Part 4
"Stand firm to your quarters--your duty don't shun, The first one that shrinks, through the body I'll run, Though their force is superior, yet they shall know, What true, brave American seamen can do." Hurrah!
The battle rolled on, till bold Pearson cried: "Have you yet struck your colors? then come alongside!" But so far from thinking that the battle was won, Brave Paul Jones replied: "I've not yet begun!" Hurrah!
We fought them eight glasses, eight glasses so hot, Till seventy bold seamen lay dead on the spot. And ninety brave seamen lay stretched in their gore, While the pieces of cannon most fiercely did roar.
Our gunner, in great fright to Captain Jones came, "We gain water quite fast and our side's in a flame." Then Paul Jones said in the height of his pride: "If we cannot do better, boys, sink alongside!"
The _Alliance_ bore down, and the _Richard_ did rake, Which caused the bold hearts of our seamen to ache: Our shots flew so hot that they could not stand us long, And the undaunted Union-of-Britain came down.
To us they did strike and their colors hauled down; The fame of Paul Jones to the world shall be known, His name shall rank with the gallant and brave, Who fought like a hero--our freedom to save.
Now all valiant seamen where'er you may be, Who hear of this combat that's fought on the sea, May you all do like them, when called to do the same, And your names be enrolled on the pages of fame.
Your country will boast of her sons that are brave, And to you she will look from all dangers to save, She'll call you dear sons, in her annals you'll shine, And the brows of the brave shall green laurels entwine.
So now, my brave boys, have we taken a prize-- A large 44, and a 20 likewise! Then God bless the mother whose doom is to weep The loss of her sons in the ocean so deep.
1813.
THE ROYAL ADVENTURER.
BY PHILIP FRENEAU.
[In the year 1781, Prince William Henry (afterward William IV.), third son of George III., came to New York as a midshipman, accompanied by Admiral Digby. The tory authorities of the city overwhelmed the boy--he was just sixteen years old--with adulation, recording it as their conviction that his gracious presence in the country would shame the patriots out of their rebellion and win them to submission and loyalty.--EDITOR.]
Prince William, of the Brunswick race, To witness George's sad disgrace The royal lad came over, Rebels to kill, by right divine-- Derived from that industrious 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 cried: "Our royal blood must now be tried; 'Tis that must break the spell;
"To you [the fat pot-valiant swain 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 lad was sent, But never reached the continent, An island held him fast-- Yet there his friends danced rigadoons, The Hessians sung in high Dutch tunes, "Prince William's come at last!"
"Prince William's come!"--the Briton cried-- "Our labors now will be repaid-- Dominion be restored-- Our monarch is in William seen, He is the image of our queen, Let William be adored!"
The tories came with long address, With poems groaned the royal press, And all in William's praise-- The youth, astonished, looked about To find their vast dominions out, Then answered in amaze:
"Where all your vast domain can be, Friends, for my soul I cannot see; 'Tis but an empty name; Three wasted islands and a town In rubbish buried--half burnt down, Is all that we can claim;
"I am of royal birth, 'tis true, But what, my sons, can princes do, No armies to command? Cornwallis conquered and distrest-- Sir Henry Clinton grown a jest-- I curse--and quit the land."
EUTAW SPRINGS.
TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS, UNDER GENERAL GREENE, IN SOUTH CAROLINA, WHO FELL IN THE ACTION OF SEPTEMBER 8, 1781, AT EUTAW SPRINGS.
BY PHILIP FRENEAU.
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!
If in this wreck of ruin they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite thy 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.
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.
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.
AN ANCIENT PROPHECY.
BY PHILIP FRENEAU.
(Written soon after the surrender of Cornwallis.)
When a certain great King, whose initial is G., Forces 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 feet, And sends over the ocean an army and fleet, When that army, half famished, and frantic with rage, Is cooped 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; And soon, very soon, shall the season arrive, When Nebuchadnezzar to pasture shall drive.
In the year eighty-three, the affair will be over And he shall eat turnips that grow in Hanover; The face of the Lion will then become pale, He shall yield fifteen teeth and be sheared of his tail-- O King, my dear King, you shall be very sore, From the _Stars_ and the _Stripes_ you will mercy implore, And your Lion shall growl, but hardly bite more.--
THE DANCE.
(Published soon after the surrender of Cornwallis.)
Cornwallis led a country dance, The like was never seen, sir, Much retrograde and much advance, And all with General Greene, sir.
They rambled up and rambled down, Joined hands, then off they run, sir, Our General Greene to Charlestown, The earl to Wilmington, sir.
Greene in the South then danced a set, And got a mighty name, sir, Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette, But suffered in his fame, sir.
Then down he figured to the shore, Most like a lordly dancer, And on his courtly honor swore He would no more advance, sir.
Quoth he, my guards are weary grown With footing country dances, They never at St. James's shone, At capers, kicks or prances.
Though men so gallant ne'er were seen, While sauntering on parade, sir, Or wriggling o'er the park's smooth green, Or at a masquerade, sir.
Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts, For stumps and briars meet, sir? Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts, Or hardy veteran feet, sir?
Now housed in York, he challenged all, At minuet or all 'amande, And lessons for a courtly ball His guards by day and night conned.
This challenge known, full soon there came, A set who had the bon ton, De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame Fut brillant pour un long tems.
And Washington, Columbia's son, Whom easy nature taught, sir, That grace which can't by pains be won, Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir.
Now hand in hand they circle round This ever-dancing peer, sir; Their gentle movements soon confound The earl as they draw near, sir.
His music soon forgets to play-- His feet can move no more,[1] sir, And all his bands now curse the day They jiggèd to our shore, sir.
Now Tories all, what can ye say? Come--is not this a griper, That while your hopes are danced away, 'Tis you must pay the piper?
1781.
[1] In all the versions of this poem examined by the editor this line reads "His feet can no more move, sir"; but the reading is so clearly wrong that it seems proper to amend it so that the obviously intended rhyme between "more, sir" and "shore, sir" shall appear. There is the greater justification for the taking of this liberty of correction because the poem originally appeared in carelessly edited contemporary prints.--EDITOR.
SONG OF MARION'S MEN.
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
[A very interesting bit of literary history attaches to this poem. The piece appeared in Mr. Bryant's first collected volume of poems about 1831. Mr. Bryant sent the volume, with a letter, to Washington Irving, then in London, with whom he had no personal acquaintance, and invoked his good offices in inducing Murray to bring out an English edition of the work. The time being peculiarly unpropitious, Murray declined to undertake the venture, but Irving found another publisher, and himself introduced the volume in the most favorable manner, with a dedicatory letter of his own. While passing the book through the press the publisher observed in this poem the lines:
"The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told,"
and assured Irving that he could not offer a work containing such a statement to a British public. It was impossible to consult the author, three thousand miles away, and Irving ventured to change the objectionable passage so that it should read:
"The foeman trembles in his camp When Marion's name is told."
There is no reason to believe that Mr. Bryant ever resented the liberty or regarded it otherwise than as an act of friendly intervention; but some years later William Leggett, who had long been Mr. Bryant's editorial associate in the office of the _Evening Post_, but had severed his connection with that paper, made a virulent assault upon Irving in the _Plaindealer_ on account of the change he had made, even going so far as to intimate that both that and his dealings with one of his own works were dictated by mean sycophancy and cowardice on Irving's part.--EDITOR.]
SONG OF MARION'S MEN.
Our band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress tree; We know the forest round us; As seamen know the sea; We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass.
Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again; And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads,-- The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp-- A moment--and away Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore.
HAIL COLUMBIA.
BY JOSEPH HOPKINSON.
(First sung at the Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, in 1798.)
[This song was inspired by the troubles with France, which threatened but did not actually result in open war. For convenience it is classed with the ballads and lyrics of the Revolution, to the actors in which its references point, though, strictly speaking, it belongs to none of the groups into which this collection is divided.--EDITOR.]
Hail! Columbia, happy land! Hail! ye heroes, heav'n-born band, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won; Let independence be your boast, Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies.
_Chorus._
Firm, united let us be, Rallying round our liberty, As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.
Immortal patriots, rise once more! Defend your rights, defend your shore; Let no rude foe with impious hand, Let no rude foe with impious hand Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize; While offering peace, sincere and just, In heav'n we place a manly trust, That truth and justice may prevail, And ev'ry scheme of bondage fail.--_Chorus._
Sound, sound the trump of fame! Let Washington's great name Ring thro' the world with loud applause! Ring thro' the world with loud applause! Let ev'ry clime to freedom dear Listen with a joyful ear; With equal skill, with steady pow'r, He governs in the fearful hour Of horrid war, or guides with ease The happier time of honest peace.--_Chorus._
Behold the chief, who now commands, Once more to serve his country stands, The rock on which the storm will beat! The rock on which the storm will beat! But armed in virtue, firm and true, His hopes are fixed on heav'n and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, When gloom obscured Columbia's day, His steady mind, from changes free, Resolved on death or liberty.--_Chorus._
(Action between the _Constellation_ and the _Insurgente_, 9 Feb., 1799.)
[This song and the one that follows it relate to a naval conflict of 1799, during the troubles which for a time threatened war between France and the United States. As the second of the two songs was written in 1813, and both were much sung at that period, it has been thought best to present both of them where one properly belongs, namely, among the poems of the last war with Great Britain.--EDITOR.]
When Freedom, fair Freedom, her banner display'd, Defying each foe whom her rights would invade, Columbia's brave sons swore those rights to maintain, And o'er ocean and earth to establish her reign; United they cry, While that standard shall fly, Resolved, firm, and steady, We always are ready To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Tho' Gallia through Europe has rushed like a flood, And deluged the earth with an ocean of blood: While by faction she's led, while she's governed by knaves, We court not her smiles, and will ne'er be her slaves; Her threats we defy, While our standard shall fly, Resolved, firm, and steady, We always are ready To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Tho' France with caprice dares our Statesmen upbraid, A tribute demands, or sets bounds to our trade; From our young rising Navy our thunders shall roar, And our Commerce extend to the earth's utmost shore. Our cannon we'll ply, While our standard shall fly; Resolved, firm, and steady, We always are ready To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
To know we're resolved, let them think on the hour, When Truxton, brave Truxton off Nevis's shore, His ship mann'd for battle, the standard unfurl'd, And at the _Insurgente_ defiance he hurled; And his valiant tars cry, While our standard shall fly, Resolved, firm, and steady, We always are ready To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Each heart beat exulting, inspir'd by the cause; They fought for their country, their freedom and laws; From their cannon loud volleys of vengeance they pour'd, And the standard of France to Columbia was lower'd. Huzza! they now cry, Let the Eagle wave high; Resolved, firm, and steady, We always are ready To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
Then raise high the strain, pay the tribute that's due To the fair _Constellation_, and all her brave Crew; Be Truxton revered, and his name be enrolled, 'Mongst the chiefs of the ocean, the heroes of old. Each invader defy, While such heroes are nigh, Who always are ready, Resolved, firm, and steady To fight, and to conquer, to conquer or die.
THE "CONSTELLATION" AND THE "INSURGENTE."
(Action of 9 February, 1799.)
Come all ye Yankee sailors, with swords and pikes advance, 'Tis time to try your courage and humble haughty France, The sons of France our seas invade, Destroy our commerce and our trade, 'Tis time the reckoning should be paid! To brave Yankee boys.
On board the _Constellation_, from Baltimore we came, We had a bold commander and Truxton was his name! Our ship she mounted forty guns, And on the main so swiftly runs, To prove to France Columbia's sons Are brave Yankee boys.
We sailed to the West Indies in order to annoy The invaders of our commerce, to burn, sink, and destroy; Our _Constellation_ shone so bright, The Frenchmen could not bear the sight, And away they scamper'd in affright, From the brave Yankee boys.
'Twas on the 9th of February, at Montserrat we lay, And there we spy'd the _Insurgente_ just at the break of day, We raised the orange and the blue, To see if they our signals knew, The _Constellation_ and her crew Of brave Yankee boys.
Then all hands were called to quarters, while we pursued in chase, With well prim'd guns, our tompions out, well spliced the main brace. Soon to the French we did draw nigh, Compelled to fight, they were, or fly, The word was passed, "CONQUER OR DIE," My brave Yankee boys.
Lord! our Cannons thunder'd with peals tremendous roar, And death upon our bullets' wings that drenched their decks with gore, The blood did from their scuppers run, Their chief exclaimed, "We are undone!" Their flag they struck, the battle won, By the brave Yankee boys.
Then to St. Kitts we steered, we bro't her safe in port, The grand salute was fired and answered from the fort, John Adams in full bumpers toast, George Washington, Columbia's boast, And now "the girl we love the most!" My brave Yankee boys.
1813.
THE WASP'S FROLIC.
(Action of 18 October, 1812.)
[From "Naval Songster," 1815.]
'Twas on board the sloop-of-war _Wasp_ boys, We set sail from Delaware Bay, To cruise on Columbia's fair coast, sirs, Our rights to maintain on the sea.
Three days were not passed on our station, When the _Frolic_ came up to our view; Says Jones, "Show the flag of our nation"; Three cheers were then gave by our crew.
We boldly bore up to this Briton, Whose cannon began for to roar; The _Wasp_ soon her stings from her side ran, When we on them a broadside did pour.
Each sailor stood firm at his quarters, 'Twas minutes past forty and three, When fifty bold Britons were slaughter'd, Whilst our guns swept their masts in the sea.
Their breasts then with valor still glowing, Acknowledged the battle we'd won, On us then bright laurels bestowing, When to leeward they fired a gun.
On their decks we the twenty guns counted, With a crew for to answer the same; Eighteen was the number we mounted, Being served by the lads of true game.
With the _Frolic_ in tow, we were standing, All in for Columbia's fair shore; But fate on our laurels was frowning, We were taken by a seventy-four.
"CONSTITUTION" AND "GUERRIÈRE."
(Action of 19 August, 1812.)
It oft times has been told, That the British seamen bold, Could flog the tars of France so neat and handy, oh! But they never found their match, Till the Yankees did them catch, Oh, the Yankee boys for fighting are the dandy, oh!
The _Guerrière_ a frigate bold, On the foaming ocean rolled, Commanded by proud Dacres, the grandee, oh! With as choice a British crew, As a rammer ever drew, Could flog the Frenchmen two to one so handy, oh!
When this frigate hove in view, Says proud Dacres to his crew, "Come clear ship for action and be handy, oh! To the weather gage, boys, get her," And to make his men fight better, Gave them to drink gun-powder mixed with brandy, oh!
Then Dacres loudly cries, "Make this Yankee ship your prize, You can in thirty minutes, neat and handy, oh! Twenty-five's enough I'm sure, And if you'll do it in a score, I'll treat you to a double share of brandy, oh!"
The British shot flew hot, Which the Yankees answered not, Till they got within the distance they called handy, oh! "Now," says Hull unto his crew, "Boys, let's see what we can do, If we take this boasting Briton we're the dandy, oh!"
The first broadside we pour'd Carried her mainmast by the board, Which made this loftly frigate look abandon'd, oh! Then Dacres shook his head, And to his officers said, "Lord! I didn't think those Yankees were so handy, oh!"