The Poems of Philip Freneau, Poet of the American Revolution. Volume 1 (of 3)

How curs'd the man whom fate's unhappy doomConfines, unluckly, to his native home,How doubly curs'd by cross grain'd stars is he,Whom fate ties down, tho' struggling to be free!Heaven gave to man this vast extended round.No climes confine him and no oceans bound;Heaven gave him forest, mountain, vale and plain,And bade him vanquish, if he could, the main:Then, miser, hoard and heap thy riches still,View the sun rise above thy well known hill,Vile as the swine, enjoy thy gloomy den,Sweat in the compass of a squalid pen,'Till sick of life, on terms with death agree,And leave thy fortune, not thy heart, to me.So mus'd the bard who this rough verse indites,Asserting freedom, and his country's rights:Nor mus'd in vain; the fruitful musings broughtTo practice what in theory he thought;And gave desire, a keen desire, to roamA hundred or two hundred leagues from home.Where should he go? The eastern hills reply,Come, pensive traveller, with thy tearful eye,Come, and fair Boston from our summit see,No city sits so widow-like as she;Her trading navies spread their sails no more,Remotest nations cease to seek her shore,Deep are her weeds – in darkest sable clad,O come and view the Queen of all that's sad,Long are her nights, that yield no chearful sound,Like endless nights in tombs below the ground,Low burns her lamp before th' insulting rout;See, the lamp dies, and every light goes out!O Britain come, and, if you can, relentThis rage, that better might on Spain be spent.Touch'd with the mountain's melancholy prayer(Perhaps a mountain or Dame Fancy there)Could I refuse, since mutual grief endears,To seek New Albion's Lady all in tears?But doubts perplexing hover'd o'er my mind,Whether to chuse the aid of horse or wind;That suits the best with bards of place and state,This must be needy Rhymers compensate,Since Jove his ancient bounty has deny'd,And grants no modern Pegasus to ride.Dark was the night, the winds tempestuous roar'dFrom western skies, and warn'd us all aboard;Spread were the sails, the nimble vessel fliesO'er Neptune's bosom and reflected skies;Nor halt I here to tell you how she rovesO'er Tython's chambers and his coral groves.Let some prose wand'rer long-sun journals keep,I haste me, like the vessel, o'er the deep;Nor tire you with descriptions of the coast,New mountains gain'd or hills in æther lost, —The muse can only hint at scenes like these,Not stop to spend her poem in their praise:Three days we cut the brine with steady prore,The fourth beheld as on New Albion's shore.Guard me, ye heavens, shield this defenceless head,While travelling o'er these sanguine plains of dead;Nor only me, may heaven defend us allFrom the harsh rigour of King George's ball.Far in the depth of an aspiring wood,Where roll'd its waves a silver winding flood,Our weary vessel urg'd its darksome way,And safely anchor'd in a shady bay.Landing, I left the weather-beaten crew,And pensive rov'd as home-sick travellers do;When all at once before my wand'ring eyes,The Genius of the river seem'd to rise;Tall and erect, untaught by years to bow,But not a smile relax'd his clouded brow:His swarthy features vengeful deeds forebode,Terror march'd on before him as he trode;His rattling quiver at his shoulder hung,His pointed spear and glitt'ring helmet rung;The tall oaks trembled at the warlike shade,When thus the Genius of the water said:"O curious stranger, come from far to seeWhat grieves us all, but none so much as me!The free-born Genius of the woods am I,Who scorn to dwell in lands of slavery;I, tho' unseen, command the heart to dare,And spread the soul of freedom thro' the air,That each may taste and value if he can,This sovereign good that constitutes the man:Here, in the center of tyrannic sway,I spread my spirit and forbid dismay,To every bosom dart may influence round,Like the sun beams that fructify the ground;But waft a timorous and ignoble breathWhere conscience, conscience bids them shrink at death."O stranger, led by Heaven's supreme decree,Go, view the dire effects of tyranny,Strait to the town direct thy fated way,But heark attentive, listen and obey,I to thy care commit this magic vest,To guard thee 'midst yon' spires, a viewless guest;Whene'er its wreathy folds thy limbs embrace,No mortal eye thy roving step shall trace;Unseen as ghosts that quit the clay below,Yet seeing all securely thou shalt go.There watch the motions of the hostile lines,Observe their counsels, watch their deep designs;Trace all their schemes, the lawless strength surveyOf licens'd robbers howling for their prey."So spoke the Genius of the shaded wave,And then the vest of wondrous virtue gave,Which scarce my limbs enwrapt, when I beganTo move as ne'er before did mortal man.Light as the air, as free as winds I stray'd,Pierc'd firmest rocks and walls for prisons made,Soar'd high, nor ask'd the feeble aid of art,And trac'd all secrets but the human heart.Then to the town I held my hasty course,To Boston's town subdu'd by lawless force;Close by a centinel I took my stride,The wretch ne'er saw me tho' I graz'd his side:But for my vest, what pains had been my lot.What gibes, what sneers, reproaches, and what not?Or in their place the robbers had constrainedTo turn a Tory, which my heart disdained.Now stalk'd I on towards the dome of state,Where Gage resides, our western Potentate,A second Cortez,[a] sent by heaven's command,To murder, rage, and ravage o'er our land;A very Cortez – what's the difference?He wants his courage and he wants his sense;E'en Cortez would our tyrant's part disdain.That murder'd strangers; this his countrymen;In all the rest resemblance so exact,No glass Venetian could more true reflect.In all their rest, congenial souls combin'd,The scourge, the curse and scandal of our kind.Cortez was sent by Spain's black brotherhood,Whose faith is murder, whose religion blood;Sent unprovok'd, with his Iberian train,To fat the soil with millions of the slain:Poor Mexico! arouse thy sanguine head,Peru, disclose thy hosts of murder'd dead!Let your vast plains all white with human bones,That bleeding lie, and ask sepulchral stones,Force a dumb voice and echo to the sky,The blasting curse of papal tyranny;And let your rocks, and let your hills proclaim,That Gage and Cortez' errand is the same.Say then what cause this murd'rous band restrains?The want of power is made the monster's chains,The streams of blood his heart foredooms to spill,Is but a dying serpent's rage to kill:What power shall drive this serpent from our shore,This scorpion, swoln with carnage, death, and gore?Twelve was the hour, – infernal darkness reign'd,Low hung the clouds, the stars their light restrain'd:High in the dome a dire assembly sat,A stupid council on affairs of state;To their dim lamps I urg'd my fearless way,And marching 'twixt their guards without delay,Step'd boldly in, and safely veil'd from view,Stood in the center of the black-guard crew.First, Gage was there – a mimic chair of state,

[a] Hernando Cortez, one of the original conquerors of Spanish America, who depopulated many provinces, and slew several millions of the natives of this continent. See Father Barthol. Du Casis's History. —Freneau's note.

Here follow lines 72-131 above, with the following variations: line 75, "trident of the sea"; 76, "of artillery"; 79, "everlasting hum"; 80, "But senseless as the echo of a drum"; 81, "his ample chair supplies"; 82, "in studious guise"; 83, "to grant the world to see"; 87-90,

"His arm and pen of equal strength we call,This kills with dullness, just like that with hall."

91, "O conscious muse"; 93, "the Hero"; 95, "How should"; 97, "as Sol descending to repose"; 98, "the furious Captain"; 100, "'mongst those who find it"; 104, "His forked tongue hiss'd nothing else but Zounds!"; 105, "his army's fatal doom"; 106, "Ceas'd to beseech"; 107-108,

"(How could the skies refuse the pious manWhen half the pray'r was blood! and death! and damn!)"

110, "sleeveless errand to a distant land"; 113, "the Pandemonian crew"; 114, "a pension'd few"; 116, "In dreams of Indian gold and Indian state;" 118, "hungry as hell"; 121, "a secondary band"; 123, "assail'd the crowd"; 124, "Black as the horrors of a wintry cloud"; 125, "for doubts had place to grow"; 126, "or no"; 127-131,

Gage starts, rebounding from his ample seat,Swears thrice, and cries – "Ye furies, are we beat?Thrice are we drubb'd? – Pray gentles let me know,Whether it be the fault of fate or you?"He ceas'd, the anger flash'd from both his eyes,While Percy to his query thus replies, —"Let gods and men attest the words I say,Our soldiers flinch'd not from the dubious fray,Had each a head of tempered steel possest,A heart of brass, and admantine breast,More courage ne'er had urg'd them to the fray,More true-born valour made them scorn dismay.""Whoe'er," said Greaves, "their cowardice denies,Or Lord, or Knight, or 'Squire. I say he lies:How could the wretches help but marching on,When at their backs your swords were ready drawn,To pierce the man that flinch'd a single pace,From all hell's light'ning blazing in his face?Death on my life! My Lord, had I been there,I'd sent New-England's army thro' the air,Wrench'd their black hearts from this infernal brood,And turn'd their streams to Oliverian blood.

Here follow lines 131-200 above, with the following variations: 131, "but toys"; 132, "to be conquer'd thus"; 134, "this play-thing army"; 135, "Five thousand to five hundred"; 136, "And fourteen hundred"; 139, "Indeed," cries Gage, "'tis twice we have been beat"; 141, "You 'scap'd my very blood"; 147, "So spoke the Hero"; 148, "The brilliant Peer replies"; 149, 150, not in the original version; 151, "old Styx's shore"; 153, "his sable sail"; 154, "the lazy gale"; 157, "Farewell Quadrille, that helps out life's short span"; following 158,

"Farewell my steeds that stretch across the plain,More swift than navies bounding o'er the main."

160, "dull Medusa"; 163, 164, not in original version; 165-168,

"Since then, this truth is by mankind confess'd,That ev'ry Lord must yet be Pluto's guest."

170, "And leave his coursers starting for the race"; 172, "aloof from Styx"; 174, "Than leaky vessels;" 177, "thy ghastly sight restrains;" following 178,

"May no gay flowers or vernal blooming treeScent thy vile air or shade the face of thee!"

180, "nodded o'er Britannia's troops"; 183, "to your breast"; 185, "has fix'd us here"; 186, "Pray query"; 189, "fluent Percy"; 194, "our conduct down"; 196, "more brave"; 199, "my bloody stand." In place of lines 201-208, the 1775 version has the following:

'Till met the strength of each opposing force,Like blazing-stars in their etherial courseThat all on fire with rapid swiftness fly,Then clash and shake the concave of the sky.Twice we gave way, twice shunn'd the infernal rout,And twice you would have cry'd all hell's broke out.They fought like those who press for death's embrace,And laugh the grizly monarch in the face.Putnam's brave troops, your honor would have swore,Had robb'd the clouds of half their sulph'rous store,Call'd thunder down whence Jove his vengeance spreads,And drove it mix'd with lightning on our heads!What tho' Cop's-hill its black artillery play'd,Clouding the plains in worse than Stygian shade;Tho' floating batteries rais'd their dismal roar,Tho' all the navy bellow'd from the shore,They roar'd in vain, death claim'd from them no share,But helpless, spent their force in empty air.Alas! what scenes of slaughter I beheld,What sudden carnage flush'd the glutted field!Heaven gave the foe to thin my warlike train,For not a musket was discharg'd in vain;Yes, that short hour, while heaven forbore to smile,Made many widows in Britannia's isle,And shewing all what power supreme can do,Gave many orphans to those widows too.But Gage arouse, come lift thy languid head,Full fifty foes we pack'd off to the dead:Who feeling death, from their hot posts, withdrew,And Warren with the discontented crew —Blest be the hand that laid his head so low,Not fifty common deaths could please me so —But to be short, so quick our men came in,The hostile army was so very thin;We fix'd our bay'nets and resum'd the fray,Then forc'd their lines and made the dogs give way."Next rose Burgoyne and rais'd his brazen voice,And cry'd, "We have no reason to rejoice.Warren is dead – in that we all agree,Not fate itself is half so fix'd as he;But my suspecting heart bids me foredoomA thousand Warrens rising in his room —Heaven knows I left my native country's air,In full belief of things that never were;Deceiv'd by Grant, I've sail'd thus far in vain,And like a fool may now sail back again —Grant call'd them cowards – curse the stupid ass,Their sides are Iron and their hearts are brass —Cowards he said, and lest that should not do,He pawn'd his oath and swore that they were so:O, were he here, I'd make him change his note,Disgorge his lie or cut the rascal's throat.

Here follow lines 209-252 above, with the following variations: 209, "But Captains"; 213, 214, not in original version; 215, "to make his law obey'd"; 216, "ten thousand Russians to our aid"; 218, "form the ocean shore"; 219, "commands my heart"; 225, "strikes three"; 230, "I've eat no fresh provision, but in dreams"; 231, "to my eyes"; 232, "and chew"; 235, "hold a council"; 236, "some consultation how to filch their sheep"; 237, "Unnumbered cattle"; 238, "sheep an undefended prey"; 239, "fit victims"; 240, "if the Gods would act"; 241, "shall glad your hearts"; 242, "on beef we'll dine"; 247, "the chieftain's eye"; 251, 252, "to dullest slumbers deep, And in his arms embrac'd the powers of sleep."

In Boston's southern end there stands a treeLong sacred held to darling Liberty;Its branching arms with verdant leaves were crown'd,Imparting shade and grateful coolness round:To its fam'd trunk, invisible as air,I from the sleepy council did repair.And at its root, fair Freedom's shrine, I paidMy warmest vows, and blest the virtuous shade.Now shin'd the gay fac'd sun with morning light.All Nature joy'd exulting at the sight,When swift as wind, to vent their base-born rage,The Tory Williams[b] and the Butcher GageRush'd to the tree, a nameless number near,Tories and Negroes following in the rear —Each, axe in hand, attack'd the honour'd tree,Swearing eternal war with Liberty;Nor ceas'd their strokes, 'till each repeated woundTumbled its honours headlong to the ground;But e'er it fell, not mindless of its wrong,Aveng'd it took one destin'd head along.A Tory soldier on its topmost limb —The Genius of the shade look'd stern at him,And mark'd him out that self same hour to dine,Where unsnuff'd lamps burn low at Pluto's shrine,Then tripp'd his feet from off their cautious stand;Pale turn'd the wretch – he spread each helpless hand,But spread in vain, with headlong force he fell,Nor stopp'd descending 'till he stopp'd in Hell.Next, curious to explore, I wander'd whereOur injur'd countrymen imprison'd are,Some closely coop'd in the unwelcome town;Some in dark dungeons held ignobly down;Gage holds them there, and all recess denies,For 'tis in these the coward's safety lies;Were these once out, how would our troops consignEach licens'd robber to the gulphy brine,Or drive them foaming to the ships for aid,To beg of stormy Greaves to cannonade,And midnight vengeance point, like Vandeput,Voiding his hell-hounds to their devilish glut.A deed like that the muse must blush to name,And bids me stamp a coward on thy fame;Rage, ruffian, rage, nor lay thy thunder down,'Till all our Tories howl and flee the town.What is a Tory? Heavens and earth reveal!What strange blind monster does that name conceal?There! there he stands – for Augury prepare,Come lay his heart and inmost entrails bare,I, by the forelock, seize the Stygian hound;You bind his arms and bind the dragon down.Surgeon, attend with thy dissecting knife,Aim well the stroke that damps the springs of life,Extract his fangs, dislodge his teeth of prey,Clap in your pincers, and then tear away. —Soldier, stand by, the monster may resist.You draw your back-sword, and I'll draw my fist.Lo! mixt with air his worthless ghost has fled;Surgeon, his paleness speaks the monster dead;Part, part the sutures of his brazen scull,Hard as a rock, impenetrably dull.Hold out his brain, and let his brethren seeThat tortoise brain, no larger than a pea —Come, rake his entrails, whet thy knife again,Let's see what evils threat the next campaign,If ministerial force shall prove too great,Or if the Congress save their mighty freight:See on his breast, deep grav'd with iron pen,"Passive obedience to the worst of men."There to his lights direct thy searching eyes,"Slavery I love, and freedom I despise."View next his heart, his midriff just above,"To my own country I'll a traitor prove."Hard by his throat, for utterance meant, I spy,"I'll fight for tyrants and their ministry."His crowded guts unnumber'd scrawls contain,The scandal of our country and the bane;His bleeding entrails shew some great design,Which shall abortive prove, as I divine;But, freedom lost, nor danger do I see,If we can only with ourselves agree.How like St. George, invincible I stand,This home bred dragon stretch'd beneath my hand!Here may he lie, and let no traveller dareThe grass green hillock o'er his carcase rear,Or heap up piles of monumental stones,To shield from Phœbus and the stars his bones.This feat perform'd, I girt my magic gown,And march'd, unlicens'd, from the guarded town.To our fam'd camp I held my eager course,Curious to view the courage and the forceOf those, whose hearts are flush'd with freedom's flame,Who yet stand foremost in the field of fame,And deeply griev'd with their departing laws,Arm in conviction of a righteous cause.But e'er I reach'd the great encampment's boundThe friendly Genius on the way I found;Graceful he smil'd his azure locks he shook,While from his lips these flowing accents broke:"O mortal! guided by the fates and me,To view what thousands wish in vain to see;Now to my care the magic vest restore,Chearful return to what thou wast before,I to the shades this wond'rous mantle bear,And hang it safe in Fancy's temple there;Nor let its loss provoke thee to repine,The vest was Jove's, the will to lend it mine."So said the God, and blending with the light,I walk'd conspicuous and reveal'd to sight,No more impervious to the human view,But seeing all, and seen by others too.Now throngs on throngs on ev'ry side surround,Beneath the burthen groans the heaving ground,Those fam'd afar to drive the deadly shot,With truest level to the central spot;Those whom Virginia's vast dominion sends,From her chaste streams and intervening lands,And those who conscious of their country's claim,From Pennsylvania's happy climate came.These, and ten thousand more were scatter'd roundIn black battalions on the tented ground,Prepar'd, whene'er the trumpet's iron roarShould summon forth to all the woes of war,To hear with joy the loud alarming call,And rush perhaps to their own funeral.Just in the center of the camp aroseAn elm, whose shade invited to repose;Thither I rov'd, and at the cool retreatA brave, tho' rough-cast, soldier chanc'd to meet:No fop in arms, no feather on his head,No glittering toys the manly warrior had,His auburne face the least employ'd his care,He left it to the females to be fair;And tho't the men, whom shining trifles sway,But pageant soldiers for a sun-shine day.Marking my pensive step, his hand he laidOn his hard breast, and thus the warrior said:"Stranger, observe, behold these warlike fields,Mark well the ills, that civil discord yields:No crimes of our's this vengeful doom require,Our city ravag'd and our towns on fire,Troops pour'd on troops to Britain's lasting shame,That threaten all with universal flame;These are the kings, the monarchs of the sea,Exerting power in lawless tyranny,These, hot for power, and burning for command,Would rule the ocean and subject the land;But while this arm the strength of man retains,While true-born courage revels through my veins,I'll spill my blood yon' hostile force to quell,And lawless power by lawful strength repel;This rough, black cannon shall our cause defend,This black, rough cannon is my truest friend.This, arm'd with vengeance, belching death afar,Confus'd their thousands marching to the war:Yet, deeply griev'd, the tears bedew my eyes,For this, the greatest of calamities;That our keen weapons, meant for other ends,Should spend their rage on Britons, once our friends;But Liberty! – no price hast thou below,And e'en a Briton's life for thee must go.Come, then, my weapons, rise in Freedom's aid,Her steps attend and be her call obey'd;Let Carleton arm his antichristian might,And sprinkle holy-water 'ere he fight,And let him have, to shield his limbs from hurt,St. Stephen's breeches,[c] and St. Stephen's shirt,[c]Don Quixote's sword, the valiant knight of Spain,Which now may grace a madman's side again,St. Bernard's hose,[c] and lest we give too few,John Faustus' cap, and Satan's cloven shoe;(These precious relicks may defend their backs,And good Guy Johnson should, I think, go snacks)Nay, let him, ere the clashing armies cope,Procure a pardon from his friend the Pope,That if his soul should be dislodg'd from hence,Heaven may with all his scarlet sins dispense,And place him safe beyond the reach of ball,Where Abrah'm's bosom may be had for all.Some powerful cause disarms my heart of fear,And bids me bring some future battle near,When crowds of dead shall veil the ghastful plain,And mighty Lords like Percy, fly again;When every pulse with treble force shall beatAnd each exert his valour to retreat.And each shall wish his stature may be made,Long as it seems at Sol's descending shade:So tallest trees that tour toward the skies,From simple acorns take their humble rise.To see from death their boasted valour shrink,And basely fly, has sometimes made me think,The true great heart is often found remoteFrom the gay trappings of a scarlet coat.Stranger, in pity lend one pensive sigh,For all that dy'd and all that yet may die,If wars intestine long their rage retain,This land must turn a wilderness again.While civil discord plumes her snaky head,What streams of human gore most yet be shed,With sanguine floods shall Mystick's waves be dy'd,And ting'd the ocean, with her purple tide;Enough. – The prospect fills my heart with woe;Back to the heart my freezing spirits flow,No more remains; no more than this, that allMust fight like Romans, or like Romans fall:O heaven-born peace, renew thy wonted charms,Where Neptune westward spreads his aged arms;To hostile lands return an honour'd guest,And bless our crimson shores among the rest;'Till then may heaven assert our injur'd claims,And second every stroke Columbia aims,Direct our counsels and our leaders sway,Confound our foes and fill them with dismay.So shall past years, those happy years, return,And war's red lamp in Boston cease to burn:Hear and attest the warmest wish I bring,God save the Congress and reform the King!Long may Britannia rule our hearts again,Rule as she rul'd in George the Second's reign;May ages hence her growing empire see,And she be glorious, but ourselves be free,In that just scale an equal balance hold,And grant these climes a second age of gold."He ceas'd, and now the sun's declining beamWith fainter radiance shot a trembling gleam,The thickening stars proclaim'd the day expir'd,And to their tented mansions all retir'd.

[b] A notable Tory in Boston. —Freneau's note.

[c] Certain well known relicks among the Papists. —Freneau's note.

87

"Huns." —Ed. 1786.

88

"Slaughter'd by our Rifle-guns." —Ed. 1786.

89

"Proud of his soldiership, Burgoyne rated himself higher yet in his character as an author." —Trevelyan. He was a voluminous letter-writer, and his vivid and interesting letters, of which great numbers have been preserved, throw much light upon the period.

90

This expression belongs to Burgoyne rather than Howe. "Burgoyne took no pains to hide them [his sentiments] in any company. He exclaimed to the first colonist whom he met … 'Let us get in and we will soon find elbow-room.' The saying caught the public ear, and the time was not far distant when its author learned to his cost that it is more easy to coin a phrase than to recall it from circulation." —Trevelyan, Am. Rev.

91

"School-boy army." —Ed. 1786.

92

The first detachment of troops, which left Boston on the night of April 18th, consisted of 800 men; the reinforcements that met them just beyond Lexington consisted of 1,200 men. "On this eventful day, the British lost 273 of their number, while the Americans lost 93." —Fiske's American Revolution.