with a feeble fire,
But radiant now ascend;
21
Bend to the Stars that flaming rise
In western, not in eastern, skies,
Fair Freedom's reign restor'd.
So when the Magi, come from far,
Beheld the God-attending Star,
They trembled and ador'd.
[42] This was the first poem contributed by Freneau to the _Freeman's
Journal_. It appeared August 8, 1781. The exploit of Jones is too well
known to need further comment; it took place September 23, 1779. The
text follows the edition of 1786.
[43] "Overwhelming half below."--_Ed. 1795._
[44] "And hosts were shrouded in the main."--_Ed. 1795._
AN ADDRESS[45]
To the Commander-in-Chief, Officers, and Soldiers of the American
Army
Accept, great men, that share of honest praise
A grateful nation to your merit pays:
Verse is too mean your merit to display,
And words too weak our praises to convey.
When first proud Britain raised her hostile hand
With claims unjust to bind our native land,
Transported armies, and her millions spent
To enforce the mandate that a tyrant sent;
"Resist! resist!" was heard through every state,
You heard the call, and feared your country's fate;
Then rising fierce in arms, for war arrayed,
You taught to vanquish those who dared invade.
Those British chiefs whom former wars had crowned
With conquest--and in every clime renowned;
Who forced new realms to own their monarch's law,
And whom even George beheld with secret awe--
Those mighty chiefs, compelled to fly or yield,
Scarce dared to meet you on the embattled field;
To Boston's port you chased the trembling crew,
Quick, even from thence the British veterans flew--
Through wintry waves they fled, and thought each wave
Their last, best safety from a foe so brave![46]
What men, like you, our warfare could command,
And bring us safely to the promised land?--
Not swoln with pride,[47] with victory elate--
'Tis in misfortune you are doubly great:
When Howe victorious our weak armies chased,
And, sure of conquest, laid Cesarea waste,
When prostrate, bleeding, at his feet she lay,
And the proud victor tore her wreathes away,
Each gallant chief[48] put forth his warlike hand
And raised the drooping genius of the land,
Repelled the foe, their choicest warriors slain,
And drove them howling to their ships again.
While others kindle into martial rage
Whom fierce ambition urges to engage,
An iron race, by angry heaven designed
To conquer first and then enslave mankind;
Here chiefs and heroes[49] more humane we see,
They venture life, that others may be free.
O! may you live to hail that glorious day
When Britain homeward shall pursue her way--
That race subdued, who filled the world with slain
And rode tyrannic o'er the subject main!--
What few presumed, you boldly have atchieved,
A tyrant humbled, and a world relieved.
O Washington, who leadst this glorious train,[50]
Still may the fates thy valued life maintain.--
Rome's boasted chiefs, who, to their own disgrace,
Proved the worst scourges of the human race,
Pierced by whose darts a thousand nations bled,
Who captive princes at their chariots led;
Born to enslave, to ravage, and subdue--
Return to nothing when compared to you;
Throughout the world your growing fame has spread,
In every country are your virtues read;
Remotest India hears your deeds of fame,
The hardy Scythian stammers at your name;
The haughty Turk, now longing to be free,
Neglects his Sultan to enquire of thee;
The barbarous Briton hails you to his shores,
And calls him Rebel, whom his heart adores.
Still may the heavens prolong your vital date,
And still may conquest on your banners wait:
Whether afar to ravaged lands you go,
Where wild Potowmac's rapid waters flow,
Or where Saluda laves the fertile plain
And, swoln by torrents, rushes to the main;
Or if again to Hudson you repair
To smite the cruel foe that lingers there--
Revenge their cause, whose virtue was their crime,
The exiled hosts from Carolina's clime.
Late from the world in quiet mayest thou rise
And, mourned by millions, reach your native skies--
With patriot kings and generous chiefs to shine,
Whose virtues raised them to be deemed divine:
May Vasa[A] only equal honours claim,
Alike in merits--not the first in fame!
[A] Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, the deliverer of his
country.--_Freneau's note._ In the earlier editions
this read _Louis_. First changed for the edition of
1795.
[45] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, September 5, 1781,
under the title "To his Excellency General Washington," and reprinted
without change in the edition of 1786. The same paper contained the
following news item: "On Thursday, the 30th of August, at one o'clock in
the afternoon, his excellency General Washington, Commander-in-chief of
the American Armies, accompanied by the Generals Rochambeau and
Chattelux, with their respective suites, arrived in this city." The
early version was addressed wholly to Washington, the opening line
reading, "Accept, great chief," etc. For the edition of 1795 it was
changed to include officers and soldiers.
[46]
"* * * they fled, and thought the sea
With all its storms less terrible than thee!"--_Ed. 1786._
[47] "Not _Clinton-like_."--_Ib._
[48] "You undismay'd."--_Ib._
[49] "In him a hero."--_Ib._
[50] This and the line following not in the original version.
A NEW-YORK TORY[51]
To His Friend in Philadelphia
Dear Sir, I'm so anxious to hear of your health,
I beg you would send me a letter by stealth:
I hope a few months will quite alter the case,
When the wars are concluded, we'll meet and embrace.
For I'm led to believe from our brilliant success,
And, what is as clear, your amazing distress,
That the cause of rebellion has met with a check
That will bring all its patrons to hang by the neck.
Cornwallis has managed so well in the South,
Those rebels want victuals to put in their mouth;
And Arnold has stript them, we hear, to the buff[52]--
Has burnt their tobacco, and left them--the snuff.
Dear Thomas, I wish you would move from that town
Where meet all the rebels of fame and renown;
When our armies, victorious, shall clear that vile nest
You may chance, though a Tory, to swing with the rest.
But again--on reflection--I beg you would stay--
You may serve us yet better than if moved away--
Give advice to Sir Harry of all that is passing,
What vessels are building, what cargoes amassing;
Inform, to a day, when those vessels will sail,
That our cruisers may capture them all, without fail--
By proceedings like these, your peace will be made,
The rebellious shall swing, but be you ne'er afraid.
I cannot conceive how you do to subsist--
The rebels are starving, except those who 'list;
And as you reside in the land of Gomorrah,
You must fare as the rest do, I think, to your sorrow.
Poor souls! if ye knew what a doom is decreed,
(I mean not for you, but for rebels indeed),
You would tremble to think of the vengeance in store,
The halters and gibbets--I mention no more.
The rebels must surely conclude they're undone,
Their navy is ruined, their armies have run;
It is time they should now from delusion awaken--
The rebellion is done--for the _Trumbull_[53] is taken!
[51] _Freeman's Journal_, September 5, 1781.
[52] Cornwallis, in command of the British army in the South, was in the
early part of 1781 working his way steadily northward from South
Carolina. Benedict Arnold arrived in the Chesapeake, January 2, 1781,
and, supported by the British navy there, committed extensive ravages on
the rivers and unprotected coasts of Virginia. Arnold offered to spare
Richmond if he were given its stores of tobacco. The offer being
rejected, the city with its tobacco was burned.
[53] The American frigate _Trumbull_, 20, Captain James Nicholson, was
chased off the capes of the Delaware, August 8th, 1781, by three British
cruisers. As it was blowing heavily towards night, the fore-topmast of
the _Trumbull_ was carried away by a squall, bringing down with it, on
deck, the main-topgallant mast. About ten o'clock at night, one of the
British vessels, the _Iris_, 32, came up and closed with her while still
encumbered with the wreck. "In the midst of rain and squalls, in a
tempestuous night, with most of the forward hamper of the ship over her
bows, or lying on the forecastle, with one of the arms of the
fore-topsail yard run through her fore-sail, and the other jammed on
deck, and with a disorganized crew, Captain Nicholson found himself
compelled to go to quarters, or to strike without resistance. He
preferred the first; but the English volunteers, instead of obeying
orders, went below, extinguished the lights, and secreted themselves.
Near half of the remainder of the people imitated this example, and
Captain Nicholson could not muster fifty of even the diminished crew he
had, at the guns. The battle that followed might almost be said to have
been fought by the officers. These brave men, sustained by a party of
the petty officers and seamen, managed a few of the guns for more than
an hour, when the _General Monk_, 18, coming up and joining in the
fire of the _Iris_, the _Trumbull_ submitted."--_Cooper's Naval
History._--[_Duyckinck's note, ed. of 1865._]
TO LORD CORNWALLIS[54]
At York, Virginia
Hail, great destroyer (equalled yet by none)
Of countries not your master's, nor your own;
Hatched by some demon on a stormy day,
Satan's best substitute to burn and slay;
Confined at last, hemmed in by land and sea,
Burgoyne himself was but a type of thee!
Like his, to freedom was your deadly hate,
Like his your baseness, and be his your fate:
To you, like him, no prospect Nature yields,
But ruined wastes and desolated fields[55]--
In vain you raise the interposing wall,
And hoist those standards that, like you, must fall,
In you conclude the glories of your race,
Complete your monarch's and your own disgrace.
What has your lordship's pilfering arms attained?--
Vast stores of plunder, but no State regained--
That may return, though you perhaps may groan,
Restore it, Charley,[56] for 'tis not your own--
Then, lord and soldier, headlong to the brine
Rush down at once--the devil and the swine.
Wouldst thou at last with Washington engage,
Sad object of his pity, not his rage?
See, round thy posts how terribly advance
The chiefs, the armies, and the fleets of France;[57]
Fight while you can, for warlike Rochambeau
Aims at your head his last decisive blow,
Unnumbered ghosts from earth untimely sped,
Can take no rest till you, like them, are dead--
Then die, my Lord; that only chance remains
To wipe away dishonourable stains,
For small advantage would your capture bring,
The plundering servant of a bankrupt king.
[54] This did not appear in the _Freeman's Journal_. In the edition of
1786 it bore the title, "To Lord Cornwallis, at York, Virginia, October
8, 1781."
[55] Cornwallis arrived in Virginia from his Southern campaign early in
the summer of 1781, and immediately began with extreme vigor to
subjugate that State. His cruelty and severity were exceptional, even in
the annals of war. "The Americans of that day," says Bancroft, "computed
that Cornwallis, in his midsummer marchings up and down Virginia,
destroyed property to the value of three million pounds sterling."
[56] "Ruffian."--_Ed. 1786._
[57] On October 8th, Cornwallis, at York, was surrounded by the American
army, who had just completed the first line of trenches. The redoubts
were so far enough completed on the 9th that the Americans and French
felt ready to begin the bombardment of the British works.
A LONDON DIALOGUE[58]
Between My Lords, Dunmore and Germaine
_Dunmore_
Ever since I return'd to my dear native shore,
No poet in Grubstreet was ever dunned more--
I'm dunned by my barber, my taylor, my groom;
How can I do else than to fret and to fume?
They join to attack me with one good accord,
From morning till night 'tis "my lord, and my lord."
And there comes the cobler, so often denied--
If I had him in private, I'd thresh his tough hide.
_Germaine_
Would you worry the man that has found you in shoes?
Come, courage, my lord, I can tell you good news--
Virginia is conquered, the rebels are banged,[59]
You are now to go over and see them safe hanged:
I hope it is not to your nature abhorrent
To sign for these wretches a handsome death warrant--
Were I but in your place, I'm sure it would suit
To sign their death warrants, and hang them to boot.
_Dunmore_
My lord!--I'm amazed--have we routed the foe?--
I shall govern again then, if matters be so--
And as to the hanging, in short, to be plain,
I'll hang them so well, they'll ne'er want it again.
With regard to the wretches who thump at my gates,
I'll discharge all their dues with the rebel estates;
In less than three months I may send a polacca
As deep as she'll swim, sir, with corn and tobacco.
_Germaine_
And send us some rebels--a dozen or so--
They'll serve here in London by way of a show;
And as to the Tories, believe me, dear cousin,
We can spare you some hundreds to pay for the dozen.
[58] _Freeman's Journal_, September 19, 1781. The original title, the
one used in the 1786 edition, was "Dialogue between the Lords Dunmore
and Mansfield." Lord Dunmore was Governor of Virginia at the beginning
of the war, in 1775, and was driven from that State by the outraged
colonists. He continued in America, in various capacities, until near
the close of the war. Lord George Germaine was Colonial Secretary under
George III., and so had charge of the American War.
[59] Alluding to the vigorous campaign of Cornwallis. In June, Germaine
had written to Cornwallis: "The rapidity of your movements is justly
matter of astonishment to all Europe." On August 2nd he wrote: "I see
nothing to prevent the recovery of the whole country to the King's
obedience."
LORD CORNWALLIS TO SIR HENRY CLINTON[60]
[From York, Virginia]
From clouds of smoke, and flames that round me glow,
To you, dear Clinton, I disclose my woe:
Here cannons flash, bombs glance, and bullets fly;
Not Arnold's[61] self endures such misery.
Was I foredoomed in tortures[62] to expire,
Hurled to perdition in a blaze of fire?
With these blue flames can mortal man contend--
What arms can aid me, or what walls defend?
Even to these gates last night a phantom strode,
And hailed me trembling to his dark abode:
Aghast I stood, struck motionless and dumb,
Seized with the horrors of the world to come.
Were but my power as mighty as my rage,
Far different battles would Cornwallis wage;
Beneath his sword yon' threat'ning hosts should groan,
The earth would quake with thunders all his own.
O crocodile! had I thy flinty hide,
Swords to defy, and glance the balls aside,
By my own prowess would I rout the foe,
With my own javelin would I work their woe--
But fates averse, by heaven's supreme decree,
Nile's serpent formed more excellent than me.
Has heaven, in secret, for some crime decreed
That I should suffer, and my soldiers bleed?
Or is it by the jealous powers concealed,
That I must bend, and they ignobly yield?
Ah! no--the thought o'erwhelms my soul with grief:
Come, bold Sir Harry, come to my relief;
Come, thou brave man, whom rebels Tombstone call,
But Britons, Graves[63]--come Digby, devil and all;
Come, princely William, with thy potent aid,
Can George's blood by Frenchmen be dismayed?
From a king's uncle once Scotch rebels run,
And shall not these be routed by a son?
Come with your ships to this disastrous shore,
Come--or I sink--and sink to rise no more;
By every motive that can sway the brave
Haste, and my feeble, fainting army save;
Come, and lost empire o'er the deep regain,
Chastise these upstarts that usurp the main;
I see their first rates to the charge advance,
I see lost _Iris_ wear the flags of France;
There a strict rule the wakeful Frenchman keeps;
There, on no bed of down, Lord Rawdon sleeps!
Tired with long acting on this bloody stage,
Sick of the follies of a wrangling age,
Come with your fleet, and help me to retire
To Britain's coast, the land of my desire--
For, me the foe their certain captive deem,
And every trifler[64] takes me for his theme--
Long, much too long in this hard service tried,
Bespattered still, be-deviled, and belied;
With the first chance that favouring fortune sends
I fly, converted, from this land of fiends;
Convinced, for me, she has no gems in store,
Nor leaves one triumph, even to hope for more.
[60] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, October 17, 1781, two
days before the final surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown. "On the
seventeenth [of September] Cornwallis reported to Clinton: 'This place
is in no state of defence. If you cannot relieve me very soon, you must
be prepared to hear the worst.'"--_Bancroft._
[61] "Satan's self."--_Ed. 1786._
[62] "Like Korah."--_Ib._
[63] "Lord Sandwich, after the retirement of Howe, gave the naval
command at New York to officers without ability; and the aged Arbuthnot
was succeeded by Graves, a coarse and vulgar man of mean ability, and
without skill in his profession."--_Bancroft._
[64] "School-boy."--_Ed. 1786._
THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE[65]
To Thyrsis
In youth, gay scenes attract our eyes,
And not suspecting their decay
Life's flowery fields before us rise,
Regardless of its winter day.
But vain pursuits and joys as vain,
Convince us life is but a dream.
Death is to wake, to rise again
To that true life you best esteem.
So nightly on some shallow tide,
Oft have I seen a splendid show;
Reflected stars on either side,
And glittering moons were seen below.
But when the tide had ebbed away,
The scene fantastic with it fled,
A bank of mud around me lay,
And sea-weed on the river's bed.
[65] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, October 24, 1781, under the
title "A Moral Thought," and reprinted without change in the edition
of 1786.
ON THE FALL OF GENERAL EARL CORNWALLIS
Who, with above seven thousand Men, surrendered themselves
prisoners of war to the renowned and illustrious General GEORGE
WASHINGTON, Commander-in-chief of the allied armies of France
and America, on the memorable 19th of _October_, 1781.[66]
"Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
"That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
"_Ad manes fratrum_ sacrifice his flesh,
"Before this earthly prison of their bones;
"That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
"Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth."
--_Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus_, Act I, Scene II.
A Chieftain join'd with[67] Howe, Burgoyne, and Gage,
Once more, nor this the last, provokes my rage--
Who saw these Nimrods first for conquest burn!
Who has not seen them to the dust return?
This ruffian[68] next, who scour'd our ravag'd fields,
Foe to the human race,[69] Cornwallis yields!--
None e'er before essay'd such desperate crimes,
Alone he stood, arch-butcher of the times,
Rov'd uncontroul'd this wasted country o'er,
Strew'd plains with dead, and bath'd his jaws with gore?[70]
'Twas thus the wolf, who sought by night his prey,
And plunder'd all he met with on his way,
Stole what he could, and murder'd as he pass'd,
Chanc'd on a trap, and lost his head at last.
What pen can write, what human tongue can tell
The endless murders of this man of hell![71]
Nature in him disgrac'd the form divine;
Nature mistook, she meant him for a--swine:
That eye his forehead to her shame adorns;
Blush! nature, blush--bestow him tail and horns!--
By him the orphans mourn--the widow'd dame
Saw ruin spreading in the wasteful flame;
Gash'd o'er with wounds beheld with streaming eye
A son, a brother, or a consort, die!--
Through ruin'd realms bones lie without a tomb,
And souls he sped to their eternal doom,
Who else had liv'd, and seen their toils again
Bless'd by the genius of the rural reign.
But turn your eyes, and see the murderer fall,[72]
Then say--"Cornwallis has atchiev'd it all."--
Yet he preserves the honour and the fame
That vanquish'd heroes only ought to claim--
Is he a hero!--Read, and you will find
Heroes are beings of a different kind:--
Compassion to the worst of men is due,
And mercy heaven's first attribute, 'tis true;
Yet most presume it was too nobly done
To grant mild terms to Satan's first-born son.
Convinc'd we are, no foreign spot on earth
But Britain only, gave this reptile[73] birth.
That white-cliff'd isle, the vengeful dragon's[74] den,
Has sent us monsters where we look'd for men.
When memory paints their horrid deeds anew,
And brings these murdering miscreants to your view,
Then ask the leaders of these bloody bands,
Can they expect compassion at our hands?--
But may this year, the glorious eighty-one,
Conclude successful, as it first begun;[75]
This brilliant year their total downfall see,
And what Cornwallis is, may Clinton be.[76]
O come the time, nor distant be the day,
When our bold navy shall its wings display;
Mann'd by our sons, to seek that barbarous shore,[77]
The wrongs revenging that their fathers bore:
As Samuel hew'd the tyrant Agag down,[78]
So hew the wearer of the British crown;
Unpitying, next his hated offspring slay,
Or into foreign lands the fiends convey:[79]
Give them their turn to pine and die in chains,
'Till not one monster[80] of the race remains.
Thou, who resid'st on those thrice happy shores,
Where white rob'd peace her envied blessings pours,
Stay, and enjoy the pleasures that she yields;
But come not, stranger, to our wasted fields,
For warlike hosts on every plain appear,
War damps the beauties of the rising year:
In vain the groves their bloomy sweets display;
War's clouded winter chills the charms of May:
Here human blood the trampled harvest stains;
Here bones of men yet whiten all the plains;
Seas teem with dead; and our unhappy shore
Forever blushes with its children's gore.
But turn your eyes--behold the tyrant fall,
And think[81]--Cornwallis has atchiev'd it all.--
All mean revenge Americans disdain,
Oft have they prov'd it, and now prove again;
With nobler fires their generous bosoms glow;
Still in the captive they forget the foe:--
But when a nation takes a wrongful cause,
And hostile turns to heaven's and nature's laws;
When, sacrificing at ambition's shrine,
Kings slight the mandates of the power divine,
And devastation spread on every side,
To gratify their malice or their pride,
And send their slaves their projects to fulfil,
To wrest our freedom, or our blood to spill:--
Such to forgive, is virtue too sublime;
For even compassion has been found a crime.
A prophet once, for miracles renown'd,
Bade Joash smite the arrows on the ground--
Taking the mystic shafts, the prince obey'd,
Thrice smote them on the earth--and then he stay'd--
Griev'd when he saw full victory deny'd,
"Six times you should have smote," the prophet cry'd,
"Then had proud Syria sunk beneath thy power,
"Now thrice you smite her--but shall smite no more."
Cornwallis! thou art rank'd among the great;
Such was the will of all-controuling fate.
As mighty men, who liv'd in days of yore,
Were figur'd out some centuries before;
So you with them in equal honour join,
Your great precursor's name was Jack Burgoyne!
Like you was he, a man in arms renown'd,
Who, hot for conquest, sail'd the ocean round;
This, this was he, who scour'd the woods for praise,
And burnt down cities[A] to describe the blaze!
So, while on fire, his harp Rome's tyrant strung,
And as the buildings flam'd, old Nero sung.
Who would have guess'd the purpose of the fates,
When that proud boaster bow'd to conquering Gates!--
Then sung the sisters[B] as the wheel went round,
(Could we have heard the invigorating sound)
Thus surely did the fatal sisters sing--
"When just four years do this same season bring,
"And in his annual journey, when the sun
"Four times completely shall his circuit run,
"An angel then shall rid you of your fears,
"By binding Satan for a thousand years,
"Shall lash the serpent[82] to the infernal shore,
"To waste the nations and deceive no more,
"Make wars and blood, and tyranny to cease,
"And hush the fiends of Britain[83] into peace."
Joy to your lordship, and your high descent,
You are the Satan that the sisters meant.
Too soon you found your race of ruin run,
Your conquests ended, and your battles done!
But that to live is better than to die,
And life you chose, though life with infamy,
You should have climb'd your loftiest vessel's deck,[84]
And hung a millstone round your halter'd neck--[85]
Then plung'd forever to the wat'ry bed,
Hell in your heart, and vengeance on your head.[86]
All must confess, that in regard to you,[87]
'Twas wrong to rob the devil of his due--
For Hayne, for Hayne![88] no death but thine atones;
For thee, Cornwallis, how the gallows groans!
That injur'd man's, and all the blood you've shed,
That blood shall rest on your devoted head;
Asham'd to live, and yet afraid to die,
Your courage slacken'd as the foe drew nigh--
Ungrateful wretch, to yield your favourite band
To chains and prisons in a hostile land:
To the wide world your Negro friends to cast,
And leave your Tories to be hang'd at last!--
You should have fought with horror and amaze,
'Till scorch'd to cinders in the cannon blaze,
'Till all your host of Beelzebubs[89] was slain,
Doom'd to disgrace no human shape again--
As if from hell this horned host he drew,[90]
Swift from the South the embodied ruffians[91] flew;
Destruction follow'd at their cloven feet,
'Till you, Fayette, constrain'd them to retreat,
And held them close, 'till thy fam'd squadron came,
De Grasse, completing their eternal shame.
When the loud cannon's unremitting glare
And red hot balls compell'd you to despair,
How could you stand to meet your generous foe?
Did not the sight confound your soul with woe?--
In thy great soul what god-like virtues shine,
What inborn greatness, Washington, is thine!--
Else had no prisoner trod these lands to-day,
All, with his lordship, had been swept away,
All doom'd alike death's vermin to regale,
Nor one been left to tell the dreadful tale!
But his own terms the vanquish'd murderer[92] nam'd--
He nobly gave the miscreant[93] all he claim'd,
And bade Cornwallis, conquer'd and distress'd,
Bear all his torments in his tortur'd breast.
Now curs'd with life, a foe to man and God,
Like Cain, I drive you to the land of Nod.
He with a brother's blood his hands did stain,
One brother he, you have a thousand slain.
And, O! may heaven affix some public mark[94]
To know Cornwallis--may he howl and bark!--
On eagle's wings explore your downward flight[95]
To the deep horrors of the darkest night,[96]
Where, rapt in shade on ocean's utmost bound,[97]
No longer sun, nor moon, nor stars are found;
Where never light her kindling radiance shed,
But the dark comets rove with all their dead,[C]
Doom'd through the tracks of endless space to run
No more revolving to confound the sun.
Such horrid deeds your spotted soul[98] defame
We grieve to think your shape and ours the same!
Enjoy what comfort in this life you can,[99]
The form you have, not feelings of a man;
Haste to the rocks, thou curse to human kind,
There thou may'st wolves and brother tygers find;
Eternal exile be your righteous doom
And gnash your dragon's teeth in some sequester'd gloom;
Such be the end of each relentless foe
Who feels no pity for another's woe;
So may they fall[100]--even you, though much too late,
Shall curse the day you languished to be great;
Haste from the torments of the present life,[101]
Quick, let the halter end thee or the knife;
So may destruction rush with speedy wing,
Low as yourself, to drag your cruel king;[102]
His head torn off, his hands, his feet, and all,[103]
Deep in the dust may Dagon's image fall;
His stump alone escape the vengeful steel,
Sav'd but to grace the gibbet or the wheel.
[A] Charlestown, near Boston. See his letter on that
occasion.--_Freneau's note._ The poet has satirized
Burgoyne's literary pretentions in the "Voyage to
Boston," _q. v._
[B] The _Parcae_, or _Fates_, who, according to the Heathen
mythology, were three in number.--_Ib._
[C] See Whiston's Hypothesis.--_Freneau's note._
[66] This title was changed for the edition of 1795 by leaving out the
words "the renowned and illustrious General George Washington,
Commander-in-chief of," and also the quotation from Shakespeare. The
same title was used in 1809, with the added quotation:
"_One brilliant game our arms have won to-day,
Another_, PRINCES, _yet remains to play,
Another mark our arrows must attain--_
GALLIA _assist!--nor be our efforts vain_."
--_Hom. Odyssey, Book XXII._
In the issue of the _Freeman's Journal_ of October 24, 1781, the editor
voiced his joy by printing the following in huge letters, that covered
more than half of the first page of the paper:
BE IT REMEMBERED
That on the 17th day of October, 1781, Lieut. General Charles Earl
Cornwallis with above 5000 British troops surrendered themselves
prisoners of war to his excellency Gen. George Washington,
commander in chief of the allied forces of France and America.
LAUS DEO!--
Two weeks later, in the issue of November 7th, Freneau printed the above
poem. It was so mutilated and changed for the edition of 1795 that I
have reproduced the test of the 1786 edition, which was printed verbatim
from the newspaper, and have indicated in the footnotes the most
significant changes.
[67] "Formed on."--_Ed. 1795._
[68] "Conqueror."--_Ib._
[69] "Foe to the rights of man."--_Ib._
[70] This does not overdo the contemporary estimate of Cornwallis.
Attempting to crush at once the American rebellion by the use of the
harshest measures, he inaugurated a veritable reign of terror. "Cruel
measures seek and find cruel agents; officers whose delight was in
blood patrolled the country, burned houses, ravaged estates, and put
to death whom they would.... For two years cold-blooded assassinations,
often in the house of the victim and in the presence of his wife and
little children, were perpetrated by men holding the king's
commission."--_Bancroft._
[71] "Lord of war."--_Ed. 1795._
[72] This line and the nine following lines were omitted from the
edition of 1795.
[73] "Warrior."--_Ed. 1795._
[74] "Tyrant's."--_Ib._
[75] "And all wars be done."--_Ib._
[76] "Sir Henry be."--_Ib._
[77] "Manned by brave souls, to see the British shore."--_Ib._
[78] "As earthquakes shook the huge Colossus down."--_Ed. 1795._
[79] "By force convey."--_Ib._
[80] "Tyrant."--_Ib._
[81] "Nor say."--_Ib._
[82] "His godship."--_Ed. 1795._
[83] "The rage of Europe."--_Ib._
[84] "Mast."--_Ib._
[85] "Took one sad survey of your wanton waste."--_Ib._
[86] "Lost all your honours--even your memory dead."--_Ib._
[87] This and the five following lines omitted in edition of 1795.
[88] An allusion to the brutal execution of the patriot, Isaac Hayne, of
Charlestown, by General Rawdon, in the summer of 1781. The guilt of this
crime rests almost wholly upon Rawdon. Yet "his first excuse for the
execution was in the order of Cornwallis which had filled the woods of
Carolina with assassins."--_Bancroft._
[89] "Gog-magogs."--_Ed. 1795._
[90] "From depth of woods this hornet host he drew."--_Ib._
[91] "Envenom'd ruffians."--_Ib._
[92] "The mean invader."--_Ib._
[93] "The prisoner."--_Ib._
[94] This line and the next omitted from later editions.
[95] "Homeward flight."--_Ed. 1795._
[96] "Plan future conquests and new battles fight."--_Ib._
[97] This and the following five lines omitted from later editions.
[98] "Your murdering host."--_Ed. 1795._
[99] This and the following seven lines omitted from later editions.
[100] "Remorse be theirs."--_Ed. 1809._
[101] This line and the following omitted from later editions.
[102] "Each tyrant king."--_Ed. 1809._
[103] The later editions end at this point as follows:
"Swept from this stage, the race that vex our ball,
Deep in the dust may every monarch fall,
To wasted nations bid a long adieu,
Shrink from an injured world--and fare like you."
TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS[104]
Under General Greene, in South Carolina, who fell in the action of
September 8, 1781
At Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er--
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more![105]
If in this wreck of ruin, they
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite your gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!
Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign;
Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
You too may fall, and ask a tear;
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear.--
They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear--but left the shield.[106]
Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None distant viewed the fatal plain,
None grieved, in such a cause to die--
But, like the Parthian, famed of old.
Who, flying, still their arrows threw,
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.[107]
Now rest in peace, our patriot band;
Though far from nature's limits thrown,
We trust they find a happier land,
A brighter sunshine of their own.
[104] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, November 21, 1781. The
patriot army under Greene spent the summer of 1781 in the High Hills of
Santee, in South Carolina. "On the 22d of August, Greene broke up his
camp very quietly and started out on the last of his sagacious
campaigns.... By vigilant scouting parties, he so completely cut off the
enemy's means of information that Stuart remained ignorant of his
approach until he was close at hand. The British commander then fell
back on Eutaw Springs, about fifty miles from Charleston, where he
waited in a strong position. The battle of Eutaw Springs may be resolved
into two brief actions between sunrise and noon of the 8th of September,
1781. In the first action the British line was broken and driven from
the field. In the second, Stuart succeeded in forming a new line,
supported by a brick house and palisaded garden, and from this position
Greene was unable to drive him. It has therefore been set down as a
British victory. If so, it was a victory followed the next evening by
the hasty retreat of the victors, who were hotly pursued by Marion and
Lee."--_Fiske._
[105] "In the two engagements the Americans lost in killed, wounded, and
missing, five hundred and fifty-four men."--_Bancroft._
[106] Scott borrowed this line in the introduction to the third canto of
_Marmion_, in the apostrophe to the Duke of Brunswick, which reads thus:
"Lamented Chief!--not thine the power
To save in that presumptuous hour,
When Prussia hurried to the field
And snatched the spear but left the shield."
[107] After the first engagement the British fled in confusion. Greene,
in his eagerness, pursued them too closely, and sheltered by the brick
house, they inflicted upon the advancing Americans the greater part of
the loss of life incurred during the battle.
ARNOLD'S DEPARTURE[108]
Imitated from Horace
"_Mala soluta navis exit alite
Ferens olentem Maevium_," &c.
With evil omens from the harbour sails
The ill-fated barque that worthless Arnold bears,--
God of the southern winds, call up the gales,
And whistle in rude fury round his ears.
With horrid waves insult his vessel's sides,
And may the east wind on a leeward shore
Her cables part while she in tumult rides,
And shatter into shivers every oar.
And let the north wind to her ruin haste,
With such a rage, as when from mountains high
He rends the tall oak with his weighty blast,
And ruin spreads where'er his forces fly.
May not one friendly star that night be seen;
No moon, attendant, dart one glimmering ray,
Nor may she ride on oceans more serene
Than Greece, triumphant, found that stormy day,
When angry Pallas spent her rage no more
On vanquished Ilium, then in ashes laid,
But turned it on the barque that Ajax[A] bore,
Avenging thus her temple and the maid.
[A] Ajax the younger, son of Oileus, king of the Locrians. He
debauched Cassandra in the temple of Pallas, which was the
cause of his misfortune on his return from the siege of
Troy.--_Freneau's note._
When tossed upon the vast Atlantic main
Your groaning ship the southern gales shall tear,
How will your sailors sweat, and you complain
And meanly howl to Jove, that will not hear!
But if, at last, upon some winding shore
A prey to hungry cormorants you lie,
A wanton goat to every stormy power,[B]
And a fat lamb, in sacrifice, shall die.
[B] The _Tempests_ were Goddesses amongst the Romans.--_Ib._
[108] First published in the July 10, 1782, issue of the _Freeman's
Journal_, under the title "The 10th Ode Horace's Book of Epodes
Imitated. Written in December, 1781, upon the departure of General
Arnold from New-York." The poem was reprinted verbatim in the 1786
edition.
"The capitulation at Yorktown having virtually put an end to the war,
and Arnold, finding himself neither respected by the British officers
nor likely to be further employed in the service, obtained permission
from Sir Henry Clinton to go to England. He sailed from New York with
his family in December, 1781."--_Sparks' Life of Arnold._
PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER, TO HIS FRIEND THEON[109]
_Semel omnibus calcanda via Lethi._--Hor.
Why, Theon, wouldst thou longer groan
Beneath a weight of years and woe,
Thy youth is lost, thy pleasures flown,
And time proclaims, "'Tis time to go."
To willows sad and weeping yews
With me a while, dear friend, repair,[110]
Nor to the vault thy steps refuse,
Thy constant home shall soon be there.
To summer suns and winter moons
Prepare to bid a long adieu,
Autumnal seasons shall return
And spring shall bloom, but not for you.
Why so perplext with cares and toil
To rest upon this darksome road,
'Tis but a thin, a thirsty soil,
A barren and a bleak abode.
Constrain'd to dwell with pain and care,
These dregs of life are bought too dear,
'Tis better far to die than bear
The torments of another year.[111]
Subjected to perpetual ills
A thousand deaths around us grow,
The frost the tender blossom kills,
And roses wither as they blow.
Cold nipping winds thy fruits assail,
The infant[112] apple seeks the ground,
The peaches fall, the cherries fail,
The grape receives a fatal wound.
The breeze that gently ought to blow
Swells to a storm and rends the main,
The sun that charm'd the grass to grow
Turns hostile and consumes the plain;
The mountains waste, the shores decay,
Once purling streams are dead and dry--
'Twas nature's work--'tis nature's play,
And nature says that all must die.
Yon' flaming lamp, the source of light,
In chaos dark shall shroud his beam
And leave the world to mother night,
A farce, a phantom, or a dream.
What now is young must soon be old,
Whate'er we love, we soon must leave,
'Tis now too hot, 'tis now too cold--
To live is nothing but to grieve.
How bright the morn her course begun,
No mists bedimm'd the solar sphere--
The clouds arise--they shade the sun,
For nothing can be constant here.
Now hope the longing soul employs,
In expectation we are blest;
But soon the airy phantom flies,
For, lo! the treasure is possest.
Those monarchs proud that havoc spread,
(While pensive nature[113] dropt a tear)
Those monarchs have to darkness fled
And ruin bounds their mad career.
The grandeur of this earthly round,
Where Theon[114] would forever be,
Is but a name, is but a sound--
Mere emptiness and vanity.
Give me the stars, give me the skies,
Give me the heaven's remotest sphere,
Above these gloomy scenes to rise
Of desolation and despair.
Those native fires that warmed the mind
Now languid grown too dimly glow,
Joy has to grief the heart resigned
And love itself is changed to woe.
The joys of wine are all you boast,
These for a moment damp thy pain;
The gleam is o'er, the charm is lost--
And darkness clouds the soul again.
Then seek no more for bliss below,
Where real bliss can ne'er be found,
Aspire where sweeter blossoms blow
And fairer flowers bedeck the ground.
Where plants of life the plains invest
And green eternal crowns the year,
The little god within thy breast[115]
Is weary of his mansion here.
Like Phosphor clad in bright array[116]
His height meridian to regain,
He can, nor will no longer stay[117]
To shiver on a frozen plain.
Life's journey past, for death[118] prepare,
'Tis but the freedom of the mind,
Jove made us mortal--his we are,
To Jove, dear Theon,[119] be resigned.
[109] _Freeman's Journal_, January 2, 1782. In the editions of 1795 and
1809, the title is "To an Old Man."
[110] "With me a while, old man, repair."--_Ed. 1795._
[111] "The torments of life's closing year."--_Ed. 1795._
[112] "Blasted."--_Ib._
[113] "Reason."--_Ed. 1795._
[114] "Folly."--_Ib._
[115] "That swells the breast."--_Ed. 1795._
[116] "Sent before the day."--_Ib._
[117] "The dawn arrives--he must not stay."--_Ib._
[118] "Fate."--_Ib._
[119] "Be all our cares."--_Ib._
PROLOGUE[120]
To a Theatrical Entertainment in Philadelphia
Wars, cruel wars, and hostile Britain's rage
Have banished long the pleasures of the stage;
From the gay painted scene compelled to part,
(Forgot the melting language of the heart)
Constrained to shun the bold theatric show,
To act long tragedies of real woe,
Heroes, once more attend the comic muse;
Forget our failings, and our faults excuse.
In that fine language is our fable drest
Which still unrivalled, reigns o'er all the rest;
Of foreign courts the study and the pride,
Who to know this abandon all beside;
Bold, though polite, and ever sure to please;
Correct with grace, and elegant with ease;
Soft from the lips its easy accents roll,
Formed to delight and captivate the soul:
In this _Eugenia_ tells her easy lay,
The brilliant work of courtly Beaumarchais:
In this Racine, Voltaire, and Boileau sung,
The noblest poets in the noblest tongue.
If the soft story in our play expressed
Can give a moment's pleasure to your breast,
To you, Great Men,[121] we must be proud to say
That moment's pleasure shall our pains repay:
Returned from conquest and from glorious toils,
From armies captured and unnumbered spoils;
Ere yet again, with generous France allied,
You rush to battle, humbling British pride;
While arts of peace your kind protection share,
O let the Muses claim an equal care.
You bade us first our future greatness see,
Inspired by you, we languished to be free;
Even here where Freedom lately sat distrest,
See, a new Athens rising in the west!
Fair science blooms, where tyrants reigned before,
Red war, reluctant, leaves our ravaged shore--
Illustrious heroes, may you live to see
These new Republics powerful, great, and free;
Peace, heaven born peace, o'er spacious regions spread,
While discord, sinking, veils her ghastly head.
[120] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, January 9, 1782, with
the following introduction: "On Wednesday evening, the 2d instant
[January 2, 1782] Alex. Quesnay, Esq., exhibited a most elegant
entertainment at the playhouse, where were present his excellency Gen.
Washington, the Minister of France, the President of the State, a number
of officers of the army, and a brilliant assemblage of ladies and
gentlemen of the city who were invited. After a prologue suitable to
the occasion, EUGENIE, an elegant French comedy, was first presented
(written by the celebrated M. Beaumarchais), and in the opinion of
several good judges was extremely well acted by the young gentlemen
students in that polite language. After the comedy was acted the LYING
VARLET, a farce; to this succeeded several curious dances, followed by
a brilliant illumination, consisting of thirteen pyramidal pillars,
representing the thirteen States,--on the middle column was seen a
cupid, supporting a laurel crown over the motto, 'WASHINGTON, _the pride
of his Country and terror of Britain_.' On the summit was the word
_Virginia_, on the right _Connecticut_, with the names GREENE and LA
FAYETTE, on the left the word _Pennsylvania_, with the names WAYNE and
STEUBEN, and so on according to the birthplace and State proper to each
general. The spectacle ended with an artificial illumination of the
thirteen columns."
The prologue, written at the request of Mr. Quesnay, is as above.
[121] In the 1786 version, which was reprinted verbatim from the
newspaper, this read "Great Sir," with the foot-note, "Addressed to His
Excellency General Washington," and the rest of the poem was made to
refer solely to him. In the later versions this was changed so as to
read, "Addressed to the Commander in Chief and several of the officers
of the American army then present at the theatre in Southwark."
STANZAS[122]
Occasioned by the Ruins of a Country Inn, unroofed and blown down
in a storm
Where now these mingled ruins lie
A temple once to Bacchus rose,
Beneath whose roof, aspiring high,
Full many a guest forgot his woes:
No more this dome, by tempests torn,
Affords a social safe retreat;
But ravens here, with eye forlorn,
And clustering bats henceforth will meet.
The Priestess of this ruined shrine,
Unable to survive the stroke,
Presents no more the ruddy wine,
Her glasses gone, her china broke.
The friendly Host, whose social hand
Accosted strangers at the door,
Has left at length his wonted stand,
And greets the weary guest no more.
Old creeping Time, that brings decay,
Might yet have spared these mouldering walls,
Alike beneath whose potent sway
A temple or a tavern falls.
Is this the place where mirth and joy,
Coy nymphs and sprightly lads were found?
Indeed! no more the nymphs are coy,
No more the flowing bowls go round.
Is this the place where festive song
Deceived the wintry hours away?
No more the swains the tune prolong,
No more the maidens join the lay:
Is this the place where Nancy slept
In downy beds of blue and green?--
Dame Nature here no vigils kept,
No cold unfeeling guards were seen.
'Tis gone!--and Nancy tempts no more,
Deep, unrelenting silence reigns;
Of all that pleased, that charmed before,
The tottering chimney scarce remains!
Ye tyrant winds, whose ruffian blast
Through doors and windows blew too strong,
And all the roof to ruin cast,
The roof that sheltered us so long.
Your wrath appeased, I pray be kind
If Mopsus should the dome renew;
That we again may quaff his wine,
Again collect our jovial crew.
[122] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, January 23, 1782.
THE ROYAL ADVENTURER[123]
Prince William of the Brunswick race,
To witness George's sad disgrace
The Royal Lad came over
Rebels to kill by Right Divine--
Deriv'd from that illustrious line
The beggars of Hanover.
So many chiefs got broken pates
In vanquishing the rebel States,
So many nobles fell,
That George the Third in passion cry'd,
"Our royal blood must now be try'd;
"'Tis that must break the spell:
"To you (the fat pot-valiant Swine
To Digby said) dear friend of mine,
"To you I trust my boy.
"The rebel tribes shall quake with fears,
"Rebellion die when he appears;
"My Tories leap with joy."
So said, so done--the boy was sent,
But never reach'd the continent,
An Island held him fast--
Yet there his friends danc'd rigadoons,
The Hessians sung in High Dutch tunes,
"Prince William's come at last."
"Prince William comes!"--the Briton cry'd--
"The glory of our empire wide
"Shall now be soon restor'd--
"Our monarch is in William seen,
"He is the image of our queen,
"Let William be ador'd!"
The Tories came with long address,
With poems groan'd the Royal press,
And all in William's praise--
The boy astonish'd look'd about
To find their vast dominions out,
Then answer'd in amaze,
"Where all your empire wide can be,
"Friends, for my soul I cannot see:
"'Tis but an empty name;
"Three wasted islands and a town
"In rubbish bury'd--half burnt down,
"Is all that we can claim:
"I am of royal birth, 'tis true,
"But what, alas! can princes do,
"No armies to command?
"Cornwallis conquer'd and distrest,
"Sir Henry Clinton grown a jest,
"I curse and leave the land."
[123] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, January 30, 1782. "Prince
William Henry, third son of George III, afterwards William IV, entered
the navy as midshipman at the age of fourteen in 1779. He sailed in the
_Prince George_ of 98 guns to Gibralter, in the course of which cruise
he saw some service under Rodney in conflict with the Spanish fleet; and
it was in this ship, accompanied by Admiral Digby, that he arrived at
New York in September, 1781."--_Duyckinck._ He was received with great
enthusiasm and ceremony. In the _Freeman's Journal_ of January 25, 1782,
was the following, doubtless from the pen of Freneau: "It is observable
that the arrival of Prince William Henry in New York filled the British
with 'joy ineffable and universal.' The very chimney sweeps, smitten
with the poetic flame, composed odes in his praise, some of which were
inserted in _The Royal Gazette_." The 1809 edition was given a long
French motto from Mirabeau, which Freneau translates as follows: "The
favourites of a throne bask in its sunshine, like butterflies in a fine
day. Their very slaves at the foot of royalty partake of the delusion.
They keep a nation under their feet, and their every folly influences
and is followed by the multitude. They care not if their fathers and
their nearest relatives are trampled into the dust, provided _they_ can
figure away in the circles of a court, etc."
LORD DUNMORE'S PETITION TO THE LEGISLATURE OF VIRGINIA[124]
_Humbly Sheweth--_
That a silly old fellow, much noted of yore,
And known by the name of John, earl of Dunmore,
Has again ventured over to visit your shore.
The reason of this he begs leave to explain--
In England they said you were conquered and slain,
(But the devil take him who believes them again)--
So, hearing that most of you rebels were dead,
That some had submitted, and others had fled,
I mustered my Tories, myself at their head,
And over we scudded, our hearts full of glee,
As merry as ever poor devils could be,
Our ancient dominion, Virginia, to see;
Our shoe-boys, and tars, and the very cook's mate
Already conceived he possessed an estate,
And the Tories no longer were cursing their fate.
Myself, (the don Quixote) and each of the crew,
Like Sancho, had islands and empires in view--
They were captains, and kings, and the devil knows who:
But now, to our sorrow, disgrace, and surprise,
No longer deceived by the Father of Lies,[A]
We hear with our ears, and we see with our eyes:--
[A] The printer of the Royal Gazette.--_Freneau's note, ed.
of 1786._
I have therefore to make you a modest request,
(And I'm sure, in my mind, it will be for the best)
Admit me again to your mansions of rest.
There are Eden, and Martin, and Franklin, and Tryon,[125]
All waiting to see you submit to the Lion,
And may wait till the devil is king of Mount Sion:--
Though a brute and a dunce, like the rest of the clan,
I can govern as well as most Englishmen can;
And if I'm a drunkard, I still am a man:
I missed it some how in comparing my notes,
Or six years ago I had joined with your votes;
Not aided the negroes in cutting your throats.[126]
Although with so many hard names I was branded,
I hope you'll believe, (as you will if you're candid)
That I only performed what my master commanded.
Give me lands, whores and dice, and you still may be free;
Let who will be master, we sha'nt disagree;
If king or if Congress--no matter to me;--
I hope you will send me an answer straitway,
For 'tis plain that at Charleston we cannot long stay--
And your humble petitioner ever shall pray.
DUNMORE.
CHARLESTON, _Jan. 6, 1782_.
[124] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, February 13, 1782, and
printed almost without change in the various editions. Lord Dunmore was
appointed Royal Governor of Virginia in 1770, but, after a stormy career
was forced to flee from the colony after the news of Lexington had
reached the Southern patriots.
[125] "The last Royal Governors: Robert Eden of Maryland; Joseph Martin
of North Carolina; William Franklin of New Jersey; William Tryon of New
York."--_Duyckinck._
[126] After the second patriot convention assembled in Richmond, Va., in
March, 1775, to take measures toward putting the colony in a state of
defence, Dunmore, "To intimidate the Virginians, issued proclamations
and circulated a rumor that he would incite an insurrection of their
slaves.... 'The whole country,' said he, 'can easily be made a solitude;
and by the living God! if any insult is offered to me or to those who
have obeyed my orders, I will declare freedom to the slaves and lay the
town in ashes.'"--_Bancroft._
EPIGRAM[127]
Occasioned by the title of Mr. Rivington's[A] New York Royal
Gazette being scarcely legible
[A] Royal printer to his Britannic majesty while his forces
held the city of New York, from 1776 to November 25,
1783.--_Freneau's note._
Says Satan to Jemmy, "I hold you a bet
"That you mean to abandon our Royal Gazette,
"Or, between you and me, you would manage things better
"Than the Title to print on so sneaking a letter.
"Now being connected so long in the art
"It would not be prudent at present to part;
"And people, perhaps, would be frightened, and fret
"If the devil alone carried on the Gazette."
Says Jemmy to Satan (by the way of a wipe),
"Who gives me the matter should furnish the type;
"And why you find fault, I can scarcely divine,
"For the types, like the printer, are certainly thine.
"'Tis yours to deceive with the semblance of truth,
"Thou friend of my age, and thou guide of my youth!
"But, to prosper, pray send me some further supplies,
"A sett of new types, and a sett of new lies."
[127] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, February 13, 1782.
A SPEECH[128]
That should have been spoken by the King of the Island of Britain
to his Parliament
My lords, I can hardly from weeping refrain,
When I think of this year and its cursed campaign;[129]
But still it is folly to whine and to grieve,
For things will yet alter, I hope and believe.
Of the four southern States we again are bereav'd,
They were just in our grasp (or I'm sadly deceiv'd):
There are wizards and witches that dwell in those lands,
For the moment we gain them, they slip from our hands.
Our prospects at present most gloomy appear;
Cornwallis returns with a flea in his ear,
Sir Henry is sick of his station we know--
And Amherst, though press'd, is unwilling to go.
The Hero[130] that steer'd for the cape of Good Hope
With Monsieur Suffrein was unable to cope--
Many months are elaps'd, yet his task is to do--
To conquer the cape, and to conquer Peru:
When his squadron at Portsmouth he went to equip
He promis'd great things from his fifty-gun ship;
But let him alone--while he knows which is which,
He'll not be so ready "_to die in a ditch_."
This session, I thought to have told you thus much,
"A treaty concluded, and peace with the Dutch"--
But as stubborn as ever, they vapour and brag,
And sail by my nose with the Prussian flag.
The empress refuses to join on our side,
As yet with the Indians we're only ally'd:
(Though such an alliance is rather improper,
For we English are white, but their colour is copper.)
The Irish, I fear, have some mischief in view;
They ever have been a most troublesome crew--
If a truce or a treaty hereafter be made,
They shall pay very dear for their present free trade.
Dame Fortune, I think, has our standards forsaken,
For Tobago, they say, by Frenchmen is taken;
Minorca's besieg'd--and as for Gibraltar,
By Jove, if it's taken I'll take to the halter.
It makes me so wroth, I could scold like Xantippe
When I think of our losses along Mississippi--
And see in the Indies that horrible Hyder,
His conquests extending still wider and wider.
'Twixt Washington, Hyder, Don Galvez, De Grasse,
By my soul we are brought to a very fine pass--
When we've reason to hope new battles are won,
A packet arrives--and an army's undone!--
In the midst of this scene of dismay and distress,
What is best to be done, is not easy to guess,
For things may go wrong though we plan them aright,
And blows they must look for, whose trade is to fight.
In regard to the rebels, it is my decree
That dependent on Britain they ever shall be;
Or I've captains and hosts that will fly at my nod
And slaughter them all--by the blessing of God.
But if they succeed, as they're likely to do,
Our neighbours must part with their colonies too:
Let them laugh and be merry, and make us their jest,
When La Plata revolts, we shall laugh with the rest--
'Tis true that the journey to castle St. Juan
Was a project that brought the projectors to ruin;
But still, my dear lords, I would have you reflect,
Who nothing do venture can nothing expect.
If the Commons agree to afford me new treasures,
My sentence once more is for vigorous measures:
Accustom'd so long to head winds and bad weather,
Let us conquer or go to the devil together.
[128] In the _Freeman's Journal_ of February 2, 1782, is given his
Majesty's speech of November 27, 1781, in full, followed by the speech
he should have given. The first tidings of the surrender of Cornwallis
reached England November 25. The king's speech to Parliament was
confused and aimless.
[129] Alluding to the last campaign of the war, which culminated in the
surrender of Cornwallis.
[130] "Commodore George Johnstone, commanding the British East India
fleet, was attacked by the French fleet under M. de Suffrein at St.
Jago, one of the Cape de Verd Islands, in 1781. Johnstone's flag-ship
was the Rodney, 50."--_Duyckinck._
RIVINGTON'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT[131]
[A True Copy from the Records][132]
Since life is uncertain, and no one can say,
How soon we may go, or how long we shall stay,
Methinks he is wisest who soonest prepares,
And settles in season his worldly affairs:
Some folks are so weak they can scarce avoid crying,
And think when they're making their wills they are dying;
'Tis surely a serious employment--but still,
Who e'er died the sooner for making his will?
Let others be sad when their lives they review,
But I know whom I've serv'd--and him faithfully too;
And though it may seem a fanatical story,
He often has show'd me a glimpse of his glory.
IMPRIMIS, my carcase I give and devise
To be made into cakes of a moderate size,
To nourish those tories whose spirits may droop,
And serve the king's army with Portable Soup.
Unless I mistake, in the scriptures we read
That "worms on the dead shall deliciously feed,"
The scripture stands true--and that I am firm in,
For what are our tories and soldiers but vermin?--
This soup of soups can't be call'd that of beef,
And this may to some be a matter of grief:
But I'm certain the Bull would occasion a laugh,
That beef Portable Soup should be made of a Calf.
To the king, my dear master, I give a full sett
(In volumes bound up) of the Royal Gazette,
In which he will find the vast record contain'd
Of provinces conquer'd and victories gain'd.
As to Arnold the traitor and Satan his brother,
I beg they will also accept of another;
And this shall be bound in Morocco red leather,
Provided they'll read it like brothers together.
But if Arnold should die, 'tis another affair,
Then Satan surviving shall be the sole heir;
He often has told me he thought it quite clever,
So to him and his heirs I bequeath it forever.
I know there are some (that would fain be thought wise)
Who say my Gazette is the record of lies;
In answer to this, I shall only reply--
All the choice that I had was to starve or to lie.
My fiddles, my flutes, French horns and guittars[A]
I leave to our heroes now weary of wars--
To the wars of the stage they more boldly advance,
The captains shall play and the soldiers shall dance.[B]
[A] The articles of bequest in this poem were incessantly
advertised in the Royal Gazette, and puffed off with a
dexterity peculiar to the editor of that paper.--_Freneau's
note in ed. of 1809._
[B] It became fashionable at this period with the British
officers to assume the business of the Drama, to the no
small mortification of those who had been holding them
up as the undoubted conquerors of North America.--_Ib._
To Sir Henry Clinton, his use and behoof,
I leave my French brandy of very high proof;
It will give him fresh spirits for battle and slaughter
And make him feel bolder by land and by water:
Yet I caution the knight, for fear he do wrong,
'Tis _avant la viande et apres le poisson_[C]
It will strengthen his stomach, prevent it from turning,
And digest the affront of his effigy burning.
[C] Before flesh and after fish.--_See the Royal Gazette.--Ib._
To Baron Knyphausen,[133] his heirs and assigns,
I bequeath my old hock, and my Burgundy wines,
To a true Hessian drunkard no liquors are sweeter,
And I know the old man is no foe to the creature.
To a general, my namesake,[D] I give and dispose
Of a purse full of clipp'd, light, sweated half joes;
I hereby desire him to take back his trash,
And return me my Hannay's infallible Wash.[E]
[D] General James Robertson.--_Ib._
[E] Used in the venereal disease.--_Ib._
My chessmen and tables, and other such chattels
I give to Cornwallis renowned in battles:
By moving of these (not tracing the map)
He'll explain to the king how he got in the trap.
To good David Mathews[135] (among other slops)
I give my whole cargo of Maredant's drops,
If they cannot do all, they may cure him in part,
And scatter the poison that cankers his heart:
Provided, however, and nevertheless,
That what other estate I enjoy and possess
At the time of my death (if it be not then sold)
Shall remain to the Tories to have and to hold.
As I thus have bequeath'd them both carcase and fleece,
The least they can do is to wait my decease;
But to give them what substance I have, ere I die,
And be eat up with vermin, while living--not I--
In Witness whereof (though no ailment I feel)
Hereunto I set both my hand and my seal;
(As the law says) in presence of witnesses twain,
'Squire _John Coghill Knap_,[F] and brother _Hugh Gaine_.
[F] A Notary Public in New-York.--_Freneau's note._ "'Knapp,'
says Dawson, in a note to _New York City During the
Revolution_, was 'a notorious pettifogger, a convict who
had fled from England for his own benefit.'"--_Duyckinck._
JAMES RIVINGTON, (_L.S._)
NEW-YORK, _Feb. 20, 1782_.
[131] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, February 27, 1782. One week
earlier it was advertised for sale as a broadside. I have followed the
1786 version.
James Rivington, an Englishman, was a bookseller and printer in New York
from 1761 until the close of the Revolution. In 1773 he published the
first number of _The New York Gazetteer, or the Connecticut, New Jersey,
Hudson's River and Quebec Weekly Advertiser_. At the opening of the war
he became a violent British partisan. His office was destroyed by the
Whigs in 1775. Two years later he established _Rivington's New York
Loyal Gazette_, which became the official British newspaper in America.
On December 13 of the same year, he changed the name to the _Royal
Gazette_. In the last years of the Revolution, when British success
seemed more and more uncertain, Rivington began to lean toward the Whig
side, but he was never trusted by the patriots, and he passed his last
years in loneliness and poverty.
[132] Omitted in later editions.
[133] Baron Wilhelm von Knyphausen, in command of the Hessian troops.
[134] "Tremendous."--_Ed. 1809._
[135] David Mathews, Mayor of New York during the British occupancy.
LINES
Occasioned by Mr. Rivington's new Titular Types to his _Royal
Gazette_, of February 27, 1782[136]
Well--now (said the devil) it looks something better!
Your title is struck on a charming new Letter:
Last night in the dark, as I gave it a squint,
I saw my dear partner had taken the hint.
I ever surmised (though 'twas doubted by some)
That the old types were shadows of substance to come:
But if the new Letter is pregnant with charms,
It grieves me to think of those cursed King's Arms!
The _Dieu et mon droit_ (his God and his right)
Is so dim, that I hardly know what is meant by't;
The paws of the Lion can scarcely be seen,
And the Unicorn's guts are most shamefully lean!
The Crown is so worn of your master the Despot,
That I hardly know whether 'tis a crown or a pisspot:
When I rub up my day-lights, and look very sharp
I just can distinguish the Irishman's Harp:
Another device appears rather silly,
Alas! it is only the shade of the Lilly!
For the honour of George, and the fame of our nation,
Pray give his escutcheons a rectification--
Or I know what I know, (and I'm a queer shaver)
Of Him and his Arms I'll be the In-grave-r.
[136] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, March 13, 1782.
LINES
On Mr. Rivington's new engraved King's Arms to his
_Royal Gazette_[137]
From the regions of night, with his head in a sack,
Ascended a person accoutred in black,
And upward directing his circular eye whites;
(Like the Jure-divino political Levites)
And leaning his elbow on Rivington's shelf,
While the printer was busy, thus mus'd with himself:
"My mandates are fully complied with at last,
"New arms are engrav'd, and new letters are cast:
"I therefore determine and freely accord,
"This servant of mine shall receive his reward."
Then turning about, to the printer he said,
"Who late was my servant shall now be my Aid;
"Since under my banners so bravely you fight,
"Kneel down!--for your merits I dubb you a knight,
"From a passive subaltern I bid you to rise
"The Inventor as well as the Printer of lies."
[137] _Freeman's Journal_, March 27, 1782. The _Gazette_, among the
Whigs at least, was the synonym for falsity and unfairness. It was
generally alluded to as the _Lying Gazette_.
A PROPHECY[138]
Written 1782
When a certain great king, whose initial is G,
Shall force stamps upon paper, and folks to drink tea;
When these folks burn his tea, and stampt paper, like stubble,
You may guess that this king is then coming to trouble.
But when a petition he treads under his feet,
And sends over the ocean an army and fleet;
When that army, half-starved, and frantic with rage,
Shall be coop'd up with a leader whose name rhymes to cage,
When that leader goes home, dejected and sad,
You may then be assur'd the king's prospects are bad:
But when B and C with their armies are taken,
This king will do well if he saves his own bacon.
In the year seventeen hundred and eighty and two,
A stroke he shall get that will make him look blue;
In the years eighty-three, eighty-four, eighty-five,
You hardly shall know that the king is alive;[139]
In the year eighty-six[140] the affair will be over,
And he shall eat turnips that grow in Hanover.
The face of the lion then shall become pale,
He shall yield fifteen teeth, and be sheer'd of his tail.
O king, my dear king, you shall be very sore,
The Stars and the Lilly shall run you on shore,
And your lion shall growl, but never bite more.
[138] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, March 27, 1782, with the
following introduction:
"Mr. Printer: The people of England at this time seem persuaded or
rather deluded into the opinion that the American revolt will be quashed
in the year 1786, and under that idea it is likely will prosecute the
war with vigour for some time to come. This infatuation chiefly owes its
birth to a prophecy of one John Cosins, who lived in the reign of the
Second Charles, importing that a certain transatlantic insurrection, and
the Kirk of Scotland, will both fall to the ground in the year above
mentioned. Cosins's predictions are as follows, taken from the _Royal
Gazette_ of the 18th ult.:
'When a branch of the thistle gets over the Atlantic,
And in a new world the root shall be planted,
And when it doth arrive at a degree of perfection
It surely will breed a great insurrection.
In the year seventy and four the root will be polished,
And in eighty and six it will be quite abolished.
The lily and the thistle in that year will unite,
But the lion and the dun cow will put them to flight.
The eagle will eagerly join in the fray,
But luna will clip both their wings in a day.
O thistle, O thistle, thy wounds will be sore.
Kirk and kirk government will be no more,
And you'll be abridg'd of all civil power.'
To show that America has not been wholly destitute of oracular sages in
past times, I send you the following choice words or prophetical hints
of an illiterate fisherman, who died about thirty years ago at his
habitation, a few miles above the mouth of the Susquehanna. I discovered
the paper containing them by mere accident in tumbling over the leaves
of an old book at an inn near that place. If you think the lines worth
inserting in your paper, they are at your service."
Reprinted without change in the edition of 1786, the text of which I
have followed above. In later editions the prophecy was changed somewhat
to conform to historical facts.
[139] In the later editions these two lines are made to read:
"And soon, very soon, shall the season arrive
When _Nebuchadnezzar_ to pasture shall drive."
[140] "In the year eighty-three."--_Ed. 1795._
THE ARGONAUT
OR, LOST ADVENTURER[141]
True to his trade--the slave of fortune still--
In a sweet isle, where never winter reigns,
I found him at the foot of a tall hill,
Mending old sails, and chewing sugar canes:
Pale ivy round him grew, and mingled vines,
Plaintains, bananas ripe, and yellow pines.
And flowering night-shade, with its dismal green,
Ash-coloured iris, painted by the sun,
And fair-haired hyacinth was near him seen,
And China pinks by marygolds o'er-run:--
"But what (said he) have men that sail the seas,
"Ah, what have they to do with things like these!
"I did not wish to leave those shades, not I,
"Where Amoranda turns her spinning-wheel;
"Charmed with the shallow stream, that murmured by,
"I felt as blest as any swain could feel,
"Who, seeking nothing that the world admires,
"On one poor valley fixed his whole desires.
"With masts so trim, and sails as white as snow,
"The painted barque deceived me from the land,
"Pleased, on her sea-beat decks I wished to go,
"Mingling my labours with her hardy band;
"To reef the sail, to guide the foaming prow
"As far as winds can waft, or oceans flow.
"To combat with the waves who first essayed,
"Had these gay groves his lightsome heart beguiled,
"His heart, attracted by the charming shade,
"Had changed the deep sea for the woody wild;
"And slighted all the gain that Neptune yields
"For Damon's cottage, or Palemon's fields.
"His barque, the bearer of a feeble crew,
"How could he trust when none had been to prove her;
"Courage might sink when lands and shores withdrew,
"And feeble hearts a thousand deaths discover:
"But Fortitude, tho' woes and death await,
"Still views bright skies, and leaves the dark to fate.
"From monkey climes where limes and lemons grow,
"And the sweet orange swells her fruit so fair,
"To wintry worlds, with heavy heart, I go
"To face the cold glance of the northern bear,
"Where lonely waves, far distant from the sun,
"And gulphs, of mighty strength, their circuits run.
"But how disheartening is the wanderer's fate!
"When conquered by the loud tempestuous main,
"On him, no mourners in procession wait,
"Nor do the sisters of the harp complain.--
"On coral beds and deluged sands they sleep,
"Who sink in storms, and mingle with the deep.
"'Tis folly all--and who can truly tell
"What storms disturb the bosom of that main,
"What ravenous fish in those dark climates dwell
"That feast on men--then stay, my gentle swain!
"Bred in yon' happy shades, be happy there,
"And let these quiet groves claim all your care."
So spoke poor Ralph, and with a smooth sea gale
Fled from the magic of the enchanting shore,
But whether winds or waters did prevail,
I saw the black ship ne'er returning more,
Though long I w
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