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 walked the margin of the main, And long have looked--and still must look in vain!

[141] From the edition of 1809. In 1788 this was entitled "The Lost Sailor;" in 1795, "Argonauta."

THE POLITICAL BALANCE[142]

Or, The Fates of Britain and America Compared

A Tale

_Deciding Fates, in Homer's stile, we shew, And bring contending gods once more to view._

As Jove the Olympian (who both I and you know, Was brother to Neptune, and husband to Juno) Was lately reviewing his papers of state, He happened to light on the records of Fate:

In Alphabet order this volume was written-- So he opened at B, for the article Britain-- She struggles so well, said the god, I will see What the sisters in Pluto's dominions decree.

And first, on the top of a column he read "Of a king with a mighty soft place in his head, "Who should join in his temper the ass and the mule, "The third of his name, and by far the worst fool:

"His reign shall be famous for multiplication, "The sire and the king of a whelp generation: "But such is the will and the purpose of fate, "For each child he begets he shall forfeit a State:

"In the course of events, he shall find to his cost "That he cannot regain what he foolishly lost; "Of the nations around he shall be the derision, "And know by experience the rule of Division."

So Jupiter read--a god of first rank-- And still had read on--but he came to a blank: For the Fates had neglected the rest to reveal-- They either forgot it, or chose to conceal:

When a leaf is torn out, or a blot on a page That pleases our fancy, we fly in a rage-- So, curious to know what the Fates would say next, No wonder if Jove, disappointed, was vext.

But still as true genius not frequently fails, He glanced at the Virgin, and thought of the Scales; And said, "To determine the will of the Fates, "One scale shall weigh Britain, the other the States."

Then turning to Vulcan, his maker of thunder, Said he, "My dear Vulcan, I pray you look yonder, "Those creatures are tearing each other to pieces, "And, instead of abating, the carnage increases.

"Now, as you are a blacksmith, and lusty stout ham-eater, "You must make me a globe of a shorter diameter; "The world in abridgment, and just as it stands "With all its proportions of waters and lands;

"But its various divisions must so be designed, "That I can unhinge it whene'er I've a mind-- "How else should I know what the portions will weigh, "Or which of the combatants carry the day?"

Old Vulcan complied, (we've no reason to doubt it) So he put on his apron and strait went about it-- Made center, and circles as round as a pancake, And here the Pacific, and there the Atlantic.

An axis he hammered, whose ends were the poles, (On which the whole body perpetually rolls) A brazen meridian he added to these, Where four times repeated were[143] ninety degrees.

I am sure you had laughed to have seen his droll attitude, When he bent round the surface the circles of latitude, The zones and the tropics, meridians, equator, And other fine things that are drawn on salt water.

Away to the southward (instructed by Pallas) He placed in the ocean the Terra Australis, New Holland, New Guinea, and so of the rest-- America lay by herself in the west:

From the regions where winter eternally reigns, To the climes of Peru he extended her plains; Dark groves, and the zones did her bosom adorn, And the Crosiers,[A] new burnished, he hung at Cape Horn.

[A] Stars, in the form of a cross, which mark the South Pole in Southern latitudes.--_Freneau's note._

The weight of two oceans she bore on her sides, With all their convulsions of tempests and tides; Vast lakes on her surface did fearfully roll, And the ice from her rivers surrounded the pole.

Then Europe and Asia he northward extended, Where under the Arctic with Zembla they ended; (The length of these regions he took with his garters, Including Siberia, the land of the Tartars.)

In the African clime (where the cocoa-nut tree grows) He laid down the desarts, and even the negroes, The shores by the waves of four oceans embraced, And elephants strolling about in the waste.

In forming East India, he had a wide scope, Beginning his work at the cape of Good Hope; Then eastward of that he continued his plan, 'Till he came to the empire and isles of Japan.

Adjacent to Europe he struck up an island, (One part of it low, but the other was high land) With many a comical creature upon it, And one wore a hat, and another a bonnet.

Like emmits or ants in a fine summer's day, They ever were marching in battle array, Or skipping about on the face of the brine, Like witches in egg-shells (their ships of the line).

These poor little creatures were all in a flame, To the lands of America urging their claim, Still biting, or stinging, or spreading their sails; (For Vulcan had formed them with stings in their tails).

So poor and so lean, you might count all their ribs,[B] Yet were so enraptured with crackers and squibs, That Vulcan with laughter almost split asunder, "Because they imagined their crackers were thunder."

[B] Their national debt being now above _l._ 200,000,000 sterling.--_Freneau's note._

Due westward from these, with a channel between, A servant to slaves, Hibernia was seen, Once crowded with monarchs, and high in renown, But all she retained was the Harp and the Crown!

Insulted forever by nobles and priests,[144] And managed by bullies, and governed by beasts, She looked!--to describe her I hardly know how-- Such an image of death in the scowl on her brow.

For scaffolds and halters were full in her view, And the fiends of perdition their cutlasses drew: And axes and gibbets around her were placed, And the demons of murder her honours defaced. With the blood of the worthy her mantle was stained, And hardly a trace of her beauty remained.

Her genius, a female, reclined in the shade, And, sick of oppression,[145] so mournfully played, That Jove was uneasy to hear her complain, And ordered his blacksmith to loosen her chain:

Then tipt her a wink, saying, "Now is your time, "(To rebel is the sin, to revolt is no crime) "When your fetters are off, if you dare not be free "Be a slave and be damned,[146] but complain not to me."

But finding her timid, he cried in a rage-- "Though the doors are flung open, she stays in the cage! "Subservient to Britain then let her remain, "And her freedom shall be, but the choice[147] of her chain,"

At length, to discourage all stupid pretensions, Jove looked at the globe, and approved its dimensions, And cried in a transport--"Why what have we here! "Friend Vulcan, it is a most beautiful sphere!

"Now while I am busy in taking apart "This globe that is formed with such exquisite art, "Go, Hermes, to Libra, (you're one of her gallants) "And ask, in my name, for the loan of her balance."

Away posted Hermes, as swift as the gales, And as swiftly returned with the ponderous scales, And hung them aloft to a beam in the air, So equally poised, they had turned with a hair.

Now Jove to Columbia his shoulders applied, But aiming to lift her, his strength she defied-- Then, turning about to their godships, he says-- "A body so vast is not easy to raise;

"But if you assist me, I still have a notion "Our forces, united, can put her in motion, "And swing her aloft, (though alone I might fail) "And place her, in spite of her bulk, in our scale;

"If six years together the Congress have strove, "And more than divided the empire with Jove; "With a Jove like myself, who am nine times as great, "You can join, like their soldiers, to heave up this weight."

So to it they went, with handspikes and levers, And upward she sprung, with her mountains and rivers! Rocks, cities, and islands, deep waters and shallows, Ships, armies, and forests, high heads and fine fellows:

"Stick to it!" cries Jove, "now heave one and all! "At least we are lifting 'one-eighth of the ball!' "If backward she tumbles--then trouble begins, "And then have a care, my dear boys, of your shins!"

When gods are determined what project can fail? So they gave a hard shove, and she mounted the scale; Suspended aloft, Jove viewed her with awe-- And the gods,[C] for their pay, had a hearty--huzza!

[C] American soldiers.--_Freneau's note._

But Neptune bawled out--"Why Jove you're a noddy, "Is Britain sufficient to poise that vast body? "'Tis nonsense such castles to build in the air-- "As well might an oyster with Britain compare."

"Away to your waters, you blustering bully," Said Jove, "or I'll make you repent of your folly, "Is Jupiter, Sir, to be tutored by you?-- "Get out of my sight, for I know what to do!"

Then searching about with his fingers for Britain, Thought he, "this same island I cannot well hit on; "The devil take him who first called her the Great: "If she was--she is vastly diminished of late!"

Like a man that is searching his thigh for a flea. He peeped and he fumbled, but nothing could see; At last he exclaimed--"I am surely upon it-- "I think I have hold of a Highlander's bonnet."

But finding his error, he said with a sigh, "This bonnet is only the island of Skie!"[D] So away to his namesake the planet he goes, And borrowed two moons to hang on his nose.

[D] An Island on the north-west of Scotland.--_Freneau's note._

Through these, as through glasses, he saw her quite clear, And in raptures cried out--"I have found her--she's here! "If this be not Britain, then call me an ass-- "She looks like a gem in an ocean of glass.

"But, faith, she's so small I must mind how I shake her; "In a box I'll inclose her, for fear I should break her: "Though a god, I might suffer for being aggressor, "Since scorpions, and vipers, and hornets possess her;

"The white cliffs of Albion I think I descry-- "And the hills of Plinlimmon appear rather nigh-- "But, Vulcan, inform me what creatures are these, "That smell so of onions, and garlick, and cheese?"

Old Vulcan replied--"Odds splutter a nails! "Why, these are the Welch, and the country is Wales! "When Taffy is vext, no devil is ruder-- "Take care how you trouble the offspring of Tudor!

"On the crags of the mountains _hur_ living _hur_ seeks, "_Hur_ country is planted with garlick and leeks; "So great is _hur_ choler, beware how you teaze _hur_, "For these are the Britons--unconquered by Caesar."[148]

"But now, my dear Juno, pray give me my mittens, "(These insects I am going to handle are Britons) "I'll draw up their isle with a finger and thumb, "As the doctor extracts an old tooth from the gum."

Then he raised her aloft--but to shorten our tale, She looked like a clod in the opposite scale-- Britannia so small, and Columbia so large-- A ship of first rate, and a ferryman's barge!

Cried Pallas to Vulcan, "Why, Jove's in a dream-- "Observe how he watches the turn of the beam! "Was ever a mountain outweighed by a grain? "Or what is a drop when compared to the main?"

But Momus alledged--"In my humble opinion, "You should add to Great-Britain her foreign dominion, "When this is appended, perhaps she will rise, "And equal her rival in weight and in size."

"Alas! (said the monarch), your project is vain, "But little is left of her foreign domain; "And, scattered about in the liquid expanse, "That little is left to the mercy of France;

"However, we'll lift them, and give her fair play"-- And soon in the scale with their mistress they lay; But the gods were confounded and struck with surprise, And Vulcan could hardly believe his own eyes!

For (such was the purpose and guidance of fate) Her foreign dominions diminished her weight-- By which it appeared, to Britain's disaster, Her foreign possessions were changing their master.

Then, as he replaced them, said Jove with a smile-- "Columbia shall never be ruled by an isle-- "But vapours and darkness around her may rise, "And tempests conceal her awhile from our eyes;

"So locusts in Egypt their squadrons display, "And rising, disfigure the face of the day; "So the moon, at her full, has a frequent eclipse, "And the sun in the ocean diurnally dips.

"Then cease your endeavours, ye vermin of Britain-- (And here, in derision, their island he spit on) "'Tis madness to seek what you never can find, "Or to think of uniting what nature disjoined;

"But still you may flutter awhile with your wings, "And spit out your venom and brandish your stings: "Your hearts are as black, and as bitter as gall, "A curse to mankind--and a blot on the Ball."[E]

[E] It is hoped that such a sentiment may not be deemed wholly illiberal--Every candid person will certainly _draw a line between a brave and magnanimous people, and a most vicious and vitiating government_. Perhaps the following extract from a pamphlet lately published in London and republished at Baltimore (June, 1809) by Mr. _Bernard Dornin_, will place the preceding sentiment in a fair point of view:

"A better spirit than exists in the English people, never existed in any people in the world; it has been misdirected, and squandered upon party purposes in the most degrading and scandalous manner; they have been led to believe that they were benefiting the commerce of England by destroying the commerce of America, that they were defending their sovereign by perpetuating the bigoted oppression of their fellow subjects; their rulers and their guides have told them that they would equal the vigour of France by equalling her atrocity, and they have gone on, wasting that opulence, patience and courage, which if husbanded by prudent, and moderate counsels, might have proved the salvation of mankind. The same policy of turning the good qualities of Englishmen to their own destruction, which made Mr. Pitt omnipotent, continues his power to those who resemble him only in his vices; advantage is taken of the loyalty of Englishmen, to make them meanly submissive; their piety is turned into persecution; their courage into useless and obstinate contention; they are plundered because they are ready to pay, and soothed into assinine stupidity because they are full of virtuous patience. If England must perish at last, so let it be: that event is in the hands of God; we must dry up our tears, and submit. But that England should perish swindling and stealing; that it should perish waging war against lazar-houses and hospitals; that it should perish persecuting with monastic bigotry; that it should calmly give itself up to be ruined by the flashy arrogance of one man, and the narrow fanaticism of another: these events are within the power of human beings, but I did not think that the magnanimity of Englishmen would ever stoop to such degradations."--_Freneau's note._

[142] This poem appeared in the April 3, 1782, issue of the _Freeman's Journal_, filling the entire first page of the paper. I have followed the text of the 1809 edition.

[143] "On which were engraven twice."--_Ed. 1786._

[144] This and the nine following lines were written for the edition of 1809.

[145] "Merely for music."--_Ed. 1786._

[146] "If you will,"--_Ib._

[147] "Length."--_Ed. 1786._

[148] In the 1786 edition there was inserted at this point the following stanza omitted in the later versions:

"Jove peep'd thro' his moons, and examin'd their features, And said, 'By my truth, they are wonderful creatures, 'The beards are so long that encircle their throats, 'That (unless they are Welchmen) I swear they are _goats_.'"

DIALOGUE AT HYDE-PARK CORNER[149]

(London)

_Burgoyne_

Let those who will, be proud and sneer And call you an unwelcome peer, But I am glad to see you here: The prince that fills the British throne, Unless successful, honours none; Poor Jack Burgoyne!--you're not alone.

_Cornwallis_

Thy ships, De Grasse, have caused my grief-- To rebel shores and their relief There never came a luckier chief: In fame's black page it shall be read, By Gallic arms my soldiers bled-- The rebels thine in triumph led.

_Burgoyne_

Our fortunes different forms assume, I called and called for elbow-room,[150] Till Gates discharged me to my doom;[151] But you, that conquered far and wide, In little York thought fit to hide, The subject ocean at your side.

_Cornwallis_

And yet no force had gained that post-- Not Washington, his country's boast, Nor Rochambeau, with all his host, Nor all the Gallic fleet's parade-- Had Clinton hurried to my aid, And Sammy Graves been not afraid.

_Burgoyne_

For head knocked off, or broken bones, Or mangled corpse, no price atones; Nor all that prattling rumour says, Nor all the piles that art can raise, The poet's or the parson's praise.

_Cornwallis_

Though I am brave, as well as you, Yet still I think your notion true; Dear brother Jack, our toils are o'er-- With foreign conquests plagued no more, We'll stay and guard our native shore.

[149] Text from the edition of 1809. The poem first appeared in the _Freeman's Journal_, April 24, 1782.

[150] See Vol. I, page 166, note.

[151]

"Had I been blest with _elbow-room_, I might have found a different doom."--_Ed. 1786._

ON THE LATE ROYAL SLOOP OF WAR GENERAL MONK[152]

(Formerly the Washington)

Mounting Six Quarter Deck Wooden Guns

When the _Washington_ ship by the English was beat, They sent her to England to shew their great feat, And Sandwich straitway, as a proof of his spunk, Dashed out her old name, and called her the _Monk_.

"This _Monk_ hated Rebels (said Sandy)--'od rot 'em-- "So heave her down quickly, and copper her bottom; "With the sloops of our navy we'll have her enrolled, "And manned with picked sailors to make her feel bold;

"To shew that our king is both valiant and good, "Some guns shall be iron, and others be wood, "And, in truth, (though I wish not the secret to spread) "All her guns should be wooden--to suit with his head."

[152] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, April 24, 1782. On April 10, the Journal contained the following account of the battle:

"Yesterday the _Hyder Ally_, a vessel fitted out for the protection of this river and its trade, returned to Chester after a severe conflict with a vessel of superior force, which with great gallantry and good conduct on the part of Capt. Barney and his crew, has been captured and brought into port. The particulars of the action, as far as we have been able to collect them, are that a fleet of merchantmen, having proceeded down the bay, were met by an enemy's frigate of forty guns, with the _General Monk_, Sloop of War, and _Fair American_, privateer; the _General Monk_ having eighteen nine pounders and one hundred and fifty men. The fleet endeavored to return, but were pursued by the frigate, sloop, and privateer. The _Fair American_ being engaged with one of the fleet, and the frigate being at a considerable distance, gave the _Hyder Ally_ an opportunity to attack the _General Monk_ singly, which Capt. Barney embraced, and after a very close and brave attack of about thirty minutes, the _General Monk_ surrendered to her inferior adversary. The _General Monk_ had fifty-three men killed and wounded, among whom are most of the officers; on board the _Hyder Ally_ there were fifteen killed and wounded. A brig, one of the fleet, was taken, and the _General Greene_ left engaged with the _Fair American_. The conduct of Capt. Barney has given the greatest satisfaction and shows him truly worthy of the trust committed to him."

TRUTH ANTICIPATED[153][A]

A Rivingtonian Dialogue

[A] "Occasioned by the naval victory gained by Admiral Rodney and Capt. Cornwallis, of the British fleet in the West Indies, over the squadron of Count De Grasse."--_Freneau's note to 1809 edition._

What brilliant events have of late come to pass, No less than the capture of Monsieur de Grasse! His majesty's printer has told it for true, As we had it from him, so we give it to you.

Many folks of discernment the story believed, And the devil himself it at first had deceived, Had it not been that Satan imported the stuff, And signed it George Rodney, by way of high proof.[154]

Said Satan to Jemmy, "Let's give them the whappers-- "Some news I have got that will bring in the coppers, "And truth it shall be, though I pass it for lies, "And making a page of your newspaper size.

"A wide field is open to favour my plan, "And the rebels may prove that I lie--if they can; "Since they jested and laughed at our lying before, "Let it pass for a lie, to torment them the more.

"My wings are yet wet with the West-India dew, "And Rodney I left, to come hither to you, "I left him bedeviled with brimstone and smoke, "The French in distress, and their armament broke.

"For news so delightful, with heart and with voice "The Tories of every degree may rejoice; "With charcoal and sulphur shall utter their joy "'Till they all get as black as they paint the old Boy."

Thus, pleased with the motion, each cutting a caper, Down they sat at the table, with pen, ink, and paper; In less than five minutes the matter was stated, And Jemmy turned scribe, while Satan dictated.

"Begin (said the devil) in the form of a Letter, "(If you call it true copy, 'tis so much the better) "Make Rodney assert he met the French fleet, "Engaged it, and gave 'em a total defeat.

"But the better to vamp up a show of reality, "The tale must be told with circumstantiality, "What vessels were conquered by Britain's bold sons, "Their quotas of men, and their number of guns.

"There's the _Villa de Paris_--one hundred and ten-- "Write down that George Rodney has killed half her men-- "That her hull and her rigging are shattered and shaken, "Her flag humbled down, and her admiral taken.

"_Le Cesar_, 'tis true, is a seventy-four, "But the _Villa de Paris_ was thirty-six more; "With a grey goose's quill if that ship we did seize on, "_Le Cesar_ must fall, or I'll know what's the reason.

"The next that I fix on to take is the _Hector_, "(Her name may be Trojan, but shall not protect her) "Don't faulter, dear comrade, and look like a goose, "If we've taken these three, we can take _Glorieuse_.

"The last mentioned ship runs their loss up to four, "_Le Diadem_ sunk, shall make it one more; "And now, for the sake of round numbers, dear cousin, "Write _Ardent_, and then we have just half-a-dozen!"

Jemmy smiled at the notion, and whispered "O fy! "Indeed 'tis a shame to persuade one to lie"-- But Satan replied--"Consider, my son, "I am a prince of the winds, and have seen what is done:

"With a conquest like this, how bright we shall shine! "That Rodney has taken six ships of the line, "Will be in your paper a brilliant affair; "How the Tories will laugh, and the rebels will swear.

"But farther, dear Jemmy, make Rodney to say, "If the sun two hours longer had held out the day, "The rest were so beaten, so baisted, so tore, "He had taken them all, and he knew not but more."

So the partners broke up, as good friends as they met, And soon it was all in the _Royal Gazette_; The Tories rejoiced at the very good news, And said, There's no fear we shall die in our shoes.

Now let us give credit to Jemmy, forsooth, Since once in a way he has hit on the truth: If again he returns to his practice of lies, He hardly reflects where he'll go when he dies.

But still, when he dies, let it never be said That he rests in his grave with no verse at his head; But furnish, ye poets, some short epitaph, And something like this, that readers may laugh:

Here _lies_ a King's Printer, we needn't say who: There is reason to think that he tells what is true: But if he _lies_ here, 'tis not over-strange, His present position is but a small change, So, reader, pass on--'tis a folly to sigh, For all his life long he did little but _lie_.

[153] The first trace that I can find of this poem is in the 1786 edition, where it is signed, "Written _April, 1782_."

On June 5, 1782, Freneau printed the following in the Journal:

"Formidable, between Guadaloupe and Monpenat, April 14, 1782.

"Sir: I am this moment favoured with your excellency's letter, and have the happiness to acquaint you that after having had a partial engagement with the enemy on the 9th, wherein 16 of my rear were prevented by calms from joining in the action, on the 12th I had the good fortune to bring them to a general action, which lasted from seven o'clock in the morning until half-past six in the afternoon, without a moment's intermission. Count de Grasse, with the _Ville de Paris_ and four other ships of the line and one sunk, graced the victory. The remainder of their fleet was so miserably shattered and their loss of men so very great from their having their whole army consisting of 5,500 men on board the ships of war, that I am convinced it will be almost impossible to put them in a condition for service for some considerable time.

I am hastening with my whole fleet, etc. G. B. RODNEY."

Freneau's early doubts as to this victory, which was loudly proclaimed in the _Royal Gazette_, is evidenced not only by the poem, but by the following comment on Rodney's letter:

"The unskilful forger of Sir George Rodney's letter, which is pretended to have been wafted from Jamaica to Savannah and thence to Charleston, exhibits Sir George not as a British admiral, but as a saucy upstart.... To comment on this absurd forgery would be nugatory."

[154] "For that was enough."--_Ed. 1786._

BARNEY'S INVITATION[155]

Come all ye lads who know no fear, To wealth and honor with me steer In the _Hyder Ali_ privateer, Commanded by brave Barney.

She's new and true, and tight and sound, Well rigged aloft, and all well found-- Come away and be with laurel crowned, Away--and leave your lasses.

Accept our terms without delay, And make your fortunes while you may, Such offers are not every day In the power of the jolly sailor.

Success and fame attend the brave, But death the coward and the slave, Who fears to plow the Atlantic wave, To seek the bold invaders.

Come, then, and take a cruising bout, Our ship sails well, there is no doubt, She has been tried both in and out, And answers expectation.

Let no proud foes whom Europe bore, Distress our trade, insult our shore-- Teach them to know their reign is o'er, Bold Philadelphia sailors!

We'll teach them how to sail so near, Or to venture on the Delaware, When we in warlike trim appear And cruise without Henlopen.

Who cannot wounds and battle dare Shall never clasp the blooming fair; The brave alone their charms should share, The brave are their protectors.

With hand and heart united all, Prepared to conquer or to fall, Attend, my lads, to honour's call, Embark in our _Hyder Ali_.

From an Eastern prince[156] she takes her name, Who, smit with Freedom's sacred flame, Usurping Britons brought to shame, His country's wrongs avenging;

See, on her stern the waving stars-- Inured to blood, inured to wars, Come, enter quick, my jolly tars, To scourge these warlike Britons.

Here's grog enough--then drink a bout, I know your hearts are firm and stout; American blood will never give out, And often we have proved it.

Though stormy oceans round us roll, We'll keep a firm undaunted soul, Befriended by the cheering bowl, Sworn foes to melancholy:

While timorous landsmen lurk on shore, 'Tis ours to go where cannons roar-- On a coasting cruise we'll go once more, Despisers of all danger;

And Fortune still, who crowns the brave, Shall guard us over the gloomy wave A fearful heart betrays a knave-- Success to the _Hyder Ali_.

[155] "A number of gentlemen having met in the evening [about April 1, 1782] at Crawford and Donaldson's insurance office in High street and, conversing on the subject of the captures making in the bay by the _General Monk_, just then arrived, it was resolved to raise a loan of money by which to fit out a vessel which might succeed to capture her. The money was obtained of the Bank of North America upon the responsibility of sundry individuals; the _Hyder Ali_ was purchased of John W. Stanley and the command given to Capt. Barney; a crew of volunteers, chiefly from the regular service, was engaged, and a commission of a letter of marque procured. In a week the vessel was ready and sailed."--Watson's _Annals of Philadelphia_. The poem was included in the editions of 1786 and 1809. Why Freneau omitted this spirited lyric and also 'Barney's Victory over the _Monk_' from his edition of 1795 has never been explained.

[156] Hyder Ali, a prince of Mysore, India, who defeated in 1767 the British troops and forced them to sue for peace. In 1780, assisted by the French, he invaded Carnatic, but was defeated the following year by Sir Eyre Coote. From his hostility to the English and his alliance with the French he was hailed with enthusiasm by the American patriots.

SONG[157]

On Captain Barney's Victory over the Ship _General Monk_

O'er the waste of waters cruising, Long the _General Monk_ had reigned; All subduing, all reducing, None her lawless rage restrained: Many a brave and hearty fellow Yielding to this warlike foe, When her guns began to bellow Struck his humbled colours low.

But grown bold with long successes, Leaving the wide watery way, She, a stranger to distresses, Came to cruise within Cape May: "Now we soon (said captain Rogers) "Shall their men of commerce meet; "In our hold we'll have them lodgers, "We shall capture half their fleet.

"Lo! I see their van appearing-- "Back our topsails to the mast-- "They toward us full are steering "With a gentle western blast: "I've a list of all their cargoes, "All their guns, and all their men: "I am sure these modern Argos "Cant escape us one in ten:

"Yonder comes the _Charming Sally_ "Sailing with the _General Greene_-- "First we'll fight the _Hyder Ali_, "Taking her is taking them: "She intends to give us battle, "Bearing down with all her sail-- "Now, boys, let our cannon rattle! "To take her we cannot fail.

"Our eighteen guns, each a nine pounder, "Soon shall terrify this foe; "We shall maul her, we shall wound her, "Bringing rebel colours low."-- While he thus anticipated Conquests that he could not gain, He in the Cape May channel waited For the ship that caused his pain.

Captain Barney then preparing, Thus addressed his gallant crew-- "Now, brave lads, be bold and daring, "Let your hearts be firm and true; "This is a proud English cruiser, "Roving up and down the main, "We must fight her--must reduce her, "Though our decks be strewed with slain.

"Let who will be the survivor, "We must conquer or must die, "We must take her up the river, "Whate'er comes of you or I: "Though she shews most formidable "With her eighteen pointed nines, "And her quarters clad in sable, "Let us baulk her proud designs.

"With four nine pounders, and twelve sixes "We will face that daring band; "Let no dangers damp your courage, "Nothing can the brave withstand. "Fighting for your country's honour, "Now to gallant deeds aspire; "Helmsman, bear us down upon her, "Gunner, give the word to fire!"

Then yard arm and yard arm meeting, Strait began the dismal fray, Cannon mouths, each other greeting, Belched their smoky flames away: Soon the langrage, grape and chain shot, That from Barney's cannons flew, Swept the _Monk_, and cleared each round top, Killed and wounded half her crew.

Captain Rogers strove to rally But they from their quarters fled, While the roaring _Hyder Ali_ Covered o'er his decks with dead. When from their tops their dead men tumbled, And the streams of blood did flow, Then their proudest hopes were humbled By their brave inferior foe.

All aghast, and all confounded, They beheld their champions fall, And their captain, sorely wounded, Bade them quick for quarters call. Then the _Monk's_ proud flag descended, And her cannon ceased to roar; By her crew no more defended, She confessed the contest o'er.

Come, brave boys, and fill your glasses, You have humbled one proud foe, No brave action this surpasses, Fame shall tell the nations so-- Thus be Britain's woes completed, Thus abridged her cruel reign, 'Till she ever, thus defeated, Yields the sceptre of the main.

[157] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_ May 8, 1782, with the following introduction:

"Mr. Bailey:

"Reading Capt. Barney's late gallant exploit in your and other newspapers, I could not restrain myself from scribbling the few following stanzas relative to that affair and descriptive not of what was really said or done in the most minute particulars but of what might be supposed to have passed in similar circumstances. Yours, RUSTICUS.

"Dover, April 26, 1782.

"To the Tune of the Tempest or Hosier's Ghost."

The omission of this stirring lyric from the edition of 1795 I can ascribe only to accident.

ON SIR HENRY CLINTON'S RECALL[158]

The dog that is beat has a right to complain-- Sir Harry returns a disconsolate man, To the face of his master, the Lord's[159] oil-anointed, To the country provided for thieves disappointed.

Our freedom, he thought, to a tyrant must fall, He concluded the weakest must go to the wall; The more he was flattered, the bolder he grew-- He quitted the old world to conquer the new.

But in spite of the deeds he has done in his garrison, (And they have been curious beyond all comparison) He now must go home, at the call of his king, To answer the charges that Arnold may bring.

But what are the acts that this chief has atchieved?-- If good, it is hard he should now be aggrieved, And the more, as he fought for his national glory, Nor valued, a farthing, the right of the story.

This famous great man, and two birds[A] of his feather, In the _Cerberus_ frigate came over together; But of all the bold chiefs that re-measure the trip, Not two have been known to return in one ship.[160]

[A] Generals Howe and Burgoyne.--_Freneau's note._

Like children that wrestle and scuffle in sport, They are very well pleased as long as unhurt, But a thump on the nose, or a blow in the eye, Ends the fray--and they go to their daddy and cry.

Sir Clinton, thy deeds have been mighty and many, You said all our paper was not worth a penny, ('Tis nothing but rags,[B] quoth honest Will Tryon, Are rags to discourage the Sons of the Lion?)

[B] See his Letters to Gen. Parsons.--_Freneau's note._

But Clinton thought thus--"It is folly to fight, "When things may by easier methods come right, "There is such an art as counterfeit-ation-- "And I'll do my utmost to honour our nation;

"I'll shew this damned country that I can enslave her, "And that by the help of a skilful engraver, "And then let the rebels take care of their bacon, "We'll play them a trick, or I'm vastly mistaken."

But the project succeeded not quite to your liking, So you paid off your artist and gave up bill striking; But 'tis an affair I am glad you are quit on, You had surely been hanged had you tried it in Britain.

At the taking of Charleston you cut a great figure, The terms you propounded were terms full of rigour, Yet could not foresee poor Charley's[C] disgrace, Nor how soon your own colours would go to the case.

[C] Cornwallis.--_Ib._

When the town had surrendered, the more to disgrace ye, (Like another true Briton that did it at 'Statia) You broke all the terms yourself had extended, Because you supposed the rebellion was ended;

Whoever the Tories marked out as a Whig, If gentle, or simple, or little, or big, No matter to you--to kill 'em and spite 'em, You soon had 'em up where the dogs couldn't bite 'em.

Then thinking these rebels were snug and secure, You left them to Rawdon and Nesbit Balfour: (The face of the latter a mask should be drawed on, And to fish for the devil my bait should be Rawdon.)

Returning to York with your ships and your plunder, And boasting that rebels must shortly knock under, The first thing that struck you, as soon as you landed, Was the fortress at West-Point, where Arnold commanded.

Thought you, "If friend Arnold this fort will deliver, "We then shall be masters of all Hudson's river, "The east and the south losing communication, "The Yankies will die by the act of starvation."

So off you sent Andre (not guided by Pallas) Who soon purchased Arnold, and with him the gallows; Your loss I conceive than your gain was far greater, You lost a good fellow, and got a vile[161] traitor.

Now Carleton comes over to give you relief, A knight like yourself, and commander in chief, But the chief he will get, you may tell the dear honey, Will be a black eye, hard knocks, and no money.

Now with--"Britons, strike home!" your sorrows dispel, Away to your master, and honestly tell, That his arms and his artists can nothing avail, His men are too few, and his tricks are too stale.

Advise him at length to be just and sincere; Of which not a sympton as yet doth appear, As we plainly perceive from his sending Sir Guy The Treaty to break with our Gallic Ally.[162]

[158] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, May 22, 1782. Sir Henry Clinton was superseded as Commander-in-Chief of the British armies in America by Sir Guy Carleton, who took command May 5, 1782.

[159] "Devil's."--_Ed. 1786._

[160] In 1775 Lord Howe was appointed Admiral of the British fleet in North America and leader of the commission to effect if possible a reconciliation with the colonists. With him were sent two major-generals, Clinton and Burgoyne, to conduct the war with vigor if war were found to be inevitable. The three leaders arrived in Boston May 25, 1775.

[161] "Damn'd."--_Ed. 1786._

[162] "Commission'd to steal, and commission'd to lie."--_Ed. 1786._

SIR GUY CARLETON'S ADDRESS TO THE AMERICANS[163]

From Britain's famed island once more I come over, (No island on earth is in prowess above her) With powers and commissions your hearts to recover!

Our king, I must tell you, is plagued with a phantom (Independence they call it) that hourly doth haunt him, And relief, my dear rebels, you only can grant him.

Tom Gage and Sir Harry, Sir William, (our boast) Lord Howe, and the rest that have travelled the coast, All failed in their projects of laying this ghost:

So unless the damned spectre myself can expel It will yet kill our monarch, I know very well, And gallop him off on his lion to hell.

But I heartily wish, that, instead of Sir Guy, They had sent out a seer from the island of Skie, Who rebels, and devils, and ghosts could defy:

So great is our prospect of failing at last, When I look at the present, and think of the past, I wish with our heroes I had not been classed;

For though, to a man, we are bullies and bruisers, And covered with laurels, we still are the losers, 'Till each is recalled with his Tory accusers:

But the war now is altered, and on a new plan; By negociation we'll do what we can-- And I am an honest, well-meaning old man;

Too proud to retreat, and too weak to advance, We must stay where we are, at the mercy of chance, 'Till Fortune shall help us to lead you a dance.

Then lay down your arms, dear rebels--O hone! Our king is the best man that ever was known, And the greatest that ever was stuck on a throne:

His love and affection by all ranks are sought; Here take him, my honies, and each pay a groat-- Was ever a monarch more easily bought?

In pretty good case and very well found, By night and by day we carry him round: He must go for a groat, if we can't get a pound.

Break the treaties you made with Louis Bourbon; Abandon the Congress, no matter how soon, And then, all together, we'll play a new tune.

'Tis strange that they always would manage the roast, And force you their healths and the Dauphin's to toast; Repent, my dear fellows, and each get a post:

Or, if you object that one post is too few, We generous Britons will help you to two, With a beam laid across--that will certainly do.

The folks that rebelled in the year forty-five, We used them so well that we left few alive, But sent them to heaven in swarms from their hive.

Your noble resistance we cannot forget, 'Tis nothing but right we should honour you yet; If you are not rewarded, we die in your debt.

So, quickly submit and our mercy implore, Be as loyal to George as you once were before, Or I'll slaughter you all--and probably more.

What puzzled Sir Harry, Sir Will, and his brother, Perhaps may be done by the son of my mother, With the Sword in one hand and a Branch in the other.

My bold predecessors (as fitting their station) At their first coming out, all spoke Proclamation; 'Tis the custom with us, and the way of our nation.

Then Kil-al-la-loo!--Shelaly, I say;-- If we cannot all fight, we can all run away-- And further at present I choose not to say.

[163] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, June 5, 1782 and dated May 30, 1782. Carleton was not only empowered to take command of the army in America, but he was also sent as "Commissioner for making peace in North America." He remained in the city until November 25, 1783, when he departed with the army.

SCANDANAVIAN WAR SONG[164]

_Balderi patris scamna Parata scio in aula: Bibemus Cerevisiam Ex concavis crateribus craniorum. Non gemit vir fortis contra mortem Magnifici in Odini domibus, &c._

_Translation_

Brave deeds atchieved, at death's approach I smile, In Balder's hall I see the table spread, The enlivening ale shall now reward my toil, Quaffed from their sculls, that by my faulchion bled.

Heroes no more at death's approach shall groan: In lofty Odin's dome all sighs forbear-- Conscious of bloody deeds, my fearless soul Mounts to great Odin's hall, and revels there.

[164] First printed June 19, 1782, in number 16 of the series of papers contributed to the first volume of the _Freeman's Journal_ under the title _The Pilgrim_, and reprinted to some extent in the edition of 1788 under the title _The Philosopher of the Forest_. The essay, which might be entitled "On the Irrationality of War," contained the following passage:

"They [the Scandinavians] imagined the chief pleasure of this immortality would be to drink beer out of bowls made of the skulls of the enemies they had slain in battle, according to the number of which every one was to be esteemed and honored in the mansions of another world. Their war songs were particularly horrible to the imagination, and full of those savage notions of valor and romantic heroism that is to this day observable in the North American Indians.... Is it possible that a being illuminated by the rays of that spiritual sun could in his senses write the following lines: they were composed (with a great deal more) by one of the warrior chiefs of the Scandinavians more than 800 years since, a few hours before he expired?"

THE PROJECTORS[165]

Before the brazen age began, And things were yet on Saturn's plan, None knew what sovereign bliss there lay In ruling, were it but a day. Each with spontaneous food content, His life in Nature's affluence spent; The sun was mild, serene and clear, And walked in Libra all the year; No tempests did the heaven deform, 'Twas not too cold nor yet too warm; People were then at small expence, They dug no ditch, and made no fence, No patentees by sleight or chance For Indian lands got double grants, Not for their wants, but just to say, "If you come here, expect to pay." Base grasping souls, your pride repress; Beyond your wants must you possess? If ten poor acres will supply A rustic and his family, Why, Jobbers, would you have ten score, Ten thousand and ten thousand more? It is a truth well understood, "All would be tyrants if they could." The love of sway has been confessed The ruling passion of the breast: Those who aspire to govern states, If baulked by disapproving fates, Resolve their purpose to fulfil, And scheme for tenants at their will. Ten thousand acres, fit for toil, In Indiana's fertile soil-- Ten thousand acres! come, agree-- Timon is named[166] the patentee, And, as the longing stomach craves, He'll honour fools and flatter knaves. If Rome, of old, to greatness rose Triumphant over all her foes, None need believe that people then Were more in strength than modern men; If o'er the world their eagles waved, 'Twas property their freedom saved;[167] From lands, not shared amongst the few, An independent spirit grew: Each on a small and scanty spot, With much ado his living got, Inured to labour from his birth,[168] Each Roman soldier tilled the earth, Great as a monarch on the throne By having something of his own.

[165] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, July 3, 1782, under the signature "Cassibilan." I have followed the 1809 text.

[166] "Let me become."--_Ed. 1786._

[167] "'Twas policy the world enslav'd."--_Ib._

[168] This line and the following not in the 1786 version.

ON GENERAL ROBERTSON'S PROCLAMATION[169]

Old Judas the traitor (nor need we much wonder) Falling down from the gallows, his paunch split asunder, Affording, 'tis likely, a horrible scent Rather worse than the sulphur of hell, where he went.

So now this bra' chieftain, who long has suspended And kept out of view what his master intended, Bursts out all at once, and an inside discloses, Disgusting the Tories, who stop up their noses.

The short of the matter is this, as I take it-- New-York of true Britons is plainly left naked, And their conduct amounts to an honest confession, That they cannot depend on the run-a-way Hessian.

In such a dilemma pray what should they do? Hearts loyal, to whom should they look but to You?-- You know pretty well how to handle the spade, To dig their canals and to make a parade;

The city is left to your valiant defence, And of course it will be but of little expence, Since there is an old fellow that looks somewhat sooty Who, gratis, will help you in doing your duty--

"In doing our duty!--'tis duty indeed "(Says a Tory) if this be the way that we speed; "We never loved fighting, the matter is clear-- "If we had, I am sure we had never come here.

"George we owned for our king, as his true loyal sons, "But why will he force us to manage his guns?-- "Who 'list in the army or cruise on the wave, "Let them do as they will--'tis their trade to be brave.

"Guns, mortars and bullets,[170] we easily face, "But when they're in motion--it alters the case; "To skirmish with Huddies[A] is all our desire "For though we can murder, we cannot stand fire.

[A] Capt. Huddy, an American Captain, who, after capitulating in a block-house, was hanged by refugees, called new levies.--_Freneau's note._

"To the standards of Britain we fled for protection, "And there we are gathered, a goodly collection; "And most of us think it is rather too hard "For refusing to arm to be put under guard;

"Who knows under guard what ills we may feel!-- "It is an expression that means a great deal-- "'Mongst the rebels they fine 'em who will not turn out, "But here we are left in a sorrowful doubt;--

"These Britons were always so sharp and so shifty-- "The rebels excuse you from serving when fifty, "But here we are counted such wonderful men "We are kept in the ranks, till we are four score and ten.

"Kicked, cuffed and ill treated from morning till night "We have room to conjecture that all is not right, "For Freedom we fled from our country's defence "And freedom we'll get--when death sends us hence.[171]

"If matters go thus, it is easy to see "That as idiots we've been, so slaves we shall be; "And what will become of that peaceable train "Whose tenets enjoin them from war to abstain?

"Our city commandant must be an odd shaver, "Not a single exception to make in their favour!-- "Come let us turn round and rebelliously sing, "Huzza for the Congress!--the de'il take the king."

[169] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, June 10, 1782, prefaced by the following reprint of the proclamation taken from Rivington's _Royal Gazette_ of the 26th of June:

"By His Excellency Lieutenant-General JAMES ROBERTSON, _Governor of New York, &c., &c._ The Commander-in-chief having shown the great confidence he reposes in the Citizens of New York by trusting his Majesty's interest there, to their Zeal, Loyalty, and Gallantry, I persuade myself that every citizen will with alacrity claim his title to a share of the Militia duty; that none may be deprived of this, and that those whose zeal would lead them to appear whenever called for, may not be called for too often, I think proper to declare:

"That all persons are to perform the Militia duty, excepting the Ministers of God's Word, his Majesty's Counsellors and principal servants whose avocations to religious and civil, necessarily prevents their attendance on Military duties.

"All persons who from age or infirmity are unable to act, may do duty by substitutes, providing those they offer are judged sufficient by the Colonel of the regiment, or commanding officer of the corps to which they belong.

"If any of the Gentlemen of the learned professions find themselves so usefully employed as to be induced to avoid the honour of appearing in person, they are supposed to be judges of the importance of their own time, and may act by proper substitutes.

"As no person deserves protection in a place of which he refuses to contribute to the defence; every person who refuses to appear when summoned to his Militia duty is to be confined in the Main-Guard by the Colonel or commanding Officer of the corps to which he belongs, where he is to be kept till further orders.

JAMES ROBERTSON. New York, June 22, 1782."

[170] "Gun bullets in boxes."--_Ed. 1786._

[171] In place of this stanza, the edition of 1786 had the following:

"Provided the clergy but preach non-resistance "And passive obedience--they wave their assistance; "But we--tho' we're sick and have death in our faces, "Must purchase a proxy to serve in our places."

A PICTURE OF THE TIMES[172]

With Occasional Reflections

Still round the world triumphant Discord flies, Still angry kings to bloody contest rise; Hosts bright with steel, in dreadful order plac'd, And ships contending on the watery waste; Distracting demons every breast engage, Unwearied nations glow with mutual rage; Still to the charge the routed Briton turns, The war still rages and the battle burns; See, man with man in deadly combat join, See, the black navy form the flaming line; Death smiles alike at battles lost or won-- Art does for him what Nature would have done. Can scenes like these delight the human breast?-- Who sees with joy humanity distrest; Such tragic scenes fierce passion might prolong, But slighted Reason says, they must be wrong. Curs'd be the day, how bright soe'er it shin'd, That first made kings the masters of mankind; And curs'd the wretch who first with regal pride Their equal rights to equal men deny'd. But curs'd o'er all, who first to slav'ry broke Submissive bow'd and own'd a monarch's yoke, Their servile souls his arrogance ador'd And basely own'd a brother for a lord; Hence wrath and blood, and feuds and wars began, And man turned monster to his fellow man. Not so that age of innocence and ease When men, yet social, knew no ills like these; Then dormant yet, ambition (half unknown) No rival murder'd to possess a throne; No seas to guard, no empires to defend-- Of some small tribe the father and the friend. The hoary sage beneath his sylvan shade Impos'd no laws but those which reason made; On peace not war, on good not ill intent, He judg'd his brethren by their own consent; Untaught to spurn those brethren to the dust; In virtue firm, and obstinately just, For him no navies rov'd from shore to shore. No slaves were doom'd to dig the glitt'ring ore; Remote from all the vain parade of state, No slaves in diamonds saunter'd at his gate, Nor did his breast the guilty passions tear, He knew no murder and he felt no fear. Was this the patriarch sage?--Then turn thine eyes And view the contrast that our age supplies; Touch'd from the life, I trace no ages fled, I draw no curtain that conceals the dead; To distant Britain let thy view be cast, And say the present far exceeds the past; Of all the plagues that e'er the world have curs'd, Name George the tyrant, and you name the worst! What demon, hostile to the human kind, Planted these fierce disorders in the mind? All urg'd alike, one phantom we pursue, But what has war with happiness to do? In death's black shroud this gem can ne'er be found; Who deals for that the life-destroying wound, Or pines with grief to see a brother live, That life dissolving which we cannot give? 'Tis thine, Ambition!--Thee these horrors suit: Lost to the human, she assumes the brute; She proudly vain or insolently bold, Her heart revenge, her eye intent on gold, Sway'd by the madness of the present hour Mistakes for happiness extent of power; That shining bait which dropt in folly's way Tempts the weak mind, and leads the heart astray! Thou happiness! still sought but never found, We, in a circle, chase thy shadow round; Meant all mankind in different forms to bless, Which yet possessing, we no more possess:-- Thus far remov'd and painted on the eye Smooth verdant fields seem blended with the sky, But where they both in fancied contact join In vain we trace the visionary line; Still as we chase, the empty circle flies, Emerge new mountains or new oceans rise.

[172] Contributed to the July 19, 1782, issue of the _Freeman's Journal_ over the signature "Philomeides." The title in the 1786 edition was "Philosophical Reflections." I have used the original text.

PRINCE WILLIAM HENRY'S SOLILOQUY[173]

Occasioned by Public Rejoicings in Philadelphia for the birth of the Dauphin of France, son to Louis XVI

People are mad thus to adore the Dauphin-- Heaven grant the brat may soon be in his coffin--[174] The honours here to this young Frenchman shown, Of right should be Prince George's, or my own; And all those wreathes that bloom on Louis now, Should hang, unfading, on my father's brow. To these far shores with longing hopes I came, (By birth a Briton, not unknown to fame) Pleasures to share that loyalty imparts, Subdue the rebels, and regain their hearts. Weak, stupid expectation--all is done! Few are the prayers that rise for George's son; Nought through the waste of these wide realms I trace, But rage, contempt, and curses on our race, Hosts with their chiefs by bold usurpers won, And not a blessing left for George's son! Here on these isles[A] (my terrors not a few) I walk attended by the Tory crew: These from the first have done their best to please, But who would herd with sycophants like these? This exiled race, who their lost shores bemoan, Would bow to Satan, if he held our throne-- Rul'd by their fears--and what is meaner far, Have worshipp'd William only for his star! To touch my hand their thronging thousands strove, And tir'd my patience with unceasing love-- In fame's fair annals told me I should live, But they, poor creatures, had no fame to give: Must Digby's royal pupil walk the streets, And smile on every ruffian that he meets; Or teach them, as he has done--he knows when-- That kings and princes are no more than men? Must I alas disclose, to our disgrace, That Britain is too small for George's race? Here in the west, where all did once obey, Three islands only, now, confess our sway; And in the east we have not much to boast, For _Hyder Ali_ drives us from the coast: Yield, rebels, yield--or I must go once more Back to the white cliffs of my native shore; (Where, in process of time, shall go sir Guy, And where sir Harry has returned to sigh, Whose hands grew weak when things began to cross, Nor made one effort to retrieve our loss) Oatmeal and Scottish kale pots round me rise, And Hanoverian turnips greet mine eyes;-- Welch goats and naked rocks my bosom swell, And Teague! dear Teague!--to thee I bid farewell-- Curse on the Dauphin and his friends, I say, He steals our honours and our rights away. Digby--our anchors!--weigh them to the bow, And eastward through the wild waves let us plow: Such dire resentments in my bosom burn, That to these shores I never will return, 'Till fruits and flowers on Zembla's coast are known, And seas congeal beneath the torrid zone.

[A] New York and the neighbouring islands.--_Freneau's note._

[173] _Freeman's Journal_, July 24, 1782. Text from edition of 1786.

[174] The prayer of the prince was soon answered.

SATAN'S REMONSTRANCE[175]

[Occasioned by Mr. Rivington's Late Apology for _Lying_]

Your golden dreams, your flattering schemes, Alas! where are they fled, Sir? Your plans derang'd, your prospects chang'd, You now may go to bed, Sir.--

How could you thus, my partner dear, Give up the hopes of many a year?-- Your fame retriev'd, and soaring high, In Truth's resemblance seem'd to fly; But now you grow so wondrous wise, You turn, and own that all is lies.

A fabric that from hell we rais'd, On which astonish'd rebels gaz'd, And which the world shall ne'er forget, No less than Rivington's Gazette, Demolish'd at a single stroke-- The angel Gabriel might provoke.

"That all was lies," might well be true, But why must this be told by you? Great master of the wooden head, Where is thy wonted cunning fled? It was a folly to engage That truth henceforth should fill your page, When you must know, as well as I, Your only mission is to lie.

Such are the plans which folly draws-- We now, like bears, may suck our paws;-- Brought up in lying from your youth, You should have dy'd a foe to truth, Since none but fools in this accord, That Virtue is its own reward.[176]

Your fortune was as good as made, Great artist in the lying trade! But now I see with grief and pain Your credit cannot rise again: No more the favourite of my heart, No more will I my gifts impart.

Yet something shall you gain at last For lies contriv'd in seasons past-- When pressing to the narrow gate I'll show the portal mark'd by Fate, Where all mankind (as parsons say) Are apt to take the wider way, And, though the Royal Printer swear, Will bolt him in, and keep him there!

[175] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, August 7, 1782, with the note, "See the _Royal Gazette_ of the 10th ult. and our last." The article in the _Royal Gazette_ is as follows:

"_To the Public:_

"The Publisher of this paper, sensible that his zeal for the success of his Majesty's arms, his sanguine wishes for the good of his country and his friendship for individuals, have at times led him to credit and circulate paragraphs without investigating the facts so closely as his duty to the public demanded, trusting to their feelings and depending on their generosity, he begs them to look over past errors and depend on future correctness, for henceforth he will neither desire nor expect nor solicit their favors longer than his endeavors shall stamp the same degree of authenticity and credit on the _Royal Gazette_ (of N. Y.) as all Europe allow to the _Royal Gazette_ of London."

The _Freeman's Journal_ reprinted this on July 31, with the comment: "From hence it is to be presumed that Satan, Rivington & Co. have thoughts of breaking up partnership." The text follows the edition of 1786.

[176] This stanza, printed in the edition of 1786, was omitted from the later editions.

THE REFUGEES' PETITION TO SIR GUY CARLETON[177]

_Humbly Sheweth--_

That your Honour's petitioners,[178] Tories by trade, From the first of the war have lent Britain their aid, And done all they could, both in country and town, In support of the king and the rights of his crown; But now, to their grief and confusion, they find "The de'il may take them who are farthest behind."

In the rear of all rascals they still have been placed And Rebels and Frenchmen[179] full often have faced, Have been in the midst of distresses and doubt Whene'er they came in or whene'er they went out; Have supported the king and defended his church And now, in the end, must be left in the lurch.

Though often, too often, his arms were disgraced, We still were in hopes he would conquer at last, And restore us again to our sweethearts and wives The pride of our hearts and the joy of our lives-- But he promised too far, and we trusted too much, And who could have looked for a war with the Dutch?

Our board broken up, and discharged from our stations, Sir Guy! it is cruel to cut off our rations; Of a project like that, whoe'er was the mover, It is, we must tell you, a hellish manoeuvre, A plan to destroy us--the basest of tricks By means of starvation, a stigma to fix.[180]

If a peace be intended, as people surmise, (Though we hope from our souls these are nothing but lies) Inform us at once what we have to expect, Nor treat us, as usual, with surly neglect; Or else, while you Britons are shipping your freights[181] We'll go to the Rebels, and get our estates.

[177] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, August 28, 1782. Sir Guy Carleton's generous and humane nature was in marked contrast with the cruelty of his predecessors. Text is from the edition of 1809.

[178] The anxiety of the Tories during the closing months of the war was exceedingly great. Sir Guy Carleton, the commander-in-chief, was, during all his stay in America, delayed with petitions, complaints, and remonstrances.

[179] "Halters and gibbets."--_Ed. 1786._

[180] "To get us away to the shallows of Styx."--_Ed. 1786._

[181] "By the mass and the will of the fates."--_Ib._

SIR GUY'S ANSWER

We have reason to think there will soon be a peace, And that war with the Rebels will certainly cease; But, be that as it will, I would have you to know That as matters are changing, we soon may change too; In short, I would say, (since I have it at heart) Though the war should continue, yet we may depart.

Four offers in season I therefore propose, (As much as I can do in reason, God knows) In which, though there be not too plentiful carving, There still is sufficient to keep you from starving.

And, first of the first, it would mightily charm me To see you, my children, enlist in the army, Or enter the navy, and get for your pay, A farthing an hour, which is sixpence per day-- There's Hector Clackmanan, and Arthur O'Gregor And Donald M'Donald shall rule you with vigour:

If these do not suit you, then take your new plan, Make your peace with the rebels, (march off to a man):[182] There rank and distinction perhaps you may find And rise into offices fit to your mind-- But if still you object--I advise you to take a Farewell to New-York--and away to Jamaica.[183]

[182] "That is, if you can."--_Ed. 1786._

[183]

"But if still you object--to be all on a level, _Burn up your red coats and go off to the Devil_." --_Ib._

TO A CONCEALED ROYALIST[184]

On a Virulent Attack

"_We have force to crumble you into dust, although you were as hard as rocks, adamant, or jasper._" KIEN-LHI, _alias_ JOHN TUCK, _Viceroy of Canton_.[185]

When round the bark the howling tempest raves Tossed in the conflict of a thousand waves, The lubber landsmen weep, complain, and sigh, And on the pilot's skill, or heaven, rely; Lurk in their holes, astonished and aghast, Dreading the moment that must be their last. The tempest done--their terror also ceases, And up they come, and shew their shameless faces, At once feel bold, and tell the pilot, too, He did no more than they--themselves--could do! A Foe to Tyrants! one your pen restores:-- There is a Tyrant whom your soul adores: And every line you write too plainly shows, Your heart is hostile to that tyrant's foes. What, worse than folly, urged this genius dull With Churchill's[186] wreathes to shade his leaden scull: So, midnight darkness union claims with light: So, oil and water in one mass unite:-- No more your rage in plundered verse repeat, Sink into prose--even there no safe retreat.[187] Reed's[188] patriot fame to distant years may last, When rancorous reptiles to the dogs are cast, Or, where oblivion spreads her weary wings, Lost in the lumber of forgotten things; And none shall ask, nor wish to know, nor care, Who--what their names--or when they lived--or where.[189]

[184] During the summer of 1782 the _Freeman's Journal_ waged a bitter warfare with the _Independent Gazetteer_, a paper which had been established in Philadelphia on April 13, 1782, by Eleazer Oswald. To such extremes did this quarrel go that Oswald, defeated by the more nimble pen of his adversary, at length challenged him to a duel. The above poem marks the beginning of the poetical phase of the battle. It appeared in the _Journal_ on the 28th of August and was a reply to the following effusion published in the _Gazetteer_ four days previously:

"MR. OSWALD: The following lines are addressed to a most infamous Tyrant,... and to a noted speculator when high in office. Yours, &c., A FOE TO TYRANTS.

"Be wicked as you will, do all that's base, Proclaim yourselves the monsters of your race, Let vice and folly your dark souls divide, Be proud with meanness and be mean with pride, Deaf to the voice of faith and honour, fall From side to side, yet be of none at all: Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties, Which nature, in her bounty, good as wise, To work our safety and ensure her plan, Contriv'd to bind and rivet man to man: Lift against Virtue pow'r's oppressive rod, Betray your country, and deny your God." But candour in some future day will scan The actions of pale Joe and brazen Sam, Who're lost to virtue and all sense of shame, They've barter'd honour for some villain's name: Yet may they pass unnotic'd in the throng And, free from envy, safely sneak along; Let Clarkson tell how Joe is in disgrace And honest Jack will follow up the chase."

[185] This title first appeared in the 1809 edition. In the edition of 1795 the title was "To Shylock Ap-Shenkin, an abusive court writer."

[186] The twelve lines in quotation points in the poem by "The Foe to Tyrants" were taken, with little change, from Churchill's "Epistle to William Hogarth."

[187] "Sneak into prose--the dunce's last retreat."--_Ed. 1786._

[188] The attack of "The Foe to Tyrants" was directed mainly against General Joseph Reed, the "pale Joe" of the poem. So bitter and persistent were the attacks of "Oswald's Scribblers" that Reed, in the _Journal_ of Sept. 11, published a protest against the "set of men in this city [who] uninjured and unprovoked by me are weekly pouring forth some abuse under anonymous signatures." And early in 1783 he put forth a pamphlet entitled "Remarks on a late publication in the _Independent Gazetteer_, with a short address to the people of Pennsylvania on the many libels and slanders which have lately appeared against the author." A second edition was called for several weeks after the first issue of this pamphlet.

[189] Freneau signed these lines as they appeared in the _Journal_ "A FOE TO MALICE."

TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST[190]

In Answer to a Second Attack[191]

_Quid immerentes hospites vexas, canis Ignavus adversum lupos? Quin huc inanes, si potes, vertis minas, Et me remorsurum petis?--_ --Hor. _Epod._ 10.

Base as they are, this rancorous royal crew[192] Seem baser still, when they are praised by you. By you adorned in regal garb they shine, Sweat through your verse, and stink in every line. True child of folly--eldest of her tribe-- How could you dream that you were worth a bribe.-- Ill-fated scribbler, with a pointless quill, Retract the threat you dare not to fulfil: Round your own neck the wythe or halter twine, And be the science of a hangman thine:--[193] Have we from you purloined one shred of wit, Or did we imitate one line you writ? Peace to your verse!--we do not rob the dead, The clay-cold offspring of a brazen head. Doctor! retire! what madness would it be To point artillery at a mite like thee?-- Such noxious vermin clambering from their shell, By squibs and crackers might be killed as well. But, if you must torment the world with rhymes, (Perhaps you came to curse us for our crimes) In sleepy odes indulge your smoky wit, Pindarics would your happy genius fit-- With your coarse white-wash daub some miscreant's face, Puppies advanced, or traitors in disgrace:[194] To gain immense renown we leave you free, Go, scratch and scribble, uncontrouled by me:-- Haste to the realms of nonsense and despair-- The ghosts of murdered rhymes will meet you there; Like rattling chains provoke unceasing fears, And with eternal jinglings--stun your ears.

[190] This poem appeared in the _Journal_, September 4, 1782, in answer to the following, which had been published in the _Gazetteer_, August 31, 1782:

"MR. OSWALD: _Please give the following Lines, addressed to the_ Foe to Malice, _a Place in your useful Paper; in order to convince this great_ Poet (_who never borrowed a Line in his Life_) _how easy it is to take his Battery, and turn it against himself_. A FOE TO TYRANTS.

"When in the Bark, the unskilful Pilot raves, And lets her drive amidst conflicting waves; The free-born Landsmen rous'd, complain, and cry. What Pilot's this, on whom we can't rely? We're wreck'd, undone, and driven on the shore, Unless you quit the helm, and steer no more. The Pilot, conscious of the mischief done, Not knowing what to do, or where to run, Lurks to his hole, astonish'd and aghast, Dreading the moment that must be his last. The tempest o'er--his terrors also fled, Once more upon the deck he shews his head, At once grown brave, he tells the people too, He did for them, whatever man could do. But cease thy boasting--Freemen all will think, A Bark thus manag'd, in the deep must sink.

"A FOE TO TYRANTS--ne'er receiv'd a Bribe, Nor Gold ador'd, nor stuck to Johnston's side; With malice stupid, ev'ry line must show, The man that's Johnston's friend is not thy foe. What wond'rous fancy urg'd thy genius bright, To speak of Churchill--as if thou coud'st write; To shine in _borrow'd plumes_, with base design, And to oblivion worthy men consign. Reptiles and Dogs, and all those dreary things, Bespeak the mind from whence such slander springs; Dirt thou may'st throw--the dunce's last retreat, For none but dunces will thy lines repeat. Not Churchill's wreathes, but hick'ry withes will do, To twine thy brows, and lace thy jacket too; Leave thy friend R----, we've had enough of him, For abler Pilots live the Bark to trim. What! if a thousand JOES should wince and bawl, One honest JACK would make amends for all."

[191] The title in the edition of 1786 was "To the Foe to Tyrants," and in 1795 "To Shylock Ap-Shenkin." Freneau translates the stanza from Horace as follows: "A dog, cowardly against wolves, yet molests strangers that have no quarrel with him--approach, whelp, and attack us, who are able to dash your teeth down your throat."

[192] "Vile as they are, this lukewarm Tory crew."--_Ed. 1786._

[193]

"And round your neck the wythe or halter twine, And be the office of the hangman mine."--_Ed. 1786._

[194] "Blockheads in power or traitors in disgrace."--_Ed. 1786._

TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST[195]

On His Farewell

"I will meet you, Brutus, at Philippi."--_Roman History._

Since ink, thank heaven! is all the blood you spill, Health to the driver of the grey goose quill: Such war shall leave no widow in despair, Nor curse one orphan with the public care. 'Tis the worst wound the heart of man can feel, When touched, or worried, by an ass's heel-- With generous satire give your foes their due, Nay, give them more, and prove them scoundrels too: Make them as black as hell's remotest gloom, But still to genius let them owe their doom:-- By Jove's red lightnings 'tis no shame to bleed, But by a grovelling swine--is death indeed!-- Now, by the laurels of your royal crew, I knew no shame, till I engaged with you:-- But such an odour atmosphered your song, I held my nose, and quickly passed along, Grieved for the wretch who could such filth display, His maw disgorging in the public way. Armed though we are, unusual tumults rise;-- But all resentment in my bosom dies. We deem, that in the skirmish of a day, This bard must perish, and his verse decay: This day he goes to black oblivion's clime; Turned, chased, and routed by the "power of rhyme." We wished him still unhandled and unhurt-- We wished no evils to this man of dirt; We thought to leave him sweltering in his den, Not with such rotten trash to tinge the pen: But his mean labours wrought his present woe, And his own scribblings, now, have laid him low! Before his eyes the sexton's spade appears, And muffled bells disorganize his ears: Already is his mean existence fled, Sense, wit, and reason--all proclaim him dead: In his own lines he tolled his funeral bell, And when he could not sing--he stunk--farewell!

[195] In the _Journal_ of September 11, 1782, in answer to the effusion of the "Foe to Tyrants" in the _Gazetteer_ of September 7, entitled, "To the Foe to Malice. The Farewell." This farewell began as follows:

"When men will prostitute the power of rhime, Their dirt and malice jingling out of time; When men the sacred shrine of truth forsake, And deal in slander, just for slander's sake, 'Tis time to quit plain reason, common sense, And in their stile Correction to dispense.

"Our Theme first pointed to your _pale-fac'd_ friend Whom you forsook--unable to defend; To save his fame, you thought it best to fly To vile abuse, and low scurrility; Then feel the Weapons you yourself have us'd And blame not those you've dirtily abus'd."

The rest of the poem is too vile to reproduce.

TO THE ROYALIST UNVEILED[196]

(And addressed to all whom it may concern)

The sage who took the wrong sow by the ears, And more than kingdoms claimed for Vermonteers; Who, from twelve wigwams down to eight decreased, Is now your prophet, and may serve for priest-- Ye, who embraced the democratic plan, Yet with false tears beheld the wrongs of man-- To him apply--go--soothe him in distress,[197] To him fall prostrate--and to him confess. When first that slave of slaves began to write, Truth cursed his pen, and Reason took her flight: Dullness on him her choicest opiates shed, Black as his heart, and sleepy as his head. Him on her soil Hibernia could not bear; The viper sickened in that wholesome air,-- Then rushed abroad, a Jesuit, in disguise, Flush, on the wings of malice, rage, and lies; To this new world a nuisance and a pest, To curse the worthy, and abuse the best. Thou base born mass of insolence and dirt, With all the will, but not the power to hurt; Whose shallow brain each empty line reveals-- Art thou worth draggling at our chariot wheels? Who, on the surface of a rugged ground, Would stoop to trail your carcass round and round?-- No--like a Felon, hanged to after time, Be one more victim to the "force of rhyme." Waft us, ye powers, to some sequestered place, Where never malice shewed its hateful face-- Remove us far from all the ruffian kind (Baseness with insolence forever joined) To some retreat of solitude and rest-- Nor shall another pang disturb the breast-- When thought returns--and one regrets to know, He had to combat with a two-faced foe.

[196] This poem appeared September 25, 1782. The laureate of the _Independent Gazetteer_, after his farewell on September 7, was silent until October 15, when he produced the following:

"STANZAS addressed to _little_ FR--N--U, Poetaster to the _Skunk-scented_ association, and successful imitator of STERNHOLD and HOPKINS, of _poetical_ memory; in humble imitation of _his own_ doggerel.

"Fr--n--u, great man! 'tis thee I sing, And to thy shrine just incense bring The attribute of praise; To thee, who scorn'd all common rules, Supreme of dunces, chief of fools, I dedicate my lays.

"Sternhold is dead! What though he be? Another Sternhold now in thee Beotia's sons explore; Like this, thy mind is clear and bright, Transparent as the darkest night, When angry tempests roar.

"Thy verse, but ah! my powers are vain, To tell the wonders of thy brain Where mists of dullness sit; Cimmerian darkness round thy head, It's sable mantle long hath spread, To veil thy wooden wit.

"Thy satire, mystic type of lead, Keen as a dart without a head, And vigorous as age; 'Twould almost make a mill-stone cry To have thy muse its enemy, When cloathed in her rage.

"Thy bold, heroic numbers swell, As lofty as the deepest well Where noxious vapours rise; Thy song as sweet as Bellman's note, When spun through Mitchell's[a] brazen throat, Or midnight Watchmen's cries.

[a] Cryer of Philadelphia.

"Thy eyes, the index of the soul, With mad, poetic fury roll, In eager search of fame; Thy face, ye gods! ah! what a face! Thy air, thy port, thy quaint grimmace, Add honor to thy name.

"When, late, sleep's Goddess, clos'd my eyes, And dreams in sweet gradation rise, Soul-soothing guests of night, Methought the cloud-invelop'd Queen[b] Display'd her dull, somnific mien, In majesty and might.

[b] The Queen of Dullness.

"Thick, opiate dews she did dispense, Whilst poppies, foes to wit and sense, Hung pendant from her head; Safe in her hand, by love, impell'd. Great Fr--n--u's sacred form she held, Impress'd on genuine lead.

"With blinking, am'rous, rush-light eyes She view'd her blest Saturnine prize, As conscious of his worth; Then smooth'd the wrinkles of her frown, And shook her poppy-teeming crown, With unaffected mirth.

"'Go on (she cry'd), with fervent zeal, Thou glory of that common-weal, Where dullness bears the sway! E'en L--e to thee shall yield the chair, His rhimes shall vanish into air, Before thy duller lay.

"'Corcoran,[c] long ago, hath fled, And roving Jem,[d] 'tis said, is dead, Those foes to common sense; Now Fr--n--u thou, their son and heir. More stupid than a stupid mare, Steps forth in my defence.

[c] Dr. Corcoran, a poetaster, well known.

[d] Jemmy, the rover, a sonnetter of the Pennsylvania line.

"'Thee shall no wisdom e'er molest, No wit shall perforate thy breast, Nor humour shew her face; Thy drowsy verse shall prove a balm, Specific as the hundredth psalm, When W--ch--r sings base.

"'Each flow'r of Billingsgate I'll cull, To render thee, my son, more dull, If duller thou canst be, Thy works with Sternhold's shall be bound, While Hopkins, from the dark profound, Shall yield the palm to thee.'

"She ceas'd, and all that own'd her cause, In one loud transport of applause, Burst like a sudden gale; All hail, great man! was Bailey's cry, Hail! Joe, and Skunk, and Tom, reply, Dullness and Fr--n--u, hail!"

[197] "To him apply, dear Oswald, in distress."--_Independent Gazetteer._

TO SHYLOCK AP-SHENKIN[198]

Long have I sate on this disastrous shore, And, sighing, sought to gain a passage o'er To Europe's courts, where, as our travellers say, Poets may flourish, or--perhaps--they may; But such abuse has from your coarse pen fell Perhaps I may defer my voyage as well, Why should I far in search of patrons roam, And Shylock leave to triumph here at home? Should Shylock's poems[199] style you all that's base, Abuse your stature, and malign[200] your face, Make you the worst and vilest of your kind, With not one spark of virtue[201] in your mind; Would you to Shylock's[202] rancorous page reply, So fam'd for scandal, and so prone to lie? Still may those bag-pipes of sedition play, (For fools may write[203] and knaves must have their day) Still from that page let clamorous bards[204] defame, And madness rave, and malice take her aim: May scribes on scribes in verse and prose combine, And fiend-like Sawney roar[205] through every line; Long may they write, unquestion'd and unhurt, And all their rage discharge, and all their dirt: Night-owls must screech, by heaven's supreme decree, And wolves must howl, or wolves they would not be. From empty froth these scribbling insects rose; What honest man but counts them for his foes? When they are lash'd, may dunce with dunce condole, And bellow nonsense from the tortured soul; When they are dead and in some dungeon cramm'd, (For die they will, and all their works be damn'd) When they have belch'd their last departing groans, May dogs and doctors barbecue[206] their bones, And, the last horrors of their souls to calm, Shylock, their bard,[207] console them with--a psalm!

[198] The first eight lines of this poem appeared first as the opening stanza of MacSwiggin, published in 1775; the rest of the poem was first published in the _Freeman's Journal_ of Dec. 18, 1782, and republished in the 1786 edition under the title "To Whom it may Concern." The above version was made for the edition of 1795, but was not reprinted in 1809.

The _Gazetteer_ of the following week (Dec. 21) contained several parodies of Freneau's poem, one of which was as follows:

"MR. OSWALD:--Whereas a copy of verses of my composition appeared in Bailey's paper, of whom I should have expected more circumspection, I have sent you a genuine copy as they ought to have been printed, the justice of which I hope everybody acquainted with the persons will acknowledge. THE AUTHOR.

"Should Oswald's painters all my features trace, And shew me as I am in soul and face; Among the vile and worthless of mankind, Without a spark of virtue in my mind, And write my name beneath, I would reply, The portrait, though a true one, told a lie. "Still shall my bagpipes of sedition play, And I, like other dogs, shall have my day; My hoarse-mouth'd cry shall war with sense proclaim, And madly howl at ev'ry virtuous name; Our hungry scribes in verse and prose shall join, Though Chaos glooms through ev'ry stupid line; In spite of sense we'll write, by shame unhurt, And all our rage discharge, and all our dirt, Night-owls will screech, since Heav'n has left them free, And wolves will howl, or wolves they would not be. "Although from dirt, we like musquetoes rose, And quiet people count us still their foes; When we are crush'd, or chas'd from hole to hole, We'll strive to tease and torture ev'ry soul. When we are dead and in some ditch are cram'd (For die we must, and with our works be damn'd), When we shall howl our last departing groans, And brother dogs regale upon our bones; The horrors of our souls awhile to calm, Let me compose, and Duffield sing a psalm."

[199] "Oswald's scribblers."--_Freeman's Journal._

[200] "Blaspheme."--_Ed. 1786._

[201] "Reason."--_Ib._

[202] "Who would to Oswald's."--_Freeman's Journal._

[203] "Must prate and dogs."--_Ed. 1786._

[204] "Hoarse-mouth'd whelps."--_Ib._

[205] "And one dark chaos gloom."--_Ib._

[206] "Canonize."--_Freeman's Journal._

[207] "Fallon, the priest."--_Ed. 1786._

THE PROPHECY OF KING TAMMANY[208]

The Indian chief who, famed of yore, Saw Europe's sons adventuring here, Looked, sorrowing, to the crowded shore, And sighing dropt a tear! He saw them half his world explore, He saw them draw the shining blade, He saw their hostile ranks displayed, And cannons blazing through that shade Where only peace was known before.

"Ah, what unequal arms!" he cried, "How art thou fallen, my country's pride, "The rural, sylvan reign! "Far from our pleasing shores to go "To western rivers, winding slow, "Is this the boon the gods bestow! "What have we done, great patrons, say, "That strangers seize our woods away, "And drive us naked from our native plain?

"Rage and revenge inspire my soul, "And passion burns without controul; "Hence, strangers, to your native shore! "Far from our Indian shades retire, "Remove these gods that vomit fire, "And stain with blood these ravaged glades no more; "In vain I weep, in vain I sigh, "These strangers all our arms defy, "As they advance our chieftains die!-- "What can their hosts oppose! "The bow has lost its wonted spring, "The arrow faulters on the wing, "Nor carries ruin from the string "To end their being and our woes.

"Yes, yes,--I see our nation bends; "The gods no longer are our friends;-- "But why these weak complaints and sighs? "Are there not gardens in the west, "Where all our far-famed Sachems rest?-- "I'll go, an unexpected guest, "And the dark horrors of the way despise.

"Even now the thundering peals draw nigh, "'Tis theirs to triumph, ours to die! "But mark me, Christian, ere I go-- "Thou, too, shalt have thy share of woe; "The time rolls on, not moving slow, "When hostile squadrons for your blood shall come, "And ravage all your shore! "Your warriors and your children slay, "And some in dismal dungeons lay, "Or lead them captive far away "To climes unknown, through seas untried before.

"When struggling long, at last with pain "You break a cruel tyrant's chain, "That never shall be joined again, "When half your foes are homeward fled, "And hosts on hosts in triumph led, "And hundreds maimed and thousands dead, "A sordid race will then succeed, "To slight the virtues of the firmer race, "That brought your tyrant to disgrace, "Shall give your honours to an odious train, "Who shunned all conflicts on the main "And dared no battles on the bloody plain, "Whose little souls sunk in the gloomy day "When virtue only could support the fray "And sunshine friends kept off--or ran away."

So spoke the chief, and raised his funeral pyre-- Around him soon the crackling flames ascend; He smiled amid the fervours of the fire To think his troubles were so near their end, 'Till the freed soul, her debt to nature paid, Rose from the ashes that her prison made, And sought the world unknown, and dark oblivion's shade.

[208] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, December 11, 1782.

Tammany was an Indian chieftain of the Lenni Lennape Confederacy of New York and Pennsylvania during the early colonial era. There is a tradition that he was the first Indian to welcome William Penn to America. Some traditions locate his lodge near the present site of Princeton College and others make him end his long life near a spring in Bucks county, Pa. He figures in Cooper's novel, "The Last of the Mohicans."

RIVINGTON'S REFLECTIONS[209]

I.

The more I reflect, the more plain it appears, If I stay, I must stay at the risque of my ears, I have so be-peppered the foes of our throne, Be-rebelled, be-deviled, and told them their own, That if we give up to these rebels at last,[210] 'Tis a chance if my ears will atone for the past. 'Tis always the best to provide for the worst-- So evacuation I'll mention the first: If Carleton should sail for our dear native shore (As Clinton, Cornwallis, and Howe did before) And take off the soldiers that serve for our guard, (A step that the Tories would think rather hard) Yet still I surmise, for aught I can see, No Congress or Senates would meddle with me. For what have I done, when we come to consider, But sold my commodities to the best bidder? If I offered to lie for the sake of a post, Was I to be blamed if the king offered most? The King's Royal Printer!--Five hundred a year! Between you and me, 'twas a handsome affair: Who would not for that give matters a stretch, And lie back and forward, and carry and fetch, May have some pretensions to honour and fame-- But what are they both but the sound of a name, Mere words to deceive us, as I have found long since, Live on them a week, and you'll find them but nonsense. The late news from Charleston my mind has perplext, If that is abandoned,--I know what goes next: This city of York is a place of great note, And that we should hold it I now give my vote; But what are our votes against Shelburne's[211] decrees? These people at helm steer us just where they please, So often they've had us all hands on the brink, They'll steer us at last to the devil, I think: And though in the danger themselves have a share, It will do us small good that they also go there. It is true that the Tories, their children, and wives Have offered to stay at the risque of their lives, And gain to themselves an immortal renown By all turning soldiers, and keeping the town: Whoe'er was the Tory that struck out the plan, In my humble conceit, was a very good man; But our words on this subject need be very few-- Already I see that it never will do: For, suppose a few ships should be left us by Britain, With Tories to man them, and other things fitting, In truth we should be in a very fine box, As well they might guard us with ships on the stocks, And when I beheld them aboard and afloat, I am sure I should think of the bear in the boat.[A] On the faith of a printer, things look very black-- And what shall we do, alas! and alack! Shall we quit our young princes and full blooded peers, And bow down to viscounts and French chevaliers? Perhaps you may say, "As the very last shift "We'll go to New-Scotland, and take the king's gift." Good folks, do your will--but I vow and I swear, I'll be boil'd into soup before I'll live there: Is it thus that our monarch his subjects degrades?-- Let him go and be damned, with his axes and spades, Of all the vile countries that ever were known In the frigid, or torrid, or temperate zone, (From accounts that I've had) there is not such another; It neither belongs to this world or the other: A favor they think to send us there gratis To sing like the Jews at the river Euphrates, And, after surmounting the rage of the billows, Hang ourselves up at last with our harps on the willows; Ere I sail for that shore, may I take my last nap-- Why, it gives me the palsy to look on its map! And he that goes there (though I mean to be civil) May fairly be said to have gone to the devil. Shall I push for Old England, and whine at the throne? Indeed! they have Jemmies enough of their own! Besides, such a name I have got from my trade, They would think I was lying, whatever I said; Thus scheme as I will, or contrive as I may, Continual difficulties rise in the way: In short, if they let me remain in this realm, What is it to Jemmy who stands at the helm? I'll petition the rebels (if York is forsaken) For a place in their Zion which ne'er shall be shaken I am sure they'll be clever: it seems their whole study: They hung not young Asgill for old captain Huddy,[212] And it must be a truth that admits no denying, If they spare us for Murder they'll spare us for Lying.

[A] See Gay's Fables.--_Freneau's note, Ed. 1786._

II.

Folks may think as they please, but to me it would seem, That our great men at home have done nothing but dream: Such trimming and twisting and shifting about, And some getting in, and others turned out; And yet, with their bragging and looking so big, All they did was to dance a theatrical jig. Seven years now, and more, we have tried every plan, And are just as near conquering as when we began, Great things were expected from Clinton and Howe, But what have they done, or where are they now? Sir Guy was sent over to kick up a dust, Who already prepares to return in disgust-- The object delusive we wish to attain Has been in our reach, and may be so again-- But so oddly does heaven its bounties dispense, And has granted our king such a small share of sense That, let Fortune favour or smile as she will, We are doomed to drive on, like a horse in a mill, And though we may seem to advance on our rout, 'Tis but to return to where we sate out. From hence I infer (by way of improvement) That nothing is got by this circular movement; And I plainly perceive, from this fatal delay, We are going to ruin the round-about way! Some nations, like ships, give up to the gale, And are hurried ashore with a full flowing sail; So Sweden submitted to absolute power, And freemen were changed to be slaves in an hour; Thus Theodore soon from his grandeur came down, Forsaking his subjects and Corsican crown; But we--'tis our fate, without ally or friend, To go to perdition, close hauled to the wind. The case is too plain, that if I stay here I have something to hope and something to fear: In regard to my carcase, I shouldn't mind that-- I can say "I have lived," and have grown very fat; Have been in my day remarkable shifty, And soon, very soon, will be verging on fifty. 'Tis time for the state of the dead to prepare, 'Tis time to consider how things will go there; Some few are admitted to Jupiter's hall, But the dungeons of Pluto are open to all-- The day is approaching as fast as it can When Jemmy will be a mere moderate man, Will sleep under ground both summer and winter, The hulk of a man, and the shell of a printer, And care not a farthing for George, or his line, What empires start up, or what kingdoms decline. Our parson last Sunday brought tears from my eyes, When he told us of heaven, I thought of my lies-- To his flock he described it, and laid it before 'em, (As if he had been in its _Sanctum Sanctorum_) Recounted its beauties that never shall fade, And quoted John Bunyan to prove what he said; Debarred from the gate who the Truth should deny, Or "whosoe'er loveth or maketh a lie." Through the course of my life it has still been my lot In spite of myself, to say "things that are not." And therefore suspect that upon my decease Not a poet will leave me to slumber in peace, But at least once a week be-scribble the stone Where Jemmy, poor Jemmy, lies sleeping alone! Howe'er in the long run these matters may be, If the scripture is true, it has bad news for me-- And yet, when I come to examine the text, And the learned annotations that Poole has annexed, Throughout the black list of the people that sin I cannot once find that I'm mention'd therein; Whoremongers, idolators, all are left out, And wizards and dogs (which is proper, no doubt) But he who says, I'm there, mistakes or forgets-- It mentions no Printers of Royal Gazettes! In truth, I have need of a mansion of rest, And here to remain might suit me the best-- Philadelphia in some things would answer as well, (Some Tories are there, and my papers might sell) But then I should live amongst wrangling and strife, And be forced to say _credo_ the rest of my life: For their sudden conversion I'm much at a loss-- I am told that they bow to the wood of the cross, And worship the reliques transported from Rome, St. Peter's toe-nails, and St. Anthony's comb.-- If thus the true faith they no longer defend I scarcely can think where the madness will end-- If the greatest among them submit to the Pope, What reason have I for indulgence to hope? If the Congress themselves to the Chapel did pass,[B] Ye may swear that poor Jemmy would have to sing mass.

[B] "On the 4th of November last, the clergy and select men of Boston paraded through the streets after a crucifix, and joined in a procession in praying for a departed soul out of Purgatory; and for this they gave the example of Congress, and other American leaders, on a former occasion at Philadelphia, some of whom, in the height of their zeal, even went so far as to sprinkle themselves with what they call _Holy water_."--_Royal Gazette_, of December 11 inst.--_Freneau's note._

[209] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, December, 1782, in two installments and inserted without change in the edition of 1786. The first installment bore the motto "_Inclusus poenam expectat_.--Virg.," and the second the motto "_Incertus quo fata ferant, quo sistere detur_.--Virg." Almost no change was made in the text for the later editions. Rivington bore this attack with coolness; he calmly inserted the first installment of the poem in his _Royal Gazette_ for December 14, and gave to it the following introduction: "Mr. Rivington, having been applied to by many gentlemen for a pleasant publication respecting himself, exhibited in the Philadelphia _Freeman's Journal_, of December 4th, takes leave to copy it into this Day's Gazette, and assures the Author that a Column shall at any time be most cheerfully reserved to convey that Gentleman's lively Lucubrations to the Public."

[210] "Rivington, in his _Gazette_, fought the _Rebels_, a term of which he made very frequent use while he entertained the opinion that the Americans would be subjected by the British arms."--Thomas's _History of Printing_.

[211] Shelburne was at the head of the British ministry but seven months, yet in that time, by his firmness and zeal, he accomplished a final settlement of the quarrel with the colonies. "The treaty," says Bancroft, "which ruled the fate of a hemisphere was mainly due to Lord Shelburne."

[212] The _Freeman's Journal_ of April 24 and May 1, 1782, gives full details of the Huddy affair. I can do no better than to quote Freneau's own version of the episode contributed to the _Journal_ for June 12:

"Capt. Huddy, of the Jersey militia, was attacked in a small fort on Tom's river, by a party of refugees in the British pay and service, was made prisoner, together with his company, carried to New York, and lodged in the provost of that city; about three weeks after which, he was taken out of the provost down to the water side, put into a boat and brought again to the Jersey shore, and there, contrary to the practice of all nations but savages, was hung up on a tree [April 8, 1782] and left hanging until found by our people, who took him down and buried him.

"The inhabitants of that part of the country where the murder was committed, sent a deputation to general Washington, with a full and certified state of the fact. Struck as every human breast must be, with such outrage, and determined both to punish and prevent it for the future, the general represented the case to general Clinton, who then commanded, and demanded that the refugee officer who ordered and attended the execution, and whose name is Lippencut, should be delivered up as a murderer, and in case of refusal that the person of some British officer should suffer in his stead. The demand, though not refused, has not been complied with, and the melancholy lot (not by selection, but by casting lots) has fallen upon captain Asgil of the guards, who, as I have already mentioned, is on his way from Lancaster to camp, a martyr to the general wickedness of the cause he engaged in, and the ingratitude of those he has served."

Asgill was finally released.

NEW YEAR'S VERSES

Addressed to those Gentlemen who have been pleased to favour FRANCIS WRIGLEY, News Carrier, with their custom

January 1, 1783

According to custom, once more I appear With the verse you expect at the dawn of the year: For at length we have got into Eighty and Three; And in spite of proud Britain, are happy and free. If the times have been hard, and our commerce gone wrong, We still have been able to struggle along. If some, through misfortunes, are slack in the purse, It is not so bad but it might have been worse. Great things, the year past, were reveal'd to our eyes: The Dutch have confess'd us their friends and allies; And humbled the pride of our haughty invaders, By fighting their fleets and destroying their traders, If the English succeeded in taking the Count, To what, in the end, did their conquest amount? With their boasts, and their brags, and their shouts of applause, It but sav'd them from ruin--not ruin'd our cause. But leaving the weight of political cares To those, who are plac'd at the helm of affairs, To the humours of fortune in all things resign'd, I mean by my visit to put you in mind, That, as true as a clock, both early and late, With the news of the day I have knock'd at your gate, And gave you to know what the world was a doing, What Louis intended, or George was a brewing. If sometimes the papers were trifling and flat, And the news went against us,--I cou'dn't help that; If parties were angry, and vented their spite, I bro't you their wranglings--not help'd them to write. I therefore presume (and not without reason) You'll remember your Newsman, and think of the season; The markets are high, and the weather is cold; No party I serve, and no pension I hold. We Hawkers are men, and have children and wives To comfort our hearts, and to solace our lives: But if I say more, you'll think it is stuff; And a word to the wise is, in reason, enough.

NEW YEAR'S VERSES[213]

Addressed to the Customers of the FREEMAN'S JOURNAL, by the Lad who carries it

January 8, 1783

Let those who will, in hackney'd rhyme And common cant, take up your time, And even the muse's aid implore To tell you what you knew before, The days are short and nights are long, The weather cold and hunger strong, The markets high--and such like stuff-- I'm sure you know it well enough;-- Untaught by us, I dare to say, You hit, exactly, New Year's day, And knew at least as well as we The present year is eighty-three;-- (Such simple things as these to tell A mere drum head would do as well--) All this I knew you knew before, And therefore knock'd not at your door Upon the individual day When eighty-three came into play, With verses for the purpose plann'd Bidding you gravely watch your sand, Since death is always near at hand; All this I left to those whose trade is To threaten beaus and frighten ladies, And brought my papers, (swiftly speeding) The _Freeman's Journal_, for your reading. Unhappy Journal, doom'd by fate To meet with unrelenting hate, From those who can their venom spit, Yet condescend to steal your wit; While Timon, with malicious spirit, Allows you not a grain of merit, While he an idle pomp assumes Let him return his borrow'd plumes, And you will find the insect creeping With not a feather worth the keeping. But this is neither here nor there, May quarrels past dissolve in air; In Stygian waves of sable hue Be all absorb'd with Eighty-Two, Or, lost on Lethe's silent shore, Disgrace our rising State no more. Another word I meant to say, (Kind customers, have patience, pray, My subject is the New Year's Day) How came it that mistaken man Has thus inverted nature's plan, And contradicted common reason By making this the mirthful season, When all is dreary, dull, and dead, The sun to southern climates fled To dart his fierce and downright beams Intensely on Brazilian streams; No daisies on the frozen plain, No daffodils to please the swain, The limpid wave compell'd to freeze, And not a leaf upon the trees!-- 'Tis wrong--the very birds will say, Their New Year is the bloom of May; Then nature calls to soft delights, And they obey as she invites. And yet this happiness below, Which all would gain but few know how, Is not to time or place confin'd, 'Tis seated only in the mind; Let seasons vary as they will, Contentment leaves us happy still, Makes life itself pass smooth away, Makes every hour a New Year's day.

[213] Text of this and the preceding poem from the edition of 1786. The last twenty-four lines of the above were republished in the edition of 1795, under the title "On the New-Year's Festival."

POLITICAL BIOGRAPHY[214]

HUGH GAINE'S LIFE[A]

CITY OF NEW-YORK, JAN. 1, 1783.[B]

_To the_ Senate[C] _of York, with all due submission, Of honest_ HUGH GAINE _the humble Petition;[215] An account of his Life he will also prefix, And some trifles that happened in_ seventy-six; _He hopes that your Honours will take no offence, If he sends you some groans of contrition from hence, And, further, to prove that he's truly sincere, He wishes you all a_ happy New Year.

[A] A character well remembered in New York, and the adjacent States,--now deceased.--_Freneau's note._ Gaine died April 25, 1807.

[B] The British army evacuated New York the November following.--_Ib._

[C] The Legislature of the State were at this time in session at Fishkill.--_Ib._

And, first, he informs, in his representation, That he once was a printer of good reputation, And dwelt in the street called Hanover Square, (You'll know where it is, if you ever was there) Next door to the dwelling[216] of doctor Brownjohn, (Who now to the drug-shop[217] of Pluto is gone) But what do I say--who e'er came to town, And knew not Hugh Gaine at the Bible and Crown. Now, if I was ever so given to lie, My dear native country I wouldn't deny; (I know you love Teagues) and I shall not conceal That I came from the kingdom where Phelim O'Neale And other brave worthies ate butter and cheese, And walk'd in the clover-fields up to their knees; Full early in youth, without basket or burden, With a staff in my hand, I passed over Jordan, (I remember my comrade was doctor Magraw,[D] And many strange things on the waters we saw, Sharks, dolphins, and sea-dogs, bonettas, and whales, And birds at the tropic, with quills in their tails) And came to your city and government seat, And found it was true you had something to eat; When thus I wrote home--"The country is good, "They have plenty of victuals and plenty of wood: "The people are kind, and, whatever they think, "I shall make it appear, I can swim where they'll sink; "Dear me! they're so brisk, and so full of good cheer, "By my soul, I suspect they have always new year, "And therefore conceive it is good to be here." So said, and so acted--I put up a press, And printed away with amazing success; Neglected my person, and looked like a fright, Was bothered all day, and was busy all night, Saw money come in, as the papers went out, While Parker and Weyman[E] were driving about, And cursing and swearing, and chewing their cuds, And wishing Hugh Gaine and his press in the suds: Ned Weyman was printer, you know to the king, And thought he had got all the world in a string, (Though riches not always attend on a throne) So he swore I had found the philosopher's stone, And called me a rogue, and a son of a bitch, Because I knew better than him to get rich. To malice like that 'twas in vain to reply-- You had known by his looks he was telling a lie. Thus life ran away, so smooth and serene-- Ah! these were the happiest days I had seen! But the saying of Jacob I found to be true, "The days of thy servant are evil and few!" The days that to me were joyous and glad, Are nothing to those which are dreary and sad! The feuds of the Stamp Act foreboded foul weather, And war and vexation all coming together: Those days were the days of riots and mobs, Tar, feathers, and tories, and troublesome jobs-- Priests preaching up war for the good of our souls, And libels, and lying, and Liberty poles, From which, when some whimsical colours you waved, We had nothing to do, but look up and be saved-- (You thought, by resolving, to terrify Britain-- Indeed, if you did, you were damnably bitten) I knew it would bring an eternal reproach, When I saw you a-burning Cadwallader's[F] coach; I knew you would suffer for what you had done, When I saw you lampooning poor Sawney his son, And bringing him down to so wretched a level, As to ride him about in a cart with the devil.

[D] A cynical and very eccentric Physician.--_Freneau's note._

[E] New York Printers, many years before the Revolution.--_Ib._ Parker and Weyman were in partnership in the printing business between the years 1753 and 1759, during which time they were the leading printers of New York.

[F] Lieutenant-Governor Cadwallader Colden.--_Ib._

* * * * *

Well, as I predicted that matters would be-- To the stamp-act succeeded a tax upon Tea: What chest-fulls were scattered, and trampled, and drowned, And yet the whole tax was but threepence per pound! May the hammer of Death on my noddle descend, And Satan torment me to time without end, If this was a reason to fly into quarrels, And feuds that have ruined our manners and morals; A parson himself might have sworn round the compass, That folks for a trifle should make such a rumpus, Such a rout as to set half the world in a rage, Make France, Spain, and Holland with Britain engage, While the Emperor, the Swede, the Russ, and the Dane, All pity John Bull--and run off with his gain. But this was the season that I must lament-- I first was a whig with an honest intent; Not a Yankee[218] among them talked louder or bolder, With his sword by his side, or his gun on his shoulder; Yes, I was a whig, and a whig from my heart, But still was unwilling with Britain to part-- I thought to oppose her was foolish and vain, I thought she would turn and embrace us again, And make us as happy as happy could be, By renewing the aera of mild Sixty-Three: And yet, like a cruel, undutiful son, Who evil returns for the good to be done, Unmerited odium on Britain to throw,[219] I printed some treason for Philip Freneau, Some damnable poems reflecting on Gage,[220] The King and his Council, and writ with such rage, So full of invective, and loaded with spleen, So sneeringly smart, and so hellishly keen, That, at least in the judgment of half our wise men, Alecto herself put the nib to his pen.

* * * * *

At this time arose a certain king Sears,[221] Who made it his study to banish our fears: He was, without doubt, a person of merit, Great knowledge, some wit, and abundance of spirit; Could talk like a lawyer, and that without fee, And threatened perdition to all that drank tea. Long sermons did he against Scotchmen prepare,[222] And drank like a German, and drove away care; Ah! don't you remember what a vigorous hand he put To drag off the great guns, and plague captain Vandeput.[G] That night[H] when the Hero (his patience worn out) Put fire to the cannons and folks to the rout, And drew up his ship with a spring on her cable, And gave us a second confusion of Babel, And (what was more solid than scurrilous language) Poured on us a tempest of round shot and langrage; Scarce a broadside was ended 'till another began again --By Jove! it was nothing but _Fire away Flanagan!_[I] Some thought him saluting his Sally's and Nancy's,[223] 'Till he drove a huge ball through the roof of Sam Francis;[J] The town by his flashes was fairly enlightened, The women miscarried, the beaux were all frighten'd; For my part, I hid in a cellar (as sages And Christians were wont in the primitive ages: Thus the Prophet of old that was wrapt to the sky, Lay snug in a cave 'till the tempest went by, But, as soon as the comforting spirit had spoke, He rose and came out with his mystical cloak) Yet I hardly could boast of a moment of rest, The dogs were a-howling, the town was distrest! But our terrors soon vanished, for suddenly Sears Renewed our lost courage and dried up our tears. Our memories, indeed, must have strangely decayed If we cannot remember what speeches he made, What handsome harangues upon every occasion, How he laughed at the whim of a British invasion! "P--x take 'em (said he) do ye think they will come? "If they should--we have only to beat on our drum, "And run up the flag of American freedom, "And people will muster by millions to bleed 'em! "What freeman need value such blackguards as these! "Let us sink in our channel some Chevaux de frise --"And then let 'em come--and we'll show 'em fair play-- "But they are not madmen--I tell you--not they!" From this very day 'till the British came in, We lived, I may say, in the Desert of Sin; Such beating, and bruising, and scratching, and tearing; Such kicking, and cuffing, and cursing and swearing! But when they advanced with their numerous fleet, And Washington made his nocturnal retreat,[K] (And which they permitted, I say, to their shame, Or else your New Empire had been but a name) We townsmen, like women, of Britons in dread, Mistrusted their meaning, and foolishly fled; Like the rest of the dunces I mounted my steed, And galloped away with incredible speed, To Newark I hastened,--but trouble and care Got up on the crupper and followed me there! There I scarcely got fuel to keep myself warm, And scarcely found spirits to weather the storm; And was quickly convinced I had little to do, (The Whigs were in arms, and my readers were few) So after remaining one cold winter season, And stuffing my papers with something like treason, And meeting misfortunes and endless disasters, And forced to submit to a hundred new masters, I thought it more prudent to hold to the one-- And (after repenting of what I had done, And cursing my folly and idle pursuits) Returned to the city, and hung up my boots.

[G] Captain of the Asia man of war, who cannonaded the city.--_Freneau's note._

[H] August, 1775.--_Ib._

[I] A cant phrase among privateers men.--_Freneau's note._

[J] A noted Inn-holder in New-York.--_Ib._ "Black Sam."--_Ed. 1786._

[K] From Long-Island.--_Freneau's note._

* * * * *

As matters have gone, it was plainly a blunder, But then I expected the Whigs must knock under, And I always adhere to the sword that is longest, And stick to the party that's like to be strongest: That you have succeeded is merely a chance, I never once dreamt of the conduct of France!-- If alliance with her you were promised--at least You ought to have showed me your Star in the East, Nor let me go off uninformed as a beast. When your army I saw without stockings or shoes, Or victuals--or money, to pay them their dues, (Excepting your wretched Congressional paper, That stunk in my nose like the smoke of a taper, A cart load of which for a dram might be spent all, That damnable bubble the old Continental, That took people in at this wonderful crisis, With its mottoes and emblems, and cunning devices; Which, bad as it was, you were forced to admire, And which was, in fact, the pillar of fire, To which you directed your wandering noses, Like the Jews in the desert conducted by Moses) When I saw them attended with famine and fear, Distress in their front, and Howe in their rear; When I saw them for debt incessantly dunned, Not a shilling to pay them laid up in your fund; Your ploughs at a stand, and your ships run ashore-- When this was apparent (and need I say more?) I handled my cane, and I looked at my hat, And cryed--"God have mercy on armies like that!" I took up my bottle, disdaining to stay, And said--"Here's a health to the Vicar of Bray," And cocked up my beaver, and--strutted away.

* * * * *

Ashamed of my conduct, I sneaked into town, (Six hours and a quarter the sun had been down) It was, I remember, a cold frosty night, And the stars in the firmament glittered as bright As if (to assume a poetical stile) Old Vulcan had give them a rub with his file. 'Till this cursed night, I can honestly say, I ne'er before dreaded the dawn of the day; Not a wolf or a fox that is caught in a trap E'er was so ashamed of his nightly mishap-- I couldn't help thinking what ills might befall me, What rebels and rascals the British would call me, And how I might suffer in credit and purse, If not in my person, which still had been worse: At length I resolved (as was surely my duty) To go for advice to parson Auchmuty;[L] The parson, who now I hope is in glory, Was then upon earth, and a terrible[224] tory, Not Cooper[M] himself, of ideas perplext, So nicely could handle and torture a text, When bloated with lies, through his trumpet he sounded The damnable sin of opposing a crowned head; Like a penitent sinner, and dreading my fate, In the grey of the morning I knocked at his gate; (No doubt he was vexed that I roused him so soon, For his saintship was mostly in blankets 'till noon.) At length he approached in his vestments of black-- (Alas, my poor heart! it was then on the rack, Like a man in an ague, or one to be tried; I shook--and recanted, and blubbered, and sighed) His gown, of itself, was amazingly big, Besides, he had on his canonical wig, And frowned at a distance; but, when I came near, Looked pleasant and said--"What, Hugh, are you here! "Your heart, I am certain, is horribly hardened, "But if you confess--your sin will be pardoned; "In spite of my preachments, and all I could say, "Like the prodigal son, you wandered away, "Now tell me, dear penitent, which is the best, "To be with the rebels, pursued and distrest, "Devoid of all comfort, all hopes of relief, "Or else to be here, and partake the king's beef? "More people resemble the snake than the dove, "And more are converted by terror than love: "Like a sheep on the mountains, or rather a swine, "You wandered away from the ninety and nine: "Awhile at the offers of mercy you spurned, "But your error you saw, and at length have returned: "Our Master will therefore consider your case, "And restore you again to favour and grace, "Great light shall arise from utter confusion, "And rebels shall live to lament their delusion." "Ah, rebels! (said I) they are rebels indeed-- "Chastisement, I hope, by the king is decreed: "They have hung up his subjects with bed-cords and halters, "And banished his prophets, and thrown down his altars. "And I--even I--while I ventured to stay, "They sought for my life--to take it away! "I therefore propose to come under your wing, "A foe to rebellion--a slave to the king."

[L] A high church Episcopalian, then rector of Trinity Church, N. Y., since deceased.--_Freneau's note._

[M] Miles Cooper, President of Kings (now Columbia College).--_Ib._

* * * * *

Such solemn confession,[225] in scriptural stile Worked out my salvation, at least for a while; The parson pronounced me deserving of grace, And so they restored me to printing and place. But days, such as these, were too happy to last: The sand of felicity settled too fast! When I swore and protested I honoured the throne The least they could do was to let me alone; Though George I compared to an angel above, They wanted some solider proofs of my love; And so they obliged me each morning to come And turn in the ranks at the beat of the drum, While often, too often (I tell it with pain) They menaced my head with a hickory cane, While others, my betters, as much were opprest-- But shame and confusion shall cover the rest. You, doubtless, will think I am dealing in fable When I tell you I guard an officer's stable-- With usage like this my feelings are stung; The next thing will be, I must heave out the dung! Six hours in the day is duty too hard, And Rivington sneers whene'er I mount guard, And laughs till his sides are ready to split With his jests, and his satires, and sayings of wit: Because he's excused, on account of his post He cannot go by without making his boast, As if I was all that is servile and mean-- But Fortune, perhaps, may alter the scene, And give him his turn to stand in the street, Burnt brandy supporting his animal heat--[226] But what for the king or the cause has he done That we must be toiling while he can look on? Great conquests he gave them on paper--'tis true[227] When Howe was retreating, he made him pursue; Alack! it's too plain that Britons must fall-- When loaded with laurels--they go to the wall. From hence you may guess I do nothing but grieve, And where we are going I cannot conceive-- The wisest among us a change are expecting, It is not for nothing, these ships are collecting, It is not for nothing, that Matthews, the mayor, And legions of Tories, for sailing prepare; It is not for nothing, that John Coghill Knap Is filing his papers, and plugging his tap; See Skinner himself, the fighting attorney, Is boiling potatoes, to serve a long journey; But where they are going, or meaning to travel, Would puzzle John Faustus himself to unravel, Perhaps to Penobscot, to starve in the barrens, Perhaps to St. John's, in the gulph of St. Lawrence; Perhaps to New-Scotland, to perish with cold, Perhaps to Jamaica, like slaves to be sold, Where, scorched by the summer, all nature repines, Where Phoebus, great Phoebus, too glaringly shines, And fierce from the zenith diverging his ray Oppresses the isle with a torrent of day. Since matters are thus, with proper submission Permit me to offer my humble Petition: (Though the form is uncommon, and lawyers may sneer, With truth I can tell you, the scribe is sincere.)

* * * * *

That, since it is plain we are going away, You will suffer Hugh Gaine unmolested to stay, His sand is near run (life itself is a span) So leave him to manage the best that he can: Whoe'er are his masters, or monarchs, or regents, For the future he's ready to swear them allegiance; The Crown he will promise to hold in disgrace:[228] The Bible--allow him to stick in its place, 'Till that, in due season, you wish to put down And bid him keep shop at the sign of the crown. If the Turk with his turban should set up at last here While he gives him protection, he'll own him his master, And yield due obedience (when Britain is gone) Though ruled by the sceptre of Presbyter John. My press, that has called you (as tyranny drove her) Rogues, rebels, and rascals, a thousand times over, Shall be at your service by day and by night, To publish whate'er you think proper to write; Those types which have raised George the third to a level With angels--shall prove him as black as the devil, To him that contrived him a shame and disgrace, Nor blest with one virtue to honour his race! Who knows but, in time, I may rise to be great, And have the good fortune to manage a State? Great noise among people great changes denotes, And I shall have money to purchase their votes-- The time is approaching, I venture to say, When folks worse than me will come into play, When your double faced[229] people will give themselves airs, And aim to take hold of the helm of affairs, While the honest bold soldier, who sought your renown, Like a dog in the dirt, shall be crushed and held down. Of honours and profits allow me a share! I frequently dream of a president's chair! And visions full often intrude on my brain, That for me to interpret, would rather be vain. Blest seasons advance, when Britons[230] shall find That they can be happy, and you[231] can be kind, When Rebels no longer at Traitors shall spurn, When Arnold himself will in triumph return! But my paper informs me it's time to conclude; I fear my Address has been rather too rude-- If it has--for my boldness your pardon I pray, And further, at present, presume not to say, Except that (for form's sake) in haste I remain Your humble Petitioner--honest--HUGH GAINE.[232]

[214] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_ in several installments, the first appearing Jan. 8, 1783. Hugh Gaine began as a printer in New York in 1750, and two years later established the _New York Mercury_. His imprint for many years was "Printed by Hugh Gaine, Printer, Bookseller, Stationer, at the Bible and Crown, in Hanover Square." Upon the beginning of hostilities with England he at first sided with the patriots. "Gaine's political creed it seems was to join the strongest party. When the British troops were about to take possession of New York in 1776, he left the city and set up his press at Newark; but soon after, in the belief that appearances were against the ultimate success of the United States, be privately withdrew from Newark and returned to New York. At the conclusion of the war, he petitioned the State legislature for leave to remain in the city and, having obtained permission, his press was employed in book printing, etc., but his newspaper was discontinued when the British army left."--Thomas' _History of Philadelphia_. I have used the text from the edition of 1809.

[215] "It is to be questioned if Gaine ever wrote a petition."--_Paul Leicester Ford._

[216] "Drug shop."--_Ed. 1786._

[217] "Dog house."--_Ib._

[218] "Fellow."--_Ed. 1786._

[219] "To gain a mere trifle, a shilling or so."--_Ed. 1786._

[220] _General Gage's Soliloquy_, and _General Gage's Confession_, both printed in 1775.

[221] "Under orders from the New York Convention Isaac Sears, in the night of the twenty-fourth of August [1775] removed cannon from the battery of the city. Captain Vandeput of the _Asia_, a British man-of-war in the harbor of the city, kept up a heavy but ineffective fire on the working party, who succeeded in removing twenty-one eighteen pounders with their carriages. It was feared that a bombardment would follow and families began to retreat into the country."--_Bancroft._

[222] This line and the following not in the 1786 edition.

[223] "At first we supposed it was only a sham."--_Ed. 1786._

[224] "Moderate."--_Ed. 1786._

[225] "Pitiful whining."--_Ed. 1795._

[226]

"With his paunch of a hog, and his brains of an oyster, Whence the mischief came he with his radical moisture."--_Ed. 1786._

[227] This line and the three following not in the edition of 1786.

[228] This line and the three following not in the original version.

[229] "The false-hearted Tory."--_Ed. 1786._

[230] "Tories."--_Ed. 1786._

[231] "Whigs."--_Ib._

[232] Dr. Francis, in his paper on Christopher Colles, records this story:

"While on one of his visits at Gaine's a customer saluted him loudly by name, the sound of which arrested the attention of the old Royalist, who, lifting up his eyes, interrogated him: 'Is your name Freneau?' 'Yes,' answered the Republican poet. '_Philip_ Freneau?' rejoined Gaine. 'Yes sir! the same.' 'Then, sir,' warmly uttered Gaine, 'you are a very clever fellow. Let me have the pleasure of taking you by the hand. Will you walk round the corner and join me in my parlor. We will take a glass of wine together. You, sir, have given me and my paper a wide reputation."

STANZAS[233]

Occasioned by the Departure of the British from Charleston, December 14, 1782

His triumphs of a moment done, His race of desolation run, The Briton, yielding to his fears, To other shores with sorrow steers:

To other shores--and coarser climes He goes, reflecting on his crimes, His broken oaths, a murdered Hayne, And blood of thousands, spilt in vain.

To Cooper's stream, advancing slow, Ashley no longer tells his woe; No longer mourns his limpid flood Discoloured deep with human blood.

Lo! where those social streams combine, Again the friends of Freedom join; And, while they stray, where once they bled, Rejoice to find their tyrants fled.

Since memory paints that dismal day When British squadrons held the sway, And circling close on every side, By sea and land retreat denied--

Can she recall that mournful scene, And not the virtues of a Greene, Who great in war--in danger tried, Has won the day, and crushed their pride.

Through barren wastes and ravaged lands, He led his bold undaunted bands; Through sickly climes his standard bore Where never army marched before:

By fortitude, with patience joined, (The virtues of a noble mind) He spread, where'er our wars are known, His country's honour and his own.

Like Hercules, his generous plan Was to redress the wrongs of men; Like him, accustomed to subdue, He freed a world from monsters too.

Through every want and every ill We saw him persevering still, Through Autumn's damps and Summer's heat, 'Till his great purpose was complete.

Like the bold eagle, from the skies That stoops, to seize his trembling prize, He darted on the slaves of kings At Camden plains and Eutaw Springs.

Ah! had our friends that led the fray Survived the ruins of that day, We should not damp our joy with pain, Nor, sympathizing, now complain.

Strange! that of those who nobly dare Death always claims so large a share, That those of virtue most refined Are soonest to the grave consigned!--

But fame is theirs--and future days On pillared brass shall tell their praise; Shall tell--when cold neglect is dead-- "These for their country fought and bled."

[233] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, February 19, 1783, and copied by the Charleston _Weekly Gazette_, May 13 following. Text from the edition of 1809.

ON THE BRITISH KING'S SPEECH[234]

Recommending Peace with the American States

Grown sick of war, and war's alarms, Good George has changed his note at last-- Conquest and death have lost their charms; He, and his nation stand aghast, To think what fearful lengths they've gone, And what a brink they stand upon.

Old Bute and North, twin sons of hell, If you advised him to retreat Before our vanquished thousands fell, Prostrate, submissive at his feet: Awake once more his latent flame, And bid us yield you all you claim.[235]

The Macedonian wept and sighed Because no other world was found Where he might glut his rage and pride, And by its ruin be renowned; The world that Sawney wished to view George fairly had--and lost it too!

Let jarring powers make war or peace, Monster!--no peace can greet your breast: Our murdered friends can never cease To hover round and break your rest! The Furies will your bosom tear, Remorse, distraction, and despair And hell, with all its fiends, be there!

Cursed be the ship that e'er sets sail Hence, freighted for your odious shore; May tempests o'er her strength prevail, Destruction round her roar! May Nature all her aids deny, The sun refuse his light, The needle from its object fly, No star appear by night: 'Till the base pilot, conscious of his crime, Directs the prow to some more Christian[236] clime.

Genius! that first our race designed, To other kings impart The finer feelings of the mind, The virtues of the heart; Whene'er the honours of a throne Fall to the bloody and the base, Like Britain's tyrant, pull them down, Like his, be their disgrace!

Hibernia, seize each native right! Neptune, exclude him from the main; Like her that sunk with all her freight, The _Royal George_,[237] take all his fleet, And never let them rise again: Confine him to his gloomy isle, Let Scotland rule her half, Spare him to curse his fate awhile, And Whitehead,[A] thou to write his epitaph.

[A] _William Whitehead_, Poet Laureat to his Majesty--author of the execrable birth-day Odes.--_Freneau's note, Ed. 1786._

[234] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, March 12, 1783. "King George of England was mastered by a consuming grief for the loss of America, and knew no ease of mind by day or by night. When on the fifth of December [1782], in his speech at the opening of Parliament, he came to read that he had offered to declare the colonies of America free and independent States, his manner was constrained and his voice full."--_Bancroft._

[235] "And feed with hope his heart's desire."--_Ed. 1786._

[236] "Grateful."--_Ed. 1786._

[237] The _Royal George_, 108 guns, while being refitted at Spithead, August 29, 1782, was heeled over too far by her crew, causing her suddenly to sink. Admiral Kempenfelt and nearly 800 men perished in this disaster.

A NEW-YORK TORY'S EPISTLE[238]

To one of his Friends in Pennsylvania.--Written previous to his Departure for Nova Scotia

May, 1783

Dark glooms the day that sees me leave this shore, To which fate whispers I must come no more: From civil broils what dire disasters flow-- Those broils condemn me to a land of woe Where barren pine trees shade the dreary steep, Frown o'er the soil or murmur to the deep, Where sullen fogs their heavy wings expand, And nine months' winter chills the dismal land! Could no kind stars have mark'd a different way, Stars that presided on my natal day?-- Why is not man endued with power to know The ends and upshots of events below? Why did not heaven (some other gift deny'd) Teach me to take the true-born Buckskin side, Show me the balance of the wavering fates And fortune smiling on these new-born States! Friend of my heart!--my refuge and relief, Who help'd me on through seven long years of grief, Whose better genius taught you to remain In the soft quiet of your rural reign, Who still despised the Rebels and their cause, And, while you paid the taxes, damn'd their laws, And wisely stood spectator of the fray, Nor trusted George, whate'er he chose to say; Thrice happy thou, who wore a double face, And as the balance turn'd could each embrace; Too happy Janus! had I shar'd thy art, To speak a language foreign to my heart, And stoop'd from pomp and dreams of regal state, To court the friendship of the men I hate, These strains of woe had not been penn'd to-day, Nor I to foreign climes been forc'd away: Ah! George--that name provokes my keenest rage, Did he not swear, and promise, and engage His loyal sons to nurture and defend, To be their God, their father and their friend-- Yet basely quits us on a hostile coast, And leaves us wretched where we need him most: His is the part to promise and deceive, By him we wander and by him we grieve; Since the first day that these dissentions grew, When Gage to Boston brought his blackguard crew,[239] From place to place we urge our vagrant flight To follow still this vapour of the night, From town to town have run our various race, And acted all that's mean and all that's base-- Yes--from that day until this hour we roam, Vagrants forever from our native home! And yet, perhaps, fate sees the golden hour When happier hands shall crush rebellious power, When hostile tribes their plighted faith shall own And swear subjection to the British throne, When George the Fourth shall their petitions spurn, And banish'd Tories to their fields return. From dreams of conquest, worlds and empires won Britain awaking, mourns her setting sun, No rays of joy her evening hour illume, 'Tis one sad chaos, one unmingled gloom! Too soon she sinks unheeded to the grave, No eye to pity and no hand to save: What are her crimes that she alone must bend? Where are her hosts to conquer and defend-- Must she alone with these new regions part, These realms that lay the nearest to her heart, But soar'd at once to independent power, Not sunk like Scotland in the trying hour?-- See slothful Spaniards golden empires keep, And rule vast realms beyond the Atlantic deep; Must we alone surrender half our reign, And they their empires and their worlds retain? Britannia, rise--send Johnstone to Peru, Seize thy bold thunders and the war renew, Conquest or ruin--one must be thy doom, Strike--and secure a triumph or a tomb! But we, sad outcasts from our native reign, Driven from these shores, a poor deluded train, In distant wilds, conducted by despair, Seek, vainly seek, a hiding place from care! Even now yon' tribes, the foremost of the band, Croud to the ships and cover all the strand: Forc'd from their friends, their country, and their God, I see the unhappy miscreants leave the sod! Matrons and men walk sorrowing side by side And virgin grief, and poverty, and pride, All, all with aching hearts prepare to sail And late repentance that has no avail! While yet I stand on this forbidden ground I hear the death-bell of destruction sound, And threat'ning hosts with vengeance on their brow Cry, "Where are Britain's base adherents now?" These, hot for vengeance, by resentment led, Blame on our hearts the failings of the head; To us no peace, no favours they extend, Their rage no bounds, their hatred knows no end; In one firm league I see them all combin'd, We, like the damn'd, can no forgiveness find-- As soon might Satan from perdition rise, And the lost angels gain their vanish'd skies As malice cease in their dark souls to burn, Or we, once fled, be suffer'd to return. Curs'd be the union that was form'd with France, I see their lillies and the stars advance! Did they not turn our triumphs to retreats, And prove our conquests nothing but defeats?-- My heart misgives me as their chiefs draw near, I feel the influence of all potent fear, Henceforth must I, abandon'd and distrest, Knock at the door of pride, a beggar guest, And learn from years of misery and pain Not to oppose fair Freedom's cause again!-- One truth is clear from changes such as these,[240] Kings cannot always conquer when they please, Nor are they rebels who mere freedom claim, Conquest alone can ratify the name-- But great the task, their efforts to controul When genuine virtue fires the stubborn soul; The warlike beast in Lybian deserts plac'd To reign the master of the sun-burnt waste, Not tamely yields to bear a servile chain, Force may attempt it, and attempt in vain, Nervous and bold, by native valour led, His prowess strikes the proud invader dead, By force nor fraud from freedom's charms beguil'd He reigns secure the monarch of the wild. TANTALUS.

[238] _Freeman's Journal_, May 7, 1783. In the later editions it was entitled "Renegado Epistle." Text from the edition of 1786.

[239] Two added lines in the later editions:

"Amused with conquests, honours, riches, fame, Posts, titles, earldoms--and a deathless name."

[240]

"From nature constant still Kings hold not worlds or empires at their will."--_Ed. 1795._

MANHATTAN CITY[241]

A Picture

Fair mistress of a warlike State, What crime of thine deserves this fate? While other ports to Freedom rise, In thee that flame of honour dies.

With wars and horrors overspread, Seven years, and more, we fought and bled: Seized British hosts and Hessian bands, And all--to leave you in their hands.

While British tribes forsake our plains, In you, a ghastly herd[242] remains: Must vipers to your halls[243] repair; Must poison taint that purest air?

Ah! what a scene torments the eye: In thee, what putrid monsters lie! What dirt, and mud, and mouldering walls, Burnt domes, dead dogs, and funerals!

Those grassy banks, where oft we stood,[244] And fondly viewed the passing flood; There, owls obscene, that daylight shun, Pollute the waters, as they run.

Thus in the east--once Asia's queen-- Palmyra's tottering towers are seen; While through her streets the serpent feeds, Thus she puts on her mourning weeds!

Lo! Skinner there for Scotia hails The sweepings of Cesarean jails:[245] While, to receive the odious[246] freight, A thousand sable transports wait.

Had he been born in days of old When men with gods their 'squires[247] enrolled, Hermes had claimed his aid above, Arch-quibbler in the courts of Jove.[248]

O chief, that wrangled at the bar-- Grown old in less successful war; What crowds of miscreants round you stand, What vagrants bow to your command!

[241] In the edition of 1786 entitled "New-York, September, 1783."

[242] "A motley crew."--_Ed. 1786._

[243] "Through thy streets."--_Ib._

[244] "I stood."--_Ed. 1786._

[245]

"Lo! _Skinner_ there collects a crew, (Their temples brushed with Stygian dew)"--_Ib._

[246] "Ghastly."--_Ib._

[247] "Beasts."--_Ib._

[248]

"Like Nero's horse, he had been made A consul for some Nero's aid."--_Ib._

VERSES[249]

Occasioned by General Washington's arrival in Philadelphia, on his way to his seat in Virginia

_December, 1783_

1

The great, unequal conflict past, The Briton banish'd from our shore, Peace, heav'n-descended, comes at last, And hostile nations rage no more; From fields of death the weary swain Returning, seeks his native plain.

2

In every vale she smiles serene, Freedom's bright stars more radiant rise, New charms she adds to every scene, Her brighter sun illumes our skies; Remotest realms admiring stand, And hail the Hero of our land:

3

He comes!--the Genius of these lands-- Fame's thousand tongues his worth confess, Who conquer'd with his suffering bands, And grew immortal by distress: Thus calms succeed the stormy blast, And valour is repaid at last.

4

O Washington!--thrice glorious name, What due rewards can man decree-- Empires are far below thy aim, And sceptres have no charms for thee; Virtue alone has thy regard, And she must be thy great reward.

5

Encircled by extorted power, Monarchs must envy thy Retreat, Who cast, in some ill fated hour, Their country's freedom at their feet; 'Twas thine to act a nobler part For injur'd Freedom had thy heart.

6

For ravag'd realms and conquer'd seas Rome gave the great imperial prize, And, swell'd with pride, for feats like these, Transferr'd her heroes to the skies:-- A brighter scene your deeds display, You gain those heights a different way.

7

When Faction rear'd her snaky head,[250] And join'd with tyrants to destroy, Where'er you march'd the monster fled, Tim'rous her arrows to employ; Hosts catch'd from you a bolder flame, And despots trembled at your name.

8

Ere war's dread horrors ceas'd to reign, What leader could your place supply?-- Chiefs crowded to the embattled plain, Prepar'd to conquer or to die-- Heroes arose--but none like you Could save our lives and freedom too.

9

In swelling verse let kings be read, And princes shine in polish'd prose; Without such aid your triumphs spread Where'er the convex ocean flows, To Indian worlds by seas embrac'd, And Tartar, tyrant of the waste.

10

Throughout the east you gain applause, And soon the Old World, taught by you, Shall blush to own her barbarous laws, Shall learn instruction from the New: Monarchs shall hear the humble plea, Nor urge too far the proud decree.

11

Despising pomp and vain parade, At home you stay, while France and Spain The secret, ardent wish convey'd, And hail'd you to their shores in vain: In Vernon's groves you shun the throne, Admir'd by kings, but seen by none.

12

Your fame, thus spread to distant lands, May envy's fiercest blasts endure, Like Egypt's pyramids it stands, Built on a basis more secure; Time's latest age shall own in you The patriot and the statesman too.

13

Now hurrying from the busy scene, Where thy Potowmack's waters flow, May'st thou enjoy thy rural reign, And every earthly blessing know; Thus He[A] whom Rome's proud legions sway'd, Return'd, and sought his sylvan shade.

[A] Cincinnatus.--_Freneau's note._

14

Not less in wisdom than in war Freedom shall still employ your mind, Slavery shall vanish, wide and far, 'Till not a trace is left behind; Your counsels not bestow'd in vain Shall still protect this infant reign.

15

So when the bright, all-cheering sun From our contracted view retires, Though fools may think his race is run, On other worlds he lights his fires: Cold climes beneath his influence glow, And frozen rivers learn to flow.

16

O say, thou great, exalted name! What Muse can boast of equal lays, Thy worth disdains all vulgar fame, Transcends the noblest poet's praise, Art soars, unequal to the flight, And genius sickens at the height.

17

For states redeem'd--our western reign Restor'd by thee to milder sway, Thy conscious glory shall remain When this great globe is swept away, And all is lost that pride admires, And all the pageant scene expires.

[249] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, December 10, 1783. Washington arrived in Philadelphia from New York, December 8th. The earliest version of this poem remained practically unchanged in the later editions. The text follows the edition of 1786.

[250] "Bristly head."--_Ed. 1809._

RIVINGTON'S CONFESSIONS[251]

Addressed to the Whigs of New-York

_December 31, 1783_