Part 3
Still deaf to mild entreaties, still blind to England's good, You have for thirty pieces betrayed your country's blood. Like Esop's greedy cur you'll gain a shadow for your bone, Yet find us fearful shades indeed inspired by Washington.
Mysterious! unexampled! incomprehensible! The blundering schemes of Britain their folly, pride, and zeal, Like lions how ye growl and threat! mere asses have you shown, And ye shall share an ass's fate, and drudge for Washington!
Your dark unfathomed councils our weakest heads defeat, Our children rout your armies, our boats destroy your fleet, And to complete the dire disgrace, cooped up within a town, You live the scorn of all our host, the slaves of Washington!
Great Heaven! is this the nation whose thundering arms were hurled, Through Europe, Afric, India? whose navy ruled a world? The lustre of your former deeds, whole ages of renown, Lost in a moment, or transferred to us and Washington!
Yet think not thirst of glory unsheaths our vengeful swords To rend your bands asunder, or cast away your cords, 'Tis heaven-born freedom fires us all, and strengthens each brave son, From him who humbly guides the plough, to god-like Washington.
For this, oh could our wishes your ancient rage inspire, Your armies should be doubled, in numbers, force, and fire. Then might the glorious conflict prove which best deserved the boon, America or Albion, a George or Washington!
Fired with the great idea, our Fathers' shades would rise, To view the stern contention, the gods desert their skies; And Wolfe, 'midst hosts of heroes, superior bending down, Cry out with eager transport, God save great Washington!
Should George, too choice of Britons, to foreign realms apply, And madly arm half Europe, yet still we would defy Turk, Hessian, Jew, and Infidel, or all those powers in one, While Adams guards our senate, our camp great Washington!
Should warlike weapons fail us, disdaining slavish fears, To swords we'll beat our ploughshares, our pruning-hooks to spears, And rush, all desperate, on our foe, nor breathe till battle won, Then shout, and shout America! and conquering Washington!
Proud France should view with terror, and haughty Spain revere, While every warlike nation would court alliance here; And George, his minions trembling round, dismounting from his throne Pay homage to America and glorious Washington!
COLUMBIA.
BY TIMOTHY DWIGHT.
(From Kettell's "Specimens," 1829. Written during the author's service as an army chaplain, 1777-78.)
Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies; Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold, While ages on ages thy splendor unfold, Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time, Most fruitful thy soil most inviting thy clime; Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name, Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame.
To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire; Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire; Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, And triumph pursue them, and glory attend, A world is thy realm: for a world be thy laws, Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause; On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise, Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.
Fair science her gates to thy sons shall unbar, And the east see the morn hide the beams of her star. New bards, and new sages, unrivalled shall soar To fame unextinguished, when time is no more; To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed, Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind; Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring.
Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, And genius and beauty in harmony blend; The graces of form shall awake pure desire, And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire; Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined, And virtue's bright image, instamped on the mind, With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow, And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.
Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, The nations admire and the ocean obey; Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, And the east and the south yield their spices and gold. As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow; While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the world.
Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread, From war's dread confusion I pensively strayed, The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired; The winds ceased to murmur; the thunders expired; Perfumes as of Eden flowed sweetly along, And a voice as of angels, enchantingly sung: "Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, "The queen of the world, and the child of the skies."
TAXATION OF AMERICA.
BY PETER ST. JOHN, OF NORWALK, CONN.
[In Moore's "Songs and Ballads of the Revolution," this poem bears date as of 1765, but the references in it to Burgoyne's surrender, to Brandywine, etc., indicate a much later date. It is possible that a part of the poem was written and published about 1765, and that additions making reference to revolutionary incidents were made afterward. But, internal evidence renders even this assumption improbable, and suggests that the date Moore gives is the result of some mistake.--EDITOR.]
While I relate my story, Americans give ear; Of Britain's fading glory You presently shall hear; I'll give a true relation, Attend to what I say Concerning the taxation Of North America.
The cruel lords of Britain, Who glory in their shame, The project they have hit on They joyfully proclaim; 'Tis what they're striving after Our right to take away, And rob us of our charter In North America.
There are two mighty speakers, Who rule in Parliament, Who ever have been seeking Some mischief to invent; 'Twas North, and Bute his father, The horrid plan did lay A mighty tax to gather In North America.
They searched the gloomy regions Of the infernal pit, To find among their legions One who excelled in wit; To ask of him assistance, Or tell them how they may Subdue without resistance This North America.
Old Satan the arch-traitor, Who rules the burning lake, Where his chief navigator, Resolved a voyage to take; For the Britannic ocean He launches far away, To land he had no notion In North America.
He takes his seat in Britain, It was his soul's intent Great George's throne to sit on And rule the Parliament; His comrades were pursuing A diabolic way, For to complete the ruin Of North America.
He tried the art of magic To bring his schemes about, At length the gloomy project He artfully found out; The plan was long indulgèd In a clandestine way, But lately was divulgèd In North America.
These subtle arch-combiners Addressed the British court, All three were undersigners Of this obscure report-- There is a pleasant landscape That lieth far away Beyond the wide Atlantic, In North America.
There is a wealthy people, Who sojourn in that land, Their churches all with steeples Most delicately stand: Their houses like the gilly, Are painted red and gay: They flourish like the lily In North America.
Their land with milk and honey Continually doth flow, The want of food or money They seldom ever know: They heap up golden treasure, They have no debts to pay, They spend their time in pleasure In North America.
On turkeys, fowls, and fishes, Most frequently they dine, With gold and silver dishes Their tables always shine. They crown their feasts with butter, They eat, and rise to play; In silks their ladies flutter, In North America.
With gold and silver laces They do themselves adorn, The rubies deck their faces, Refulgent as the morn: Wine sparkles in their glasses, They spend each happy day In merriment and dances In North America.
Let not our suit affront you, When we address your throne; O King, this wealthy country And subjects are your own, And you, their rightful sovereign They truly must obey, You have a right to govern This North America.
O King, you've heard the sequel Of what we now subscribe: Is it not just and equal To tax this wealthy tribe? The question being askèd, His majesty did say, My subjects shall be taxèd In North America.
Invested with a warrant, My publicans shall go, The tenth of all their current They surely shall bestow; If they indulge rebellion, Or from my precepts stray, I'll send my war battalion To North America.
I'll rally all my forces By water and by land, My light dragoons and horses Shall go at my command; I'll burn both town and city, With smoke becloud the day, I'll show no human pity For North America.
Go on, my hearty soldiers, You need not fear of ill-- There's Hutchinson and Rogers, Their functions will fulfill-- They tell such ample stories, Believe them sure we may, One half of them are tories In North America.
My gallant ships are ready To waft you o'er the flood, And in my cause be steady, Which is supremely good. Go ravage, steal, and plunder, And you shall have the prey; They quickly will knock under In North America.
The laws I have enacted I never will revoke, Although they are neglected, My fury to provoke. I will forbear to flatter, I'll rule the mighty sway, I'll take away the charter From North America.
O George! you are distracted, You'll by experience find The laws you have enacted Are of the blackest kind. I'll make a short digression, And tell you by the way, We fear not your oppression In North America.
Our fathers were distressèd While in their native land; By tyrants were oppressèd As we do understand; For freedom and religion They were resolved to stray, And trace the desert regions Of North America.
Heaven was their sole protector While on the roaring tide, Kind fortune their director, And providence their guide. If I am not mistaken, About the first of May, This voyage was undertaken For North America.
If rightly I remember, This country to explore, They landed in November On Plymouth's desert shore. The savages were nettled, With fear they fled away, So peaceably they settled In North America.
We are their bold descendants, For liberty we'll fight, The claim to independence We challenge as our right; 'T is what kind Heaven gave us, Who can take it away? O Heaven, sure it will save us In North America.
We never will knock under, O George! we do not fear The rattling of your thunder, Nor lightning of your spear; Though rebels you declare us, We're strangers to dismay; Therefore you cannot scare us In North America.
To what you have commanded We never will consent, Although your troops are landed Upon our continent; We'll take our swords and muskets, And march in dread array, And drive the British red-coats From North America.
We have a bold commander, Who fears not sword or gun, The second Alexander, His name is Washington. His men are all collected, And ready for the fray, To fight they are directed For North America.
We've Greene, and Gates, and Putnam, To manage in the field, A gallant train of footmen, Who'd rather die than yield; A stately troop of horsemen Trained in a martial way, For to augment our forces In North America.
Proud George, you are engagèd All in a dirty cause, A cruel war have wagèd Repugnant to all laws. Go tell the savage nations You're crueler than they, To fight your own relations In North America.
Ten millions you've expended, And twice ten millions more; Our riches you intended Should pay the mighty score. Who now will stand your sponsor, Your charges to defray? For sure you cannot conquer This North America.
I'll tell you, George, in metre, If you'll attend awhile; We've forced your bold Sir Peter From Sullivan's fair isle. At Monmouth, too, we gainèd The honors of the day-- The victory we obtainèd For North America.
Surely we were your betters Hard by the Brandywine; We laid him fast in fetters Whose name was John Burgoyne; We made your Howe to tremble With terror and dismay; True heroes we resemble, In North America.
Confusion to the tories, That black infernal name In which Great Britain glories, Forever to her shame; We'll send each foul revolter To smutty Africa, Or noose him in a halter In North America.
A health to our brave footmen, Who handle sword and gun, To Greene, and Gates, and Putnam, And conquering Washington; Their names be wrote in letters Which never will decay, While sun and moon do glitter On North America.
Success unto our allies In Holland, France, and Spain, Who man their ships and galleys, Our freedom to maintain; May they subdue the rangers Of proud Britannia, And drive them from their anchors In North America.
Success unto the Congress Of these United States, Who glory in the conquests Of Washington and Gates; To all, both land and seamen, Who glory in the day When we shall all be freemen In North America.
Success to legislation, That rules with gentle hand, To trade and navigation By water and by land. May all with one opinion Our wholesome laws obey, Throughout this vast dominion Of North America.
THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS.
BY FRANCIS HOPKINSON.
(From "The Miscellaneous Essays and Occasional Writings," 1792.)
[This ballad was occasioned by a real incident. Certain machines in the form of kegs, charged with gunpowder, were sent down the river to annoy the British shipping then at Philadelphia. The danger of these machines being discovered, the British manned the wharfs and shipping, and discharged their small-arms and cannons at every thing they saw floating in the river during the ebb tide.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]
Gallants attend and hear a friend Trill forth harmonious ditty, Strange things I'll tell which late befell In Philadelphia city.
'T was early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on a log of wood, And saw a thing surprising.
As in amaze he stood to gaze, The truth can't be denied, sir, He spied a score of kegs or more Come floating down the tide, sir.
A sailor, too, in jerkin blue, This strange appearance viewing, First damned his eyes, in great surprise, Then said: "Some mischief's brewing.
"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold, Packed up like pickled herring; And they're come down to attack the town, In this new way of ferrying."
The soldier flew, the sailor too, And scared almost to death, sir, Wore out their shoes, to spread the news, And ran till out of breath, sir.
Now up and down throughout the town, Most frantic scenes were acted; And some ran here, and others there, Like men almost distracted.
Some fire cried, which some denied, But said the earth had quakèd; And girls and boys, with hideous noise, Ran through the streets half nakèd.
Sir William he, snug as a flea, Lay all this time a snoring, Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm,
* * * * *
Now in a fright, he starts upright, Awaked by such a clatter; He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries: For God's sake, what's the matter?
At his bedside he then espied, Sir Erskine at command, sir, Upon one foot he had one boot, And th' other in his hand, sir.
"Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries, "The rebels--more's the pity, Without a boat are afloat, And ranged before the city.
"The motley crew, in vessels new, With Satan for their guide, sir, Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs, Come driving down the tide, sir.
"Therefore prepare for bloody war, These kegs must all be routed Or surely we despised shall be, And British courage doubted."
The royal band now ready stand All ranged in dread array, sir, With stomach stout to see it out, And make a bloody day, sir.
The cannons roar from shore to shore, The small arms make a rattle; Since wars began I'm sure no man E'er saw so strange a battle.
The rebel dales, the rebel vales With rebel trees surrounded, The distant woods, the hills and floods, With rebel echoes sounded.
The fish below swam to and fro, Attacked from every quarter; Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay, 'Mongst folks above the water.
The kegs, 't is said, though strongly made, Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, Could not oppose their powerful foes, The conquering British troops, sir.
From morn to night these men of might Displayed amazing courage; And when the sun was fairly down, Retired to sup their porridge.
A hundred men with each a pen, Or more upon my word, sir, It is most true would be too few, Their valor to record, sir.
Such feats did they perform that day, Against these wicked kegs, sir, That years to come, if they get home, They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.
CARMEN BELLICOSUM.
BY GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER.
In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not, When the grenadiers were lunging, And like hail fell the plunging Cannon shot; When the files Of the isles From the smoky night-encampment bore the banner of the rampant Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn!
Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal Stood our sires; And the balls whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly Blazed the fires; As the roar On the shore, Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain!
Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red Saint George's Cannoneers; And the "villainous saltpetre" Rung a fierce, discordant metre Round their ears; As the swift Storm drift, With hot, sweeping anger, came the horse guard's clangor On our flanks. Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks!
Then the old-fashioned colonel Galloped through the white, infernal Powder cloud; And his broad sword was swinging, And his brazen throat was ringing Trumpet loud. Then the blue Bullets flew And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle breath; And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six-pounder Hurling death!
THE YANKEE MAN-OF-WAR.
[Descriptive of the daring bravery of Captain John Paul Jones, in his cruise in the Irish Channel in 1778.]
(From Admiral Luce's "Naval Songs.")
'Tis of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the stripes and stars, And the whistling wind from the west-nor'-west blew through the pitch-pine spars,-- With her starboard tacks a-board, my boys, she hung upon the gale, On an autumn night we raised the light on the old head of Kinsale.
It was a clear and cloudless night, and the wind blew steady and strong, As gaily over the sparkling deep our good ship bowled along; With the foaming seas beneath her bow the fiery waves she spread, And bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cat-head.
There was no talk of shortening sail by him who walked the poop, And under the press of her pond'ring jib, the boom bent like a hoop! And the groaning water-ways told the strain that held her stout main-tack, But he only laughed as he glanced aloft at a white and silv'ry track.
The mid-tide meets in the channel waves that flow from shore to shore, And the mist hung heavy upon the land from Featherstone to Dunmore, And that sterling light in Tusker Rock where the old bell tolls each hour, And the beacon light that shone so bright was quench'd on Waterford Tower.
The nightly robes our good ship wore were her three topsails set Her spanker and her standing jib--the courses being fast; "Now, lay aloft! my heroes bold, let not a moment pass!" And royals and top-gallant sails were quickly on each mast.
What looms upon our starboard bow? What hangs upon the breeze? 'Tis time our good ship hauled her wind a-breast the old Saltee's, For by her ponderous press of sail and by her consorts four We saw our morning visitor was a British man-of-war.
Up spake our noble Captain then, as a shot ahead of us past-- "Haul snug your flowing courses! lay your topsail to the mast!" Those Englishmen gave three loud hurrahs from the deck of their covered ark, And we answered back by a solid broadside from the decks of our patriot bark.
"Out booms! out booms!" our skipper cried, "out booms and give her sheet," And the swiftest keel that was ever launched shot ahead of the British fleet, And a-midst a thundering shower of shot with stun'-sails hoisting away, Down the North Channel Paul Jones did steer just at the break of day.
(Battle between the _Bon Homme Richard_ and the _Serapis_, September 23, 1779.)
An American Frigate:--a frigate of fame, With guns mounting forty, _The Richard_ by name, Sailed to cruise in the channels of old England, With a valiant commander, Paul Jones was his name. Hurrah! Hurrah! Our country forever, Hurrah!
We had not cruised long, before he espies A large forty-four, and a twenty likewise; Well manned with bold seamen, well laid in with stores, In consort to drive us from old England's shores. Hurrah! Hurrah! Our country forever, Hurrah!
About twelve at noon, Pearson came alongside, With a loud speaking trumpet, "Whence came you?" he cried: "Return me an answer--I hailed you before, Or if you do not, a broadside I'll pour." Hurrah!
Paul Jones then said to his men, every one, "Let every true seaman stand firm to his gun! We'll receive a broadside from this bold Englishman, And like true Yankee sailors, return it again." Hurrah!
The contest was bloody, both decks ran with gore, And the sea seemed to blaze, while the cannon did roar. "Fight on, my brave boys," then Paul Jones he cried, "And soon we will humble this bold Englishman's pride." Hurrah!