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POEMS  OF   PHILIP  FRENEAU 

VOLUME  II 


THE 


POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU 


POET  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION 


EDITED     FOR 

THE  PRINCETON  HISTORICAL  ASSOCIATION 


FRED  LEWIS  PATTEE 

OF  THE  PENNSYLVANIA  STATE  COLLEGE,  AUTHOR  OF  "  A  HISTORY  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE  : 
"  THE  FOUNDATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  "  ETC. 


VOLUME  II 


PRINCETON,  N.  J. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

1903 


p 


f 


Copyright  1902  by 
The  Princeton  University  Library 


C    S.  Robinson  &*  Co.    University  Press 
Princeton  N.  J. 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  II 

PART  II     Continued 
The  First  Poetic  Period.     1775 

PAGE 

GEORGE  THE  THIRD'S  SOLILOQUY    -  3 

SIR  HARRY'S  INVITATION      -  7 

DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  HIS  BRITANNIC  MAJESTY  AND  MR.  Fox  9 

THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP   -  18 

THE  SPY    -                                                                                  .  39 

PART   III 
Era  of  the  Freeman's  Journal.    1781-1790 

ON  THE  MEMORABLE  VICTORY  OF  PAUL  JONES     -        -        -  75 

AN  ADDRESS                                                   ....  gi 

A  NEW-YORK  TORY                                            -        -        -        -  84 

To  LORD  CORNWALLTS                                                           .  86 

A  LONDON  DIALOGUE       -                87 

LORD  CORNWALLIS  TO  SIR  HENRY  CLINTON      -  89 

THE  VANITY  OF  EXISTENCE     -                         -                -        -  91 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ON  THE  FALL  OF  GENERAL  EARL  CORNWALLIS  92 

To  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  BRAVE  AMERICANS                         -  101 

ARNOLD'S  DEPARTURE  *°3 

PLATO  TO  THEON      -                                                                  -  104 

PROLOGUE  TO  A  THEATRICAL  ENTERTAINMENT  108 

RUINS  OF  A  COUNTRY  INN                                                        -  no 

THE  ROYAL  ADVENTURER     -  112 

LORD  DUNMORE'S  PETITION                                                       -  114 

EPIGRAM                                          .  116 

A  SPEECH  BY  THE  KING  OF  BRITAIN 117 

RIVINGTON'S  LAST  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT  120 
LINES    OCCASIONED    BY    MR.    RIVINGTON'S    NEW    TITULAR 

TYPES      -  124 

LINES  ON  MR.  RIVINGTON'S  NEW   ENGRAVED  KING'S  ARMS  125 

A  PROPHECY,  WRITTEN  1782  -  126 

THE  ARGONAUT  OR  LOST  ADVENTURER  128 

THE  POLITICAL  BALANCE                                           -        -  130 

DIALOGUE  AT  HYDE  PARK  CORNER  140 

ON  THE  LATE  ROYAL  SLOOP  OF  WAR  GENERAL  MONK       -  142 

TRUTH  ANTICIPATED     -        -                         ....  i^ 

BARNEY'S  INVITATION       -                                                           -  147 

SONG  ON  CAPTAIN  BARNEY'S  VICTORY         -  149 

ON  SIR  HENRY  CLINTON'S  RECALL                                            -  153 

SIR  GUY  CARLETON'S  ADDRESS    -  156 

SCANDANAVIAN    WAR    SONG                                 159 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

THE  PROJECTORS  160 

ON  GENERAL  ROBERTSON'S  PROCLAMATION  -  -  -  -  162 

A  PICTURE  OF  THE  TIMES  165 

PRINCE  WILLIAM  HENRY'S  SOLILOQUY  -  167 

SATAN'S  REMONSTRANCE  -  169 

THE  REFUGEES'  PETITION  TO  SIR  GUY  CARLETON  -  172 

SIR  GUY'S  ANSWER  ...  !72 

To  A  CONCEALED  ROYALIST  -  -  174 
To  THE  CONCEALED  ROYALIST,  IN  ANSWER  TO  A  SECOND 

ATTACK  -  177 

To  THE  CONCEALED  ROYALIST  ON  HIS  FAREWELL  -  179 

To  THE  ROYALIST  UNVEILED  -  181 

To  SHYLOCK  AP-SHENKIN  -  185 

THE  PROPHECY  OF  KING  TAMMANY  -  187 

RIVINGTON'S  REFLECTIONS  -  190 

NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES,  JANUARY  i,  1783  197 

NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES,  JANUARY  8,  1783  -  198 

HUGH  GAINE'S  LIFE  -  201 
STANZAS  OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  BRITISH 

FROM  CHARLESTON,  DECEMBER  14,  1782  -  -  214 

ON  THE  BRITISH  KING'S  SPEECH  .  217 

A  NEW-YORK  TORY'S  EPISTLE  -  219 

MANHATTAN  CITY  223 

VERSES  OCCASIONED  BY  GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S  ARRIVAL 

IN  PHILADELPHIA 225 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

RIVINGTON'S  CONFESSIONS    -  229 

A  NEWS-MAN'S  ADDRESS  -      238 

NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES,  JANUARY  7,  1784      ....  240 

THE  HAPPY  PROSPECT      -  -      242 

THE  DYING  INDIAN,  TOMO-CHEQUI  243 

LINES  INTENDED  FOR  MR.  PEALE'S  EXHIBITION    -  -      246 

THE  HURRICANE  -  250 

To  THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  KING'S  WATER  WORKS  -      252 

LINES  WRITTEN  AT  PORT  ROYAL        -  253 

To  SIR  TOBY,  A  SUGAR  PLANTER 258 

ELEGY  ON  MR.  ROBERT  BELL     -  260 
ON  THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  SHIP  THAT  EXPLORED  THE  ROUT 

TO  INDIA  -      261 

THE  NEWSMONGER       -                                 -        .  263 

SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  -        -  -      269 

THE  PROGRESS  OF  BALLOONS      -  276 

ON  THE  EMIGRATION  TO  AMERICA  -      280 

THE  SEASONS  MORALIZED   -  282 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  COLONEL  LAURENS  -  -      283 

ON  THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  THINGS        -        -  284 

PEWTER-PLATTER  ALLEY  IN  PHILADELPHIA    -        -  -      287 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  GENERAL  JOSEPH  REED      -  288 

A  RENEGADO  EPISTLE      -                                                 -  -      290 

THE  AMERICAN  SIBERIA       -                        ....  293 

EPISTLE  TO  SYLVIUS                                  295 


CONTENTS  ix 

PAGE 

THE  DEPARTURE,  1785  298 

A  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS    -  -      301 

LITERARY  IMPORTATION       -  303 

THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  COMPLAINT        -  -      305 

THE  WILD  HONEY  SUCKLE  306 

ON  A  BOOK  CALLED  UNITARIAN  THEOLOGY  -      307 

To  ZOILUS     -  309 
ON  THE  LEGISLATURE  OF  GREAT-BRITAIN  PROHIBITING  THE 

SALE  OF  DR.  RAMSAY'S  HISTORY  -        -        -      312 

THE  DEATH  SONG  OF  A  CHEROKEE  INDIAN       -        -  313 
STANZAS  WRITTEN  AT  THE  FOOT  OF  MONTE  SOUFFRIERE    -      314 

ON  THE  CREW  OF  A  CERTAIN  VESSEL  317 

THE  BERMUDA  ISLANDS   -  318 

FLO  RIO  TO  AMANDA     -  319 

PHILANDER:  OR  THE  EMIGRANT      -  321 

THE  FAIR  SOLITARY     -  325 

AMANDA  IN  A  CONSUMPTION    -  -      326 

ELEGIAC  LINES     -                                -  328 

THE  INSOLVENT'S  RELEASE      -  -      329 

MAY  TO  APRIL      -  331 

To  AN  AUTHOR  -      332 

To  MISFORTUNE    -  335 

To  CRACOVIUS  PUTRIDUS  -      336 

SLENDER'S  JOURNEY      -  338 

THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA      -  ... 


CONTENTS 


THE  INDIAN  BURYING  GROUND  - 

THE  INDIAN  STUDENT 

THE  MAN  OF  NINETY 

ALCINA'S  ENCHANTED  ISLAND 

HORACE,  LIB.  I.  ODE  15 

A  SUBSCRIPTION  PRAYER 

EPISTLE  TO  THE  PATRIOTIC  FARMER 

PALEMON  TO  LAVINIA 

A  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS       .... 

ON  THE  PROSPECT  OF  A  REVOLUTION  IN  FRANCE 

To  A  DOG     - 

To  LYDIA 

To  CYNTHIA 

AMANDA'S  COMPLAINT       - 

HATTERAS 

ST.  CATHARINE'S 

To  MR.  CHURCHMAN     -  ... 

THE  PROCESSION  TO  SYLVANIA 

THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS    - 

SANGRADO'S  EXPEDITION  TO  SYLVANIA 

THE  DISTREST  THEATRE 

To  MEMMIUS 


PAGE 
369 

371 

374 
376 
377 
379 
380 

38i 
383 
385 
387 
387 
39i 
392 
394 
397 
398 

399 

401 
402 
404 
406 


PART   II    (Continued} 
THE   FIRST  POETIC   PERIOD 


VOL.  II 


THE 

POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU 


GEORGE  THE  THIRD'S  SOLILOQUY1 

What  mean  these  dreams,  and  hideous  forms  that 

rise 

Night  after  night,  tormenting  to  my  eyes — 
No  real  foes  these  horrid  shapes  can  be, 
But  thrice  as  much  they  vex  and  torture  me. 
5       How  cursed  is  he — how  doubly  cursed  am  I — 
Who  lives  in  pain,  and  yet  who  dares  not  die ; 
To  him  no  joy  this  world  of  Nature  brings, 
In  vain  the  wild  rose  blooms,  the  daisy  springs. 
Is  this  a  prelude  to  some  new  disgrace, 
10  Some  baleful  omen  to  my  name  and  race! — 
It  may  be  so — ere  mighty  Caesar  died 
Presaging  Nature  felt  his  doom,  and  sighed ; 

1From  the  edition  of  1809.  The  poem  was  first  published  in  the  May 
number  of  the  United  States  Magazine,  1779,  and  much  revised  and  enlarged 
for  the  edition  of  1786,  where  it  bore  the  title,  "  George  III.  His  Soliloquy 
for  1779."  This  earliest  version,  which  began  with  the  startling  line, 

"  O  Damn  this  Congress,  damn  each  upstart  state," 
was  made  up  as  follows,  the  numbering  referring  to  the  above  version : 
Lines  68-72,  47-64,  followed  by 

' '  Yet  rogues  and  savage  tribes  I  must  employ, 
And  what  I  cannot  conquer  will  destroy." 


4  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

A    bellowing  voice   through  midnight  groves    was 

heard, 
And  threatening  ghosts  at  dusk  of  eve  appeared— 

15   Ere  Brutus  fell,  to  adverse  fates  a  prey, 
His  evil  genius  met  him  on  the  way, 
And  so  may  mine! — but  who  would  yield  so  soon 
A  prize,  some  luckier  hour  may  make  my  own? 
Shame  seize  my  crown  ere  such  a  deed  be  mine — 

20  No — to  the  last  my  squadrons  shall  combine, 
And  slay  my  foes,  while  foes  remain  to  slay, 
Or  heaven  shall  grant  me  one  successful  day. 

Is  there  a  robber  close  in  Newgate  hemmed, 
Is  there  a  cut-throat,  fettered  and  condemned  ? 

25    Haste,  loyal  slaves,  to  George's  standard  come, 
Attend  his  lectures  when  you  hear  the  drum ; 
Your  chains  I  break — for  better  days  prepare, 
Come  out,  my  friends,  from  prison  and  from  care, 
Far  to  the  west  I  plan  your  desperate  sway, 

30  There  'tis  no  sin  to  ravage,  burn,  and  slay, 
There,  without  fear,  your  bloody  aims  pursue, 
And  shew  mankind  what  English  thieves  can  do. 
That  day,  when  first  I  mounted  to  the  throne, 
I  swore  to  let  all  foreign  foes  alone. 

Lines  23-32,  followed  by 

"  Ye  daring  hosts  that  croud  Columbia's  shore, 
Tremble  ye  traitors,  and  exult  no  more  ; 
Flames  I  shall  hurl  with  an  unceasing  hand, 
Till  fires  eternal  blaze  throughout  your  land, 
And  every  dome  and  every  town  expires, 
And  traitors  perish  in  the  unfeeling  fires  ; 
But  hold — though  this  be  all  my  soul's  desire, 
Will  my  own  towns  be  proof  to  rebel  fire. 
If  in  revenge  my  raging  foes  should  come, 
And  burn  my  London — it  would  strike  me  dumb, 
To  see  my  children  and  my  queen  in  tears, 
And  these  tall  piles  come  tumbling  round  my  ears, 


1781]  GEORGE  THE  THIRD'S  SOLILOQUY  5 

35   Through  love  of  peace  to  terms  did  I  advance, 

And  made,  they  say,  a  shameful  league  with  France.1 
But  different  scenes  rise  horrid  to  my  view, 
I  charged  my  hosts  to  plunder  and  subdue — 
At  first,  indeed,  I  thought  short  wars  to  wage 

40  And  sent  some  jail-birds  to  be  led  by  Gage,2 

For  'twas  but  right,  that  those  we  marked  for  slaves 
Should  be  reduced  by  cowards,  fools,  and  knaves; 
Awhile  directed  by  his  feeble  hand, 
Whose  troops  were  kicked  and  pelted  through  the 
land, 

45   Or  starved  in  Boston,  cursed  the  unlucky  hour 
They  left  their  dungeons  for  that  fatal  shore. 

France  aids  them  now,  a  desperate  game  I  play, 
And  hostile  Spain  will  do  the  same,  they  say ; 
My  armies  vanquished,  and  my  heroes  fled, 

50  My  people  murmuring,  and  my  commerce  dead, 
My  shattered  navy  pelted,  bruised,  and  clubbed, 
By  Dutchmen  bullied,  and  by  Frenchmen  drubbed, 
My  name  abhorred,  my  nation  in  disgrace, 
How  should  I  act  in  such  a  mournful  case ! 

55   My  hopes  and  joys  are  vanished  with  my  coin, 
My  ruined  army,  and  my  lost  Burgoyne ! 
What  shall  I  do — confess  my  labours  vain, 
Or  whet  my  tusks,  and  to  the  charge  again ! 

Would  to  its  inmost  caverns  fright  my  mind. 

And  stun  ourself,  the  boldest  of  mankind." 
Lines  73-76,  followed  by 

"  My  future  years  I  consecrate  to  woe, 

For  this  great  loss  my  soul  in  tears  shall  flow." 
Ending  with  lines  77-82. 

1  Alluding  to  the  peace  of  1761  and  the  forced  retirement  of  Pitt. 

2  "And  sent  a  scoundrel  by  the  name  of  Gage." — Ed.  1786. 


6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

But  where's  my  force  —  my   choicest   troops   are 
fled, 

60  Some  thousands  crippled,  and  a  myriad  dead — 
If  I  were  owned  the  boldest  of  mankind, 
And  hell  with  all  her  flames  inspired  my  mind, 
Could  I  at  once  with  Spain  and  France  contend, 
And  fight  the  rebels  on  the  world's  green  end  ? — 

65  The  pangs  of  parting  I  can  ne'er  endure, 

Yet  part  we  must,  and  part  to  meet  no  more ! 
Oh,  blast  this  Congress,  blast  each  upstart  State, 
On  whose  commands  ten  thousand  captains  wait ; 
From  various  climes  that  dire  Assembly  came, 

70  True  to  their  trust,  as  hostile  to  my  fame, 

'Tis  these,  ah  these,  have  ruined  half  my  sway, 
Disgraced  my  arms,  and  led  my  slaves  astray — 
Cursed  be  the  day  when  first  I  saw  the  sun, 
Cursed  be  the  hour  when  I  these  wars  begun : 

75   The  fiends  of  darkness  then  possessed  my  mind, 
And  powers  unfriendly  to  the  human  kind. 
To  wasting  grief,  and  sullen  rage  a  prey, 
To  Scotland's  utmost  verge  I'll  take  my  way, 
There  with  eternal  storms  due  concert  keep 

80  And  while  the  billows  rage,  as  fiercely  weep — 
Ye  highland  lads,  my  rugged  fate  bemoan, 
Assist  me  with  one  sympathizing  groan,1 
For  late  I  find  the  nations  are  my  foes, 
I  must  submit,  and  that  with  bloody  nose, 

85  Or,  like  our  James,  fly  basely  from  the  state, 
Or  share,  what  still  is  worse — old  Charles's  fate. 

"  O  let  the  earth  my  rugged  fate  bemoan, 
And  give  at  least  one  sympathizing  groan." 

—  United  States  Magazine, 


1781]  SIR  HARRY'S  INVITATION 


SIR  HARRY'S  INVITATION1 

Come,  gentlemen  Tories,  firm,  loyal,  and  true, 
Here  are  axes  and  shovels,  and  something  to  do ! 

For  the  sake  of  our  king, 

Come,  labour  and  sing; 

You  left  all  you  had  for  his  honour  and  glory, 
And  he  will  remember  the  suffering  Tory : 

We  have,  it  is  true, 

Some  small  work  to  do ; 

But  here's  for  your  pay 

Twelve  coppers  a  day, 

And  never  regard  what  the  rebels  may  say, 
But  throw  off  your  jerkins  and  labour  away. 

To  raise  up  the  rampart,  and  pile  up  the  wall, 
To  pull  down  old  houses  and  dig  the  canal, 

To  build  and  destroy — 

Be  this  your  employ, 

In  the  day  time  to  work  at  our  fortifications, 
And  steal  in  the  night  from  the  rebels  your  rations : 

The  king  wants  your  aid, 

Not  empty  parade ; 

Advance  to  your  places 

Ye  men  of  long  faces, 

Nor  ponder  too  much  on  your  former  disgraces, 
This  year,  I  presume,  will  quite  alter  your  cases. 

1  According  to  Frank  Moore's  Songs  and  Ballads  of  the  Revolution,  this 
poem  was  first  issued  as  a  ballad-sheet  in  1779.  It  was  reprinted  in  the  Free- 
man's Journal,  April  17,  1782,  and  was  published  in  the  author's  three  editions. 
The  text  follows  the  edition  of  1795. 

Sir  Henry  Clinton  was  left  in  command  of  New  York  City,  July  5,  1777, 
when  Howe  started  on  his  expedition  for  the  capture  of  Philadelphia.  Fre- 
neau's  poem  indicates  his  treatment  of  the  Tory  refugees. 


8  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Attend  at  the  call  of  the  fifer  and  drummer, 

The  French  and  the  Rebels  are  coming  next  summer, 

And  forts  we  must  build 

Though  Tories  are  kill'd— 

Then  courage,  my  jockies,  and  work  for  your  king, 
For  if  you  are  taken  no  doubt  you  will  swing — 

If  York  we  can  hold 

I'll  have  you  enroll'd ; 

And  after  you're  dead 

Your  names  shall  be  read 

As  who  for  their  monarch  both  labour'd  and  bled, 
And  ventur'd  their  necks  for  their  beef  and  their  bread. 

'Tis  an  honour  to  serve  the  bravest  of  nations, 
And  be  left  to  be  hang'd  in  their  capitulations — 

Then  scour  up  your  mortars 

And  stand  to  your  quarters, 
'Tis  nonsense  for  Tories  in  battle  to  run, 
They  never  need  fear  sword,  halberd,  or  gun ; 

Their  hearts  should  not  fail  'em, 

No  balls  will  assail  'em, 

Forget  your  disgraces 

And  shorten  your  faces, 
For  'tis  true  as  the  gospel,  believe  it  or  not, 
Who  are  born  to  be  hang'd,  will  never  be  shot. 


1781]  A    DIALOGUE 


A  DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  HIS  BRITANNIC 
MAJESTY  AND  MR.   FOX1 

Supposed  to  have  passed  about  the  time  of  the  approach  of  the  com- 
bined fleets  of  France  and  Spain  to  the  British  coasts,  August, 
1779. 

King  G. 

Good  master  Fox,2  your  counsel  I  implore, 
Still  George  the  third,  but  potent  George  no  more. 
By  North  conducted  to  the  brink  of  fate, 
I  mourn  my  folly  and  my  pride  too  late : 
The  promises  he  made,  when  once  we  met 
In  Kew's  gay  shades,*  I  never  shall  forget, 
That  at  my  feet  the  western  world  should  iall, 
And  bow  to  me  the  potent  lord  of  all — 
Curse  on  his  hopes,  his  councils  and  his  schemes, 
His  plans  of  conquest,  and  his  golden  dreams, 

*The  royal  gardens  at  Kew. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  First  published  in  the  United  States  Magazine,  December,  1779.     The 
text  follows  the  edition  of  1786. 

"  Early  in  June,  the  French  fleet  of  thirty-one  ships  of  the  line,  yielding 
to  Spanish  importunities,  put  to  sea  from  Brest  ;  and  yet  they  were  obliged  to 
wait  off  the  coast  of  Spain  for  the  Spaniards.  After  a  loss  of  two  months  in  the 
best  season  of  the  year,  a  junction  was  effected  with  more  than  twenty  ships  of 
war  under  the  command  of  ...  Count  Gaston  ;  and  the  combined  fleet,  the 
largest  force  that  had  ever  been  afloat,  sailed  for  the  British  Channel.  .  .  . 
The  united  fleet  rode  unmolested  by  the  British.  .  .  .  On  the  i6th  of  August 
they  appeared  off  Plymouth,  but  did  not  attack  the  town.  After  two  idle  days 
a  strong  wind  drove  them  to  the  west ;  when  the  gale  had  abated,  the  allies 
rallied,  returned  up  the  channel,  and  the  British  retreated  before  them.  No 
harmony  existed  between  the  French  and  Spanish  officers.  A  deadly  malady 
ravaged  the  French  ships  and  infected  the  Spanish.  The  combined  fleet  never 
had  one  chief.  The  French  returned  to  port  and  remained  there  ;  the  Span- 
iards sailed  for  Cadiz,  execrating  their  allies." — Bancroft. 

2  "  Charly  Fox."— Ed.  1795. 


10  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

These  have  allur'd  me  to  the  jaws  of  hell, 
By  Satan  tempted  thus  Iscariot  fell : 
Divested  of  majestic  pomp  I  come, 
My  royal  robes  and  airs  I've  left  at  home, 
Speak  freely,  friend,  whate'er  you  choose  to  say, 
Suppose  me  equal  with  yourself  to-day : 
How  shall  I  shun  the  mischiefs  that  impend  ? 
How  shall  I  make  Columbia*  yet  my  friend  ? 
I  dread  the  power  of  each  revolted  State, 
The  convex  East  hangs  balanc'd  with  their  weight. 
How  shall  I  dare  the  rage  of  France  and  Spain, 
And  lost  dominion  o'er  the  waves  regain  ? 
Advise  me  quick,  for  doubtful  while  we  stand, 
Destruction  gathers  o'er  this  wretched  land : 
These  hostile  squadrons  to  my  ruin  led, 
These  Gallic  thunders  fill  my  soul  with  dread, 
If  these  should  conquer — Britain,  thou  must  fall 
And  bend,  a  province,  to  the  haughty  Gaul : 
If  this  must  be — thou  earth,  expanding  wide, 
Unlucky  George  in  thy  dark  entrails  hide — 
Ye  oceans,  wrap  me  in  your  dark  embrace — 
Ye  mountains,  shroud  me  to  your  lowest  base — 
Fall  on  my  head,  ye  everlasting  rocks — 
But  why  so  pensive,  my  good  master  Fox  P1 

Fox 

While  in  the  arms  of  power  and  peace  you  lay, 

Ambition  led  your  restless  soul  astray. 

Possest  of  lands  extending  far  and  wide, 

And  more  than  Rome  could  boast  in  all  her  pride, 

*  America,  so  called,  by  poetical  liberty,  from  its  discoverer. — Freneau's 
note. 

1  Fox's  opposition  to  the  American  war  is  too  well  known  to  need  comment. 


1781]  A   DIALOGUE  II 

Yet,  not  contented  with  that  mighty  store, 

Like  a  true  miser,  still  you  sought  for  more; 

And,  all  in  raptures  for  a  tyrant's  reign, 

You  strove  your  subjects  dearest  rights  to  chain : 

Those  ruffian  hosts  beyond  the  ocean  sent, 

By  your  commands  on  blood  and  murder  bent, 

With  cruel  hand  the  form  of  man  defac'd, 

And  laid  the  toils  of  art  and  nature  waste. 

(For  crimes  like  these  imperial  Britain  bends, 

For  crimes  like  these  her  ancient  glory  ends) 

These  lands,  once  truest  to  your  name  and  race, 

Whom  the  wide  ocean's  utmost  waves  embrace, 

Your  just  protection  basely  you  deny'd, 

Their  towns  you  plunder'd,  and  you  burnt  beside. 

Virginia's  slaves,  without  one  blush  of  shame, 

Against  their  lords1  you  arm'd  with  sword  and  flame; 

At  every  port  your  ships  of  war  you  laid, 

And  strove  to  ruin  and  distress  their  trade, 

Yet  here,  ev'n  here,  your  mighty  projects  fail'd ; 

For  then  from  creeks  their  hardy  seamen  sail'd, 

In  slender  barques  they  cross'd  a  stormy  main, 

And  traffick'd  for  the  wealth  of  France  and  Spain ; 

O'er  either  tropic  and  the  line  they  pass'd, 

And,  deeply  laden,  safe  return'd  at  last: 

Nor  think  they  yet  had  bow'd  to  Britain's  sway, 

Though  distant  nations  had  not  join'd  the  fray, 

Alone  they  fought  your  armies  and  your  fleet, 

And  made  your  Clintons  and  your  Howes  retreat, 

And  yet  while  France  stood  doubting  if  to  join, 

Your  ships  they  captur'd,  and  they  took  Burgoyne ! 

How  vain  is  Briton's  strength,  her  armies  now 

Before  Columbia's  bolder  veterans  bow ; 

1  "  Their  cause."— Ed. 


12  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Her  gallant  veterans  all  our  force  despise, 
Though  late  from  ruin*  we  beheld  them  rise; 
Before  their  arms  our  strongest  bulwarks  fall, 
They  storm  the  rampart  and  they  scale  the  wall;| 
With  equal  dread,  on  either  service  sent, 
They  seize  a  fortress,  or  they  strike  a  tent. 

But  should  we  bow  beneath  a  foreign  yoke, 
And  potent  France  atchieve  the  humbling  stroke, 
Yet  every  power,  and  even  ourselves,  must  say, 
"Just  is  the  vengeance  of  the  skies  to-day:" 
For  crimes  like  ours  dire  vengeance1  must  atone; 
Forbear  your  fasts,  and  let  the  skies2  alone — 
By  cruel  kings,  in  fierce  Britannia  bred, 
Such  seas  of  blood  have  first  and  last  been  shed, 
That  now,  distrest  for  each  inhuman  deed, 
Our  turn  has  come — our  turn  has  come  to  bleed : 
Forbear  your  groans ;   for  war  and  death  array, 
March  to  the  foe,  and  give  the  fates  their  way. 
Can  you3  behold,  without  one  hearty  groan, 
The  fleets  of  France  superior  to  your  own  ? 
Can  you  behold,  without  one  poignant  pang, 
The  foreign  conquests  of  the  brave  D'Estaing  ?  :f 
North  is  your  friend,  and  now  destruction  knocks, 
Still  take  his  counsel,  and  regard  not  Fox. 

King  G. 

Ah !   speak  not  thus — your  words  will  break  my  heart, 
Some  softer  counsel  to  my  ears  impart, 
How  can  I  march  to  meet  the  insulting  foe, 
Who  never  yet  to  hostile  plains  did  go  ? 

*The  Year  ^l^.—Freneau's  note. 

t  Stoney  Point,  Powles  Hook,  &c.—  Ib. 

\  Grenada,  &c.— Ib. 

1  "  Sufferings."— Ed.  1809.       2  "  Gods."— Ed.  1795.       8  "  We."— Ib. 


1781]  A    DIALOGUE  13 

When  was  I  vers'd  in  battles  or  in  blood  ? 
When  have  I  fought  upon  the  faithless  flood  ? 
Much  better  could  I  at  my  palace  door 
Recline  and  hear  the  distant  cannons  roar. 
Generals  and  admirals  Britain  yet  can  boast, 
Some  fight  on  land,  and  some  defend  the  coast; 
The  fame  of  these  throughout  the  globe  resounds, 
To  these  I  leave  the  glory  and  the  wounds ; 
But  since  this  honour  for  no  blood  atones, 
I  must  and  will  be  careful  of  my  bones. 

What  pleasure  to  your  monarch  would  it  be, 
If  Lords  and  Commons  could  at  last  agree ; 
Could  North  with  Fox  in  firm  alliance  stand, 
And  Burke  with  Sandwich  shake  the  social  hand, 
Then  should  we  bring  the  rebels  to  our  feet, 
And  France  and  Spain  ingloriously  retreat, 
Her  ancient  glories  to  this  isle  return, 
And  we  no  more  for  lost  Columbia  mourn. 

Fox 

Alliance! — what!* — Your  Highness  must  be  mad: 
Say,  what  alliance  can  with  these  be  had  ? 
Can  lambs  and  wolves  in  social  bands  ally  ? 
When  these  prove  friendly,  then  will  North  and  I. 
Alliance !   no — I  curse  the  horrid  thought ; 
Ally  with  those  their  country's  ruin  sought ! 
Who  to  perdition  sold  their  native  land, 
Leagu'd  with  the  foe,  a  close  connected  band — 
Ally  with  these ! — I  speak  it  to  your  face — 
Alliance  here  is  ruin  and  disgrace. 
Angels  and  devils  in  such  bonds  unite, 
So  hell  is  ally'd  to  the  realms  of  light — 

*  Alliance  ! — what,  &c.     See  his  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons,  June 
22,  1779,  in  answer  to  Lord  Nugent. — Frenearfs  note. 


14  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Let  North  or  Germaine1  still  my  prayers  deride, 
Let  turn-coat  Johnston*  take  the  courtly  side, 
Even  Pitt,  if  living,  might  with  these  agree ; 
But  no  alliance  shall  they  have  with  me. 

But  since  no  shame  forbids  your  tongue  to  own 
A  royal  coward  fills  Britannia's  throne ; 
Since  our  best  chiefs  must  fight  your  mad  campaigns, 
And  be  disgrac'd  at  last  by  him  who  reigns,  f 
No  wonder,  heaven  !   such  ill  success  attends ! 
No  wonder  North  and  Mansfield  are  your  friends ! 
Take  my  advice,  with  these  to  battle  go, 
These  book-learned  heroes  may  confront  the  foe — 
Those  first  who  led  us  tow'rds  the  brink  of  fate, 
Should  still  be  foremost  when  at  Pluto's  gate ; 
Let  them,  grown  desperate  by  our  run  of  woes, 
Collect  new  fury  from  this  host  of  foes, 
And,  ally'd  with  themselves,  to  ruin  steer, 
The  just  conclusion  of  their  mad  career. 

King  G. 

No  comfort  in  these  cruel  words  I  find — 
Ungrateful  words  to  my  tormented  mind ! 
With  me  alone  both  France  and  Spain  contend, 
And  not  one  nation  will  be  call'd  my  friend : 
Unpitying  now  the  Dutchman  sees  me  fall, 
The  Russian  leaves  me  to  the  haughty2  Gaul, 
The  German,  grown  as  brutish3  as  the  Dane, 
Consigns  my  carcase  to  the  jaws  of  Spain. 

*  Let  turn-coat  Johnston,  &c.  The  worthy  British  commissioner,  of  brib- 
ing memory,  who,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  guineas,  belied  his  own  conscience,  and 
sided  with  the  majority. — Frenearfs  note. 

f  And  be  disgrac'd  at  last  by  him  who  reigns.  As  Gage,  the  Howes, 
Burgoyne,  &c.,  for  not  doing  impossibilities. — Ib. 

1  "  Sackmlle:'—Ed.  1795.       *  "  Thundering. "—Ib.      s  "  Careless."— 72. 


1781]  A    DIALOGUE  15 

Where  are  the  hosts  they  promis'd  me  of  yore, 

When  rich  and  great  they  heard  my  thunders  roar, 

While  yet  confess'd  the  master  of  the  sea, 

The  Germans  drain'd  their  wide  domain  for  me, 

And  aiding  Britain  with  a  friendly  hand, 

Helpt  to  subdue  the  rebels  and  their  land  ?* 

Ah!   rebels,  rebels !   insolent  and  mad  ; 

My  Scottish  rebels  were  not  half  so  bad,f 

They  soon  submitted  to  superior  sway ;  $ 

But  these  grow  stronger  as  my  hosts  decay : 

What  hosts  have  perish'd  on  their  hostile  shore! 

They  went  for  conquest,  but  returned  no  more. 

Columbia,  thou  a  friend  in  better  times ! 

Lost  are  to  me  thy  pleasurable  climes. 

You  wish  me  buried  in  eternal  night, 

You  curse  the  day  when  first  I  saw  the  light — 

Thy1  commerce  vanish'd,  hostile  nations  share, 

And  thus  you  leave  me2  naked,  poor,  and  bare; 

Despised  by  those  who  should  my3  cause  defend, 

And  helpless  left  without  one  pitying  friend. 

These  dire  afflictions  shake  my  changeful  throne, 

And  turn  my  brain — a  very  idiot  grown  : 

Of  all  the  isles,  the  realms  with  which  I  part, 

Columbia  sits  the  heaviest  at  my  heart, 

She,  she  provokes  the  deepest,  heaviest  sigh, 

And  makes  me  doubly  wretched  ere  I  die. 

Some  dreary  convent's  unfrequented  gloom 
(Like  Charles  of  Spain) §  had  better  be  my  doom: 

*  The  Hessians,  Waldeckers,  Anspachers,  &c. — Freneau^s  note. 

f  The  Year  1745.— /£.  J  Culloden.—  Ib. 

\Like  Charles  of  Spain,  &c.  Charles  V.  who,  in  1556,  resigning  the 
crown  to  his  son  Philip  II.,  shut  himself  up  in  the  monastery  of  St.  Just,  in 
Spain,  where  he  died  two  years  after. — Ib. 

i  "  Our."— Ed.  1793.  2  "  Us."— Ib.  3  "  Our."— Ib. 


16  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

There  while  in  absence  from  my  crown  I  sigh, 
The1  Prince  of  Wales  these  ills  may  rectify; 
A  happier  fortune  may  his  crown  await, 
He  yet  perhaps  may  save  this  sinking  state. 
I'll  to  my  prayers,  my  bishops  and  my  beads,* 
And  beg  God's  pardon  for  my  heinous  deeds; 
Those  streams  of  blood,  that,  spilt  by  my  command, 
Call  out  for  vengeance  on  this  guilty  land. 

Fox 

You  ask  for  mercy — can  you  cry  to  God,2 
Who  had  no  mercy  on  poor  parson  Dodd  ?f 
No  inward  image  of  the  power  divine, 
No  gentle  feelings  warm  that  soul  of  thine ; 
Convents  you  have — no  need  to  look  for  new, 
Your  convents  are  the  brothel  and  the  stew. 
One  horrid  act  \  disgrac'd  old  Jesse's  son, 
And  that  one  blemish  have  you  hit  upon ; 
You  seiz'd  an  English  Quaker's  tempting  wife,  § 
And  push'd  him  off  to  lose  his  sneaking  life ; 

*  P II  to  my  prayers,  my  bishops,  and  my  beads.  This  is  not  said  without 
foundation,  as  he  established  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in  Canada,  in  1775. 
— Freneau 's  note. 

\  Dr.  William  Dodd,  whose  history  is  well  known. — Ib. 

\  In  the  case  of  Uriah. — Ib. 

$  "  The  connection  between  vice  and  meanness  is  a  fit  object  for  satire  ; 
"  but  when  the  satire  is  a  fact,  it  cuts  with  the  irresistible  power  of  a  diamond. 
"  If  a  Quaker,  in  defence  of  his  just  rights,  his  property,  and  the  chastity 
"  of  his  house,  takes  up  a  musket,  he  is  expelled  the  meeting;  but  the  present 
"  king  of  England,  who  seduced  and  took  into  keeping  a  sister  of  their  society, 
"  is  reverenced  and  supported  with  repeated  testimonies,  while  the  friendly 
"  noodle  from  whom  she  was  taken,  (and  who  is  now  in  this  city)  continues  a 
"  drudge  in  the  service  of  his  rival,  as  if  proud  of  being  cuckolded  by  a 
"creature  called  a  king." — American.  Crisis,  No.  3,  Printed  at  Philadelphia, 

. -[Ib. 

1  "  George." — Ed.  1795. 

2  This  and  the  following  seventeen  lines  omitted  from  the  edition  of  1795. 


1781]  A    DIALOGUE  I/ 

Even  to  that  coast  where  freedom  sent  to  quell, 
All  in  their  pride  the  flower  of  Britain  fell. 
But  ruin'd  was  your  scheme,  the  plan  was  vain, 
For  when  were  Quakers  in  a  battle  slain  ? 
As  well  might  Whales  by  closing  waves  expire, 
Or  Salamanders  perish  in  the  fire. 

When    France   and    Spain    are   thund'ring   at  your 

doors, 

Is  this  a  time  for  kings  to  lodge  with  whores  ? 
In  one  short  sentence  take  my  whole  advice, 
(It  is  no  time  to  flatter  and  be  nice) 
With  all  your  soul  for  instant  peace  contend, 
Thus  shall  you  be  your  country's  truest  friend — 
Peace,  heavenly1  peace,  may  stay  your  tottering  throne, 
But  wars  and  death  and  blood  can  profit  none. 
To  Russia2  send,  in  humblest  guise  array'd, 
And  beg  her  intercession,  not  her  aid : 
Withdraw  your  armies  from  th'  Americ'  shore, 
And  vex  Columbia3  with  your  fleets  no  more; 
Vain  are  their  conquests,  past  experience  shews, 
For  what  this  hour  they  gain,  the  next  they  lose. 
Implore  the  friendship  of  these  injur'd  States; 
No  longer  strive  against  the  stubborn  fates. 
Since  heav'n  has  doom'd  Columbia  to  be  free, 
What  is  her  commerce  and  her  wealth  to  thee  ? 
Since  heav'n  that  land  of  promise  has  denied, 
Regain  by  prudence4  what  you  lost  by  pride: 
Immediate  ruin  each  delay  attends, 
Imperial  Britain  scarce  her  coast  defends; 
Hibernia  sees  the  threat'ning  foes  advance, 
And  feels  an  ague  at  the  thoughts  of  France ; 

1  "  Instant. "—,£</.  7795.  2  "  Catharine:'— Ib. 

3  "  Her  oceans." — Ib.  *  "  Cunning." — Ed.  1809. 


18  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Jamaica  mourns  her  half-protected  state, 

Barbadoes  soon  may  share  Grenada's  fate, 

And  every  isle  that  owns  your  reign  to-day, 

May  bow  to-morrow  to  great  Louis'1  sway. 

Yes — while  I  speak,  your  empire,  great  before, 

Contracts  its  limits,  and  is  great  no  more. 

Unhappy  prince  !   what  madness  has  possest, 

What  worse  than  madness  seiz'd  thy  vengeful  breast, 

When  white-rob'd  peace  before  thy  portal  stood, 

To  drive  her  hence,  and  stain  the  world  with  blood  ? 

For  this  destruction  threatens  from  the  skies ; 

See  hostile  navies  to  our  ruin  rise ; 

Our  fleets  inglorious  shun  the  force  of  Spain, 

And  France  triumphant  stems  the  subject  main. 


THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP2 

Written  1780 

CANTO  I. — THE  CAPTURE 

A  mid  these  ills  no  tyrant  dared  refuse 
My  right  to  pen  the  dictates  of  the  muse, 
To  paint  the  terrors  of  the  infernal  place, 
And  fands  from  Europe,  insolent  as  base. 

Assist  me,  Clio !   while  in  verse  I  tell 
The  dire  misfortunes  that  a  ship  befell, 
Which  outward  bound,  to  St.  Eustatia's  shore, 
Death  and  disaster  through  the  billows  bore. 

From  Philadelphia's  crowded  port  she  came ; 
For  there  the  builder  plann'd  her  lofty  frame, 

1  "  The  Frenchman's."—^.  7795. 

2  First  published  in  Philadelphia,  by  Francis  Bailey,  in  1781.     Freneau 
wrote  the  poem  during  the  summer  of  1780,  immediately  after  his  exchange. 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  19 

With  wond'rous  skill,  and  excellence  of  art 
He  form'd,  dispos'd,  and  order'd  every  part, 
With  joy  beheld  the  stately  fabric  rise 
To  a  stout  bulwark  of  stupendous  size, 
'Till  launch'd  at  last,  capacious  of  the  freight, 
He  left  her  to  the  Pilots,  and  her  fate. 

First  from  her  depths  the  tapering  masts  ascend, 
On  whose  firm  bulk  the  transverse  yards  depend, 
By  shrouds  and  stays  secur'd  from  side  to  side 
Trees  grew  on  trees,  suspended  o'er  the  tide, 
Firm  to  the  yards  extended,  broad  and  vast 
They  hung  the  sails  susceptive  of  the  blast, 
Far  o'er  the  prow  the  lengthy  bowsprit  lay, 
Supporting  on  the  extreme  the  taught  Gib-stay, 
Twice  ten  six  pounders  at  their  port  holes  plac'd 
And  rang'd  in  rows,  stood  hostile  in  the  waist : 
Thus  all  prepar'd,  impatient  for  the  seas, 
She  left  her  station  with  an  adverse  breeze, 
This  her  first  outset  from  her  native  shore, 
To  seas  a  stranger,  and  untry'd  before. 

From  the  bright  radiance  that  his  glories  spread 
Ere  from  the  east  gay  Phoebus  lifts  his  head, 
From  the  sweet  morn,  a  kindred  name  she  won, 
Aurora  call'd,  the  offspring  of  the  sun, 
Whose  form  projecting,  the  broad  prow  displays, 
Far  glittering  o'er  the  wave,  a  mimic  blaze. 

The  gay  ship  now,  in  all  her  pomp  and  pride, 
With  sails  expanded,  flew  along  the  tide ; 

The  original  manuscript  is  in  the  possession  of  Miss  Adele  M.  Sweeney,  a 
great-granddaughter  of  the  poet.     The  text  follows  the  edition  of  1786. 

On  May  25,  1780,  Freneau,  in  the  ship  Aurora,  started  from  Philadelphia 
as  a  passenger  for  Santa  Cruz.  The  next  day,  while  off  Cape  Henlopen, 
the  ship  was  captured  by  the  British  frigate  Iris,  Capt.  Hawkes,  and  the  crew 
and  passengers  sent  to  New  York  as  prisoners.  For  Freneau 's  account  of  his 
capture  and  captivity,  see  Some  Account  of  the  Capture  of  the  Ship  Aurora, 
1899. 


20  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

'Twas  thy  deep  stream,  O  Delaware,  that  bore 
This  pile  intended  for  a  southern  shore, 
Bound  to  those  isles  where  endless  summer  reigns, 
Fair  fruits,  gay  blossoms,  and  enamell'd  plains; 
Where  sloping  lawns  the  roving  swain  invite, 
And  the  cool  morn  succeeds  the  breezy  night, 
Where  each  glad  day  a  heaven  unclouded  brings 
And  sky-topt  mountains  teem  with  golden  springs. 

From  Cape  Henlopen,  urg'd  by  favouring  gales, 
When  morn  emerg'd,  we  sea-ward  spread  our  sails, 
Then  east-south-east  explor'd  the  briny  way, 
Close  to  the  wind,  departing  from  the  bay ; 
No  longer  seen  the  hoarse  resounding  strand, 
With  hearts  elate  we  hurried  from  the  land, 
Escap'd  the  dangers  of  that  shelvy  ground, 
To  sailors  fatal,  and  for  wrecks  renown'd. — 

The  gale  increases  as  we  stem  the  main, 
Now  scarce  the  hills  their  sky-blue  mist  retain, 
At  last  they  sink  beneath  the  rolling  wave 
That  seems  their  summits,  as  they  sink,  to  lave ; 
Abaft  the  beam  the  freshening  breezes  play, 
No  mists  advancing  to  deform  the  day, 
No  tempests  rising  o'er  the  splendid  scene, 
A  sea  unruffled,  and  a  heaven  serene. 

Now  Sol's  bright  lamp,  the  heav'n  born  source  of  light, 
Had  pass'd  the  line  of  his  meridian  height, 
And  westward  hung — retreating  from  the  view 
Shores  disappear'd,  and  every  hill  withdrew, 
When,  still  suspicious  of  some  neighbouring  foe, 
Aloft  the  Master  bade  a  Seaman  go, 
To  mark  if,  from  the  mast's  aspiring  height 
Through  all  the  round  a  vessel  came  in  sight. 

Too  soon  the  Seaman's  glance,  extending  wide, 
Far  distant  in  the  east  a  ship  espy'd, 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  21 

Her  lofty  masts  stood  bending  to  the  gale, 
Close  to  the  wind  was  brac'd  each  shivering  sail ; 
Next  from  the  deck  we  saw  the  approaching  foe, 
Her  spangled  bottom  seem'd  in  flames  to  glow 
When  to  the  winds  she  bow'd  in  dreadful  haste 
And  her  lee-guns  lay  delug'd  in  the  waste : 
From  her  top-gallant  flow'd  an  English  Jack ; 
With  all  her  might  she  strove  to  gain  our  track, 
Nor  strove  in  vain — with  pride  and  power  elate, 
Wing'd  on  by  hell,  she  drove  us  to  our  fate; 
No  stop  no  stay  her  bloody  crew  intends, 
(So  flies  a  comet  with  its  host  of  fiends) 
Nor  oaths,  nor  prayers  arrest  her  swift  career, 
Death  in  her  front,  and  ruin  in  her  rear. 

Struck  at  the  sight,  the  Master  gave  command 
To  change  our  course,  and  steer  toward  the  land — 
Swift  to  the  task  the  ready  sailors  run, 
And  while  the  word  was  utter'd,  half  was  done : 
As  from  the  south  the  fiercer  breezes  rise 
Swift  from  her  foe  alarm'd  Aurora  flies, 
With  every  sail  extended  to  the  wind 
She  fled  the  unequal  foe  that  chac'd  behind ; 
Along  her  decks  dispos'd  in  close  array 
Each  at  its  port,  the  grim  artillery  lay, 
Soon  on  the  foe  with  brazen  throat  to  roar ; 
But,  small  their  size,  and  narrow  was  their  bore ; 
Yet  faithful  they  their  destin'd  station  keep 
To  guard  the  barque  that  wafts  them  o'er  the  deep, 
Who  now  must  bend  to  steer  a  homeward  course 
And  trust  her  swiftness  rather  than  her  force, 
Unfit  to  combat  with  a  powerful  foe ; 
Her  decks  too  open,  and  her  waist  too  low. 

While  o'er  the  wave  with  foaming  prow  she  flies, 
Once  more  emerging,  distant  landscapes  rise ; 


22  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

High  in  the  air  the  starry  streamer  plays, 
And  every  sail  its  various  tribute  pays : 
To  gain  the  land  we  bore  the  weighty  blast ; 
And  now  the  wish'd  for  cape  appeared  at  last; 
But  the  vext  foe,  impatient  of  delay, 
Prepar'd  for  ruin,  press'd  upon  her  prey ; 
Near,  and  more  near,  in  aweful  grandeur  came 
The  frigate  Iris,  not  unknown  to  fame ; 
Iris  her  name,  but  Hancock  once  she  bore, 
Fram'd  and  completed  on  New  Albion's  shore, 
By  Manly  lost,  the  swiftest  of  the  train 
That  fly  with  wings  of  canvas  o'er  the  main. 

Now,  while  for  combat  some  with  zeal  prepare, 
Thus  to  the  heavens  the  Boatswain  sent  his  prayer: 
"List,  all  ye  powers  that  rule  the  skies  and  seas! 
"Shower  down  perdition  on  such  thieves  as  these, 
"Fate,  strike  their  hearts  with  terror  and  dismay, 
"And  sprinkle  on  their  powder  salt-sea  spray! 
"May  bursting  cannon,  while  his  aim  he  tries, 
"Destroy  the  Gunner,  and  be-damn  his  eyes — 
"The  chief  who  awes  the  quarter-deck,  may  he, 
"Tripp'd  from  his  stand,  be  tumbled  in  the  sea. 
"  May  they  who  rule  the  round-top's  giddy  height 
"  Be  canted  headlong  to  perpetual  night; 
"May  fiends  torment  them  on  a  leeward  coast, 
"And  help  forsake  them  when  they  want  it  most — 
"From  their  wheel'd  engines  torn  be  every  gun — 
"And  now,  to  sum  up  every  curse  in  one, 
"May  latent  flames,  to  save  us,  intervene, 
"And  hell-ward  drive  them  from  their  magazine!  " — 

The  Frigate  now  had  every  sail  unfurl'd, 
And  rush'd  tremendous  o'er  the  wat'ry  world ; 
Thus  fierce  Pelides,  eager  to  destroy, 
Chac'd  the  proud  Trojan  to  the  gates  of  Troy — 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  23 

Swift  o'er  the  waves  while  hostile  they  pursue 
As  swiftly  from  their  fangs  Aurora  flew, 
At  length  Henlopen's  cape  we  gain'd  once  more, 
And  vainly  strove  to  force  the  ship  ashore ; 
Stern  fate  forbade  the  barren  shore  to  gain, 
Denial  sad,  and  source  of  future  pain ! 
For  then  the  inspiring  breezes  ceas'd  to  blow, 
Lost  were  they  all,  and  smooth  the  seas  below ; 
By  the  broad  cape  becalm'd,  our  lifeless  sails 
No  longer  swell'd  their  bosoms  to  the  gales ; 
The  ship,  unable  to  pursue  her  way, 
Tumbling  about,  at  her  own  guidance  lay, 
No  more  the  helm  its  wonted  influence  lends, 
No  oars  assist  us,  and  no  breeze  befriends ; 
Meantime  the  foe,  advancing  from  the  sea, 
Rang'd  her  black  cannon,  pointed  on  our  lee, 
Then  up  she  luff'd,  and  blaz'd  her  entrails  dire, 
Bearing  destruction,  terror,  death  and  fire. 

Vext  at  our  fate,  we  prim'd  a  piece,  and  then 
Return'd  the  shot,  to  shew  them  we  were  men. 
Dull  night  at  length  her  dusky  pinions  spread, 
And  every  hope  to  'scape  the  foe  was  fled ; 
Close  to  thy  cape,  Henlopen,  though  we  press'd, 
We  could  not  gain  thy  desert,  dreary  breast ; 
Though  ruin'd  trees  beshroud  thy  barren  shore 
With  mounds  of  sand  half  hid,  or  cover'd  o'er, 
Though  ruffian  winds  disturb  thy  summit  bare, 
Yet  every  hope  and  every  wish  was  there ; 
In  vain  we  sought  to  reach  the  joyless  strand, 
Fate  stood  between,  and  barr'd  us  from  the  land. 

All  dead  becalm'd,  and  helpless  as  we  lay, 
The  ebbing  current  forc'd  us  back  to  sea, 
While  vengeful  Iris,  thirsting  for  our  blood, 
Flash'd  her  red  lightnings  o'er  the  trembling  flood, 


24  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

At  every  flash  a  storm  of  ruin  came 

'Till  our  shock'd  vessel  shook  through  all  her  frame — 

Mad  for  revenge,  our  breasts  with  fury  glow 

To  wreak  returns  of  vengeance  on  the  foe ; 

Full  at  his  hull  our  pointed  guns  we  rais'd, 

His  hull  resounded  as  the  cannon  blaz'd ; 

Through  his  main  top-sail  one  a  passage  tore, 

His  sides  re-echo'd  to  the  dreadful  roar, 

Alternate  fires  dispell'd  the  shades  of  night — 

But  how  unequal  was  this  daring  fight! 

Our  stoutest  guns  threw  but  a  six-pound  ball, 

Twelve  pounders  from  the  foe  our  sides  did  maul, 

And,  while  no  power  to  save  him  intervenes, 

A  bullet  struck  our  captain  of  Marines ; 

Fierce,  though  he  bid  defiance  to  the  foe 

He  felt  his  death  and  ruin  in  the  blow, 

Headlong  he  fell,  distracted  with  the  wound, 

The  deck  distain'd,  and  heart  blood  streaming  round. 

Another  blast,  as  fatal  in  its  aim, 

Wing'd  by  destruction,  through  our  rigging  came, 

And,  whistling  tunes  from  hell  upon  its  way, 

Shrouds,  stays,  and  braces  tore  at  once  away, 

Sails,  blocks,  and  oars  in  scattered  fragments  fly — 

Their  softest  language  was — submit,  or  die  / 

Repeated  cries  throughout  the  ship  resound ; 
Now  every  bullet  brought  a  different  wound ; 
'Twixt  wind  and  water,  one  assail'd  the  side, 
Through  this  aperture  rush'd  the  briny  tide — 
'Twas  then  the  Master  trembled  for  his  crew, 
And  bade  thy  shores,  O  Delaware,  adieu! — 
And  must  we  yield  to  yon'  destructive  ball, 
And  must  our  colours  to  these  ruffians  fall! — 
They  fall! — his  thunders  forc'd  our  pride  to  bend, 
The  lofty  topsails  with  their  yards  descend, 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  25 

And  the  proud  foe,  such  leagues  of  ocean  pass'd, 
His  wish  completed  in  our  woe  at  last. 

Convey'd  to  York,  we  found,  at  length,  too  late, 
That  Death  was  better  than  the  prisoner's  fate ; 
There  doom'd  to  famine,  shackles  and  despair, 
Condemn'd  to  breathe  a  foul,  infected  air 
In  sickly  hulks,  devoted  while  we  lay, 
Successive  funerals  gloom'd  each  dismal  day — 
But  what  on  captives  British  rage  can  do, 
Another  Canto,  friend,  shall  let  you  know. 

CANTO  II. — THE  PRISON  SHIP 

The  various  horrors  of  these  hulks  to  tell, 
These  Prison  Ships  where  pain  and  horror  dwell, 
Where  death  in  tenfold  vengeance  holds  his  reign, 
And  injur'd  ghosts,  yet  unaveng'd,  complain ; 
This  be  my  task — ungenerous  Britons,  you 
Conspire  to  murder  those  you  can't  subdue. — 

Weak  as  I  am,  I'll  try  my  strength  to-day 
And  my  best  arrows  at  these  hell-hounds  play, 
To  future  years  one  scene  of  death  prolong, 
And  hang  them  up  to  infamy,  in  song. 

That  Britain's  rage  should  dye  our  plains  with  gore, 
And  desolation  spread  through  every  shore, 
None  e'er  could  doubt,  that  her  ambition  knew, 
This  was  to  rage  and  disappointment  due ; 
But  that  those  monsters  whom  our  soil  maintain'd, 
Who  first  drew  breath  in  this  devoted  land, 
Like  famish'd  wolves,  should  on  their  country  prey, 
Assist  its  foes,  and  wrest  our  lives  away, 
This  shocks  belief — and  bids  our  soil  disown 
Such  friends,  subservient  to  a  bankrupt  crown, 
By  them  the  widow  mourns  her  partner  dead, 
Her  mangled  sons  to  darksome  prisons  led, 


26  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

By  them — and  hence  my  keenest  sorrows  rise, 
My  friend,  my  guardian,  my  Orestes  dies ; 
Still  for  that  loss  must  wretched  I  complain, 
And  sad  Ophelia  mourn  her  favourite  swain. 

Ah !   come  the  day  when  from  this  bloody  shore 
Fate  shall  remove  them  to  return  no  more — 
To  scorch'd  Bahama  shall  the  traitors  go 
With  grief  and  rage,  and  unremitting  woe, 
On  burning  sands  to  walk  their  painful  round, 
And  sigh  through  all  the  solitary  ground, 
Where  no  gay  flower  their  haggard  eyes  shall  see, 
And  find  no  shade  but  from  the  cypress  tree. 

So  much  we  suffered  from  the  tribe  I  hate, 
So  near  they  shov'd  me  to  the  brink  of  fate, 
When  two  long  months  in  these  dark  hulks  we  lay,1 
Barr'd  down  by  night,  and  fainting  all  the  day 
In  the  fierce  fervours  of  the  solar  beam, 
Cool'd  by  no  breeze  on  Hudson's  mountain-stream; 
That  not  unsung  these  threescore  days  shall  fall 
To  black  oblivion  that  would  cover  all! — 

No  masts  or  sails  these  crowded  ships  adorn, 
Dismal  to  view,  neglected  and  forlorn ! 
Here,  mighty  ills  oppress  the  imprisoned  throng, 
Dull  were  our  slumbers,  and  our  nights  too  long — 
From  morn  to  eve  along  the  decks  we  lay 
Scorch'd  into  fevers  by  the  solar  ray ; 
No  friendly  awning  cast  a  welcome  shade, 
Once  was  it  promis'd,  and  was  never  made ; 
No  favours  could  these  sons  of  death  bestow, 
'Twas  endless  cursing,  and  continual  woe : 
Immortal  hatred  doth  their  breasts  engage, 
And  this  lost  empire  swells  their  souls  with  rage. 

1Freneau  was  placed  on  board  the  Scorpion,  June  i,  and  was  exchanged 
July  12,  1780. 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  2? 

Two  hulks  on  Hudson's  stormy  bosom  lie, 
Two,  farther  south,  affront  the  pitying  eye — 
There,  the  black  Scorpion  at  her  mooring  rides, 
There,  Strombolo  swings,  yielding  to  the  tides ; 
Here,  bulky  Jersey  fills  a  larger  space, 
And  Hunter,  to  all  hospitals  disgrace — 
Thou,  Scorpion,  fatal  to  thy  crowded  throng, 
Dire  theme  of  horror  and  Plutonian  song, 
Requir'st  my  lay — thy  sultry  decks  I  know, 
And  all  the  torments  that  exist  below ! 
The  briny  wave  that  Hudson's  bosom  fills 
Drain'd  through  her  bottom  in  a  thousand  rills, 
Rotten  and  old,  replete  with  sighs  and  groans, 
Scarce  on  the  waters  she  sustain'd  her  bones ; 
Here,  doom'd  to  toil,  or  founder  in  the  tide, 
At  the  moist  pumps  incessantly  we  ply'd,1 
Here,  doom'd  to  starve,  like  famish'd  dogs  we  tore 
The  scant  allowance,  that  our  tyrants  bore. 

Remembrance  shudders  at  this  scene  of  fears — 
Still  in  my  view  some  English  brute  appears, 
Some  base-born  Hessian  slave  walks  threat' ning  by, 
Some  servile  Scot  with  murder  in  his  eye 

1  "  The  weather  was  very  stormy  and  the  river  uncommonly  rough.  The 
ship  rolled  considerably,  and  the  water  gushed  into  some  of  the  lower  ports, 
which  made  some  of  the  landsmen  who  slept  in  the  cable  tier  imagine  she  was 
sinking.  In  a  moment  the  alarm  became  general.  '  The  ship  is  sinking !  the  ship 
is  sinking  ! '  was  echoed  fore  and  aft.  I  expected  every  moment  to  feel  myself 
afloat  in  the  berth  where  I  lay  ;  but  at  the  same  time  considering  it  would  be  a 
folly  to  drown  between  decks  when  I  perhaps  might  get  on  shore  somehow,  I 
jumped  up  and  hurried  toward  the  main  hatchway,  where  a  multitude  was 
endeavouring  to  get  out ;  the  sentries  at  the  same  time  beating  on  their  heads 
with  their  drawn  swords  and  marquets  without  mercy.  .  .  .  Some  lamented  that 
they  should  never  see  their  wives  and  children  again  ;  others  begged  by  the 
love  of  God  to  be  let  upon  deck  and  they  would  bind  themselves  slaves  forever 
on  board  a  man-of-war,  or  any  other  service.  .  .  .  After  some  trouble  we  got  a 
light,  and  examining  the  pump-well,  found  the  ship  dry  and  tight." — Frcneatts 
Journal. 


28  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Still  haunts  my  sight,  as  vainly  they  bemoan 

Rebellions  manag'd  so  unlike  their  own ! 

O  may  I  never  feel  the  poignant  pain 

To  live  subjected  to  such  fiends  again, 

Stewards  and  Mates  that  hostile  Britain  bore, 

Cut  from  the  gallows  on  their  native  shore ;  l 

Their  ghastly  looks  and  vengeance-beaming  eyes 

Still  to  my  view  in  dismal  colours  rise — 

O  may  I  ne'er  review  these  dire  abodes, 

These  piles  for  slaughter,  floating  on  the  floods, — 

And  you,  that  o'er  the  troubled  ocean  go, 

Strike  not  your  standards  to  this  miscreant  foe, 

Better  the  greedy  wave  should  swallow  all, 

Better  to  meet  the  death-conducted  ball, 

Better  to  sleep  on  ocean's  deepest  bed, 

At  once  destroy'd  and  number'd  with  the  dead, 

Than  thus  to  perish  in  the  face  of  day 

Where  twice  ten  thousand  deaths  one  death  delay. 

When  to  the  ocean  dives  the  western  sun, 
And  the  scorch'd  Tories  fire  their  evening  gun, 
"Down,  rebels,  down!"  the  angry  Scotchmen  cry, 
"  Damn'd  dogs,  descend,  or  by  our  broad  swords  die !  " 

Hail,  dark  abode !   what  can  with  thee  compare — 
Heat,  sickness,  famine,  death,  and  stagnant  air — 
Pandora's  box,  from  whence  all  mischief  flew, 
Here  real  found,  torments  mankind  anew! — 
Swift  from  the  guarded  decks  we  rush'd  along, 
And  vainly  sought  repose,  so  vast  our  throng : 


"  One,  Gauzoo,  was  steward  of  the  ship — one  of  the  most  brutal  of  man- 
kind, who  abused  us  continually.  It  is  impossible  for  words  to  give  his 
character  ;  it  seemed  as  though  he  could  not  give  any  of  us  a  civil  word  upon 
the  most  indifferent  occasion.  When  he  was  not  cursing  us,  he  kept  in  his 
cabin  in  gloomy  reserve,  the  most  vile  and  detestable  of  mortals." — Freneau's 
Journal. 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  29 

Three  hundred  wretches  here,  denied  all  light, 
In  crowded  mansions  pass  the  infernal  night, 
Some  for  a  bed  their  tatter'd  vestments  join, 
And  some  on  chests,  and  some  on  floors  recline ; l 
Shut  from  the  blessings  of  the  evening  air, 
Pensive  we  lay  with  mingled  corpses  there, 
Meagre  and  wan,  and  scorch'd  with  heat  below, 
We  loom'd  like  ghosts,  ere  death  had  made  us  so— 
How  could  we  else,  where  heat  and  hunger  join'd 
Thus  to  debase  the  body  and  the  mind, 
Where  cruel  thirst  the  parching  throat  invades, 
Dries  up  the  man,  and  fits  him  for  the  shades. 

No  waters  laded  from  the  bubbling  spring 
To  these  dire  ships  the  British  monsters  bring — 
By  planks  and  ponderous  beams  completely  wall'd 
In  vain  for  water,  and  in  vain,  I  call'd — 
No  drop  was  granted  to  the  midnight  prayer, 
To  Dives  in  these  regions  of  despair! — 
The  loathsome  cask  a  deadly  dose  contains, 
Its  poison  circling  through  the  languid  veins ; 
"Here,  generous  Britain,  generous,  as  you  say, 
"To  my  parch'd  tongue  one  cooling  drop  convey, 
"Hell  has  no  mischief  like  a  thirsty  throat, 
"Nor  one  tormentor  like  your  David  Sproat."* 

Dull  flew  the  hours,  till,  from  the  East  display'd, 
Sweet  morn  dispells  the  horrors  of  the  shade ; 
On  every  side  dire  objects  meet  the  sight, 
And  pallid  forms,  and  murders  of  the  night, 

*  Commissary  of  Prisoners  at  New- York. — Freneau's  note. 

1  "  At  sundown  we  were  ordered  down  between  the  decks,  to  the  number 
of  nearly  three  hundred  of  us.  The  best  lodgings  I  could  procure  this  night 
was  on  a  chest,  almost  suffocated  with  the  heat  and  stench.  I  expected  to  die 
before  morning,  but  human  nature  can  bear  more  than  one  would  at  first 
suppose. " — Freneau's  Journal. 


30  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

The  dead  were  past  their  pain,  the  living  groan, 
Nor  dare  to  hope  another  morn  their  own ; 
But  what  to  them  is  morn's  delightful  ray, 
Sad  and  distressful  as  the  close  of  day, 
O'er  distant  streams  appears  the  dewy  green, 
And  leafy  trees  on  mountain  tops  are  seen, 
But  they  no  groves  nor  grassy  mountains  tread, 
Mark'd  for  a  longer  journey  to  the  dead. 

Black  as  the  clouds  that  shade  St.  Kilda's  shore, 
Wild  as  the  winds  that  round  her  mountains  roar, 
At  every  post  some  surly  vagrant  stands, 
Pick'd  from  the  British  or  the  Irish  bands, 
Some  slave  from  Hesse,  some  hangman's  son  at  least 
Sold  and  transported,  like  his  brother  beast — 
Some  miscreant  Tory,  puff  d  with  upstart  pride, 
Led  on  by  hell  to  take  the  royal  side ; 
Dispensing  death  triumphantly  they  stand, 
Their  musquets  ready  to  obey  command ; 
Wounds  are  their  sport,  as  ruin  is  their  aim ; 
On  their  dark  souls  compassion  has  no  claim, 
And  discord  only  can  their  spirits  please : 
Such  were  our  tyrants  here,  and  such  were  these. 

Ingratitude !  no  curse  like  thee  is  found 
Throughout  this  jarring  world's  extended  round, 
Their  hearts  with  malice  to  our  country  swell 
Because  in  former  days  we  us'd  them  well! — 
This  pierces  deep,  too  deeply  wounds  the  breast ; 
We  help'd  them  naked,  friendless,  and  distrest, 
Receiv'd  their  vagrants  with  an  open  hand, 
Bestow'd  them  buildings,  privilege,  and  land — 
Behold  the  change ! — when  angry  Britain  rose, 
These  thankless  tribes  became  our  fiercest  foes, 
By  them  devoted,  plunder'd,  and  accurst, 
Stung  by  the  serpents  whom  ourselves  had  nurs'd. 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  31 

But  such  a  train  of  endless  woes  abound, 
So  many  mischiefs  in  these  hulks  are  found, 
That  on  them  all  a  poem  to  prolong 
Would  swell  too  high  the  horrors  of  my  song — 
Hunger  and  thirst  to  work  our  woe  combine, 
And  mouldy  bread,  and  flesh  of  rotten  swine, 
The  mangled  carcase,  and  the  batter'd  brain, 
The  doctor's  poison,  and  the  captain's  cane, 
The  soldier's  musquet,  and  the  steward's  debt, 
The  evening  shackle,  and  the  noon-day  threat. 

That  juice  destructive  to  the  pangs  of  care 
Which  Rome  of  old,  nor  Athens  could  prepare, 
Which  gains  the  day  for  many  a  modern  chief 
When  cool  reflection  yields  a  faint  relief, 
That  charm,  whose  virtue  warms  the  world  beside, 
Was  by  these  tyrants  to  our  use  denied, 
While  yet  they  deign'd  that  healthy  juice  to  lade 
The  putrid  water  felt  its  powerful  aid ; 
But  when  refus'd — to  aggravate  our  pains — 
Then  fevers  rag'd  and  revel'd  through  our  veins ; 
Throughout  my  frame  I  felt  its  deadly  heat, 
1  felt  my  pulse  with  quicker  motions  beat : 
A  pallid  hue  o'er  every  face  was  spread, 
Unusual  pains  attack'd  the  fainting  head, 
No  physic  here,  no  doctor  to  assist, 
My  name  was  enter'd  on  the  sick  man's  list; 
Twelve  wretches  more  the  same  dark  symptoms  took, 
And  these  were  enter'd  on  the  doctor's  book; 
The  loathsome  Hunter  was  our  destin'd  place, 
The  Hunter,  to  all  hospitals  disgrace ; 
With  soldiers  sent  to  guard  us  on  our  road, 
Joyful  we  left  the  Scorpion's  dire  abode ; 
Some  tears  we  shed  for  the  remaining  crew, 
Then  curs'd  the  hulk,  and  from  her  sides  withdrew. 


32  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

CANTO  III. — THE  HOSPITAL  PRISON  SHIP 

Now  tow'rd  the  Hunter 's  gloomy  sides  we  came, 
A  slaughter-house,  yet  hospital  in  name;1 
For  none  came  there  (to  pass  through  all  degrees) 
'Till  half  consum'd,  and  dying  with  disease; — 
But  when  too  near  with  labouring  oars  we  ply'd, 
The  Mate  with  curses  drove  us  from  the  side ; 
That  wretch  who,  banish'd  from  the  navy  crew, 
Grown  old  in  blood,  did  here  his  trade  renew ; 
His  serpent's  tongue,  when  on  his  charge  let  loose, 
Utter'd  reproaches,  scandal,  and  abuse, 
Gave  all  to  hell  who  dar'd  his  king  disown, 
And  swore  mankind  were  made  for  George  alone : 
Ten  thousand  times,  to  irritate  our  woe, 
He  wish'd  us  founder'd  in  the  gulph  below; 
Ten  thousand  times  he  brandish'd  high  his  stick, 
And  swore  as  often  that  we  were  not  sick — 
And  yet  so  pale ! — that  we  were  thought  by  some 
A  freight  of  ghosts  from  Death's  dominions  come — 
But  calm'd  at  length — for  who  can  always  rage, 
Or  the  fierce  war  of  endless  passion  wage, 
He  pointed  to  the  stairs  that  led  below 
To  damps,  disease,  and  varied  shapes  of  woe — 

1  ' '  The  Hunter  had  been  very  newly  put  to  the  use  of  a  hospital-ship. 
She  was  miserably  dirty  and  cluttered.  Her  decks  leaked  to  such  a  degree  that 
the  sick  were  deluged  with  every  shower  of  rain.  Between  decks  they  lay 
along  struggling  in  the  agonies  of  death ;  dying  with  putrid  and  bilious 
fevers  ;  lamenting  their  hard  fate  to  die  at  such  a  fatal  distance  from  their 
friends  ;  others  totally  insensible,  and  yielding  their  last  breath  in  all  the 
horrors  of  light-headed  frenzy.  .  .  .  Our  allowance  in  the  Hunter,  to  those 
upon  full  diet,  was  one  pound  of  bread  and  one  pound  of  fresh  beef  per  diem  ; 
to  those  upon  half  diet,  one  pound  of  bread  and  one-half  pound  of  beef 
or  mutton  per  diem.  Every  other  day  we  had  a  cask  of  spruce  beer  sent 
on  board.  Our  fresh  meat  was  generally  heads  or  shanks,  and  would  just 
answer  to  make  soup." — Frenearis  Journal. 


I78i]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  33 

Down  to  the  gloom  I  took  my  pensive  way, 

Along  the  decks  the  dying  captives  lay ; 

Some  struck  with  madness,  some  with  scurvy  pain'd, 

But  still  of  putrid  fevers  most  complain'd ! 

On  the  hard  floors  these  wasted  objects  laid, 

There  toss'd  and  tumbled  in  the  dismal  shade, 

There  no  soft  voice  their  bitter  fate  bemoan'd, 

And  Death  strode  stately,  while  the  victims  groan'd ; 

Of  leaky  decks  I  heard  them  long  complain, 

Drown'd  as  they  were  in  deluges  of  rain, 

Deny'd  the  comforts  of  a  dying  bed, 

And  not  a  pillow  to  support  the  head — 

How  could  they  else  but  pine,  and  grieve,  and  sigh, 

Detest  a  wretched  life — and  wish  to  die  ? 

Scarce  had  I  mingled  with  this  dismal  band 
When  a  thin  spectre  seiz'd  me  by  the  hand — 
"  And  art  thou  come,  (death  heavy  on  his  eyes) 
"  And  art  thou  come  to  these  abodes,"  he  cries; 
11  Why  didst  thou  leave  the  Scorpions  dark  retreat, 
"  And  hither  haste  a  surer  death  to  meet  ? 
"  Why  didst  thou  leave  thy  damp  infected  cell  ? 
"  If  that  was  purgatory,  this  is  hell — 
1  'We,  too,  grown  weary  of  that  horrid  shade, 
"  Petitioned  early  for  the  doctor's  aid ; 
"His  aid  denied,  more  deadly  symptoms  came, 
"Weak,  and  yet  weaker,  glow'd  the  vital  flame; 
"And  when  disease  had  worn  us  down  so  low 
"That  few  could  tell  if  we  were  ghosts  or  no, 
"And  all  asserted,  death  would  be  our  fate — 
"Then  to  the  doctor  we  were  sent — too  late. 
"Here  wastes  away  Autolycus  the  brave, 
"Here  young  Orestes  finds  a  wat'ry  grave, 
"  Here  gay  Alcander,  gay,  alas!   no  more, 
"Dies  far  sequester'd  from  his  native  shore; 


34  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

"  He  late,  perhaps,  too  eager  for  the  fray, 
"  Chac'd  the  vile  Briton  o'er  the  wat'ry  way 
"'Till  fortune  jealous,  bade  her  clouds  appear, 
"  Turn'd  hostile  to  his  fame,  and  brought  him  here. 

"Thus  do  our  warriors,  thus  our  heroes  fall, 
"  Imprison'd  here,  base  ruin  meets  them  all, 
"Or,  sent  afar  to  Britain's  barbarous  shore, 
"There  die  neglected,  and  return  no  more: 
"Ah!   rest  in  peace,  poor,  injur'd,  parted  shade, 
"  By  cruel  hands  in  death's  dark  weeds  array'd, 
"But  happier  climes,  where  suns  unclouded  shine, 
"Light  undisturbed,  and  endless  peace  are  thine." — 

From  Brookland  groves  a  Hessian  doctor  came, 
Not  great  his  skill,  nor  greater  much  his  fame ; 
Fair  Science  never  call'd  the  wretch  her  son, 
And  Art  disdain'd  the  stupid  man  to  own; — 
Can  you  admire  that  Science  was  so  coy, 
Or  Art  refus'd  his  genius  to  employ ! — 
Do  men  with  brutes  an  equal  dullness  share, 
Or  cuts  yon'  grovelling  mole  the  midway  air? 
In  polar  worlds  can  Eden's  blossoms  blow? 
Do  trees  of  God  in  barren  desarts  grow? 
Are  loaded  vines  to  Etna's  summit  known, 
Or  swells  the  peach  beneath  the  torrid  zone  ? — 
Yet  still  he  doom'd  his  genius  to  the  rack, 
And,  as  you  may  suppose,  was  own'd  a  quack. 

He  on  his  charge  the  healing  work  begun 
With  antimonial  mixtures,  by  the  tun, 
Ten  minutes  was  the  time  he  deign'd  to  stay, 
The  time  of  grace  allotted  once  a  day — 
He  drencht  us  well  with  bitter  draughts,  'tis  true, 
Nostrums  from  hell,  and  cortex  from  Peru — 
Some  with  his  pills  he  sent  to  Pluto's  reign, 
And  some  he  blister'd  with  his  flies  of  Spain ; 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  35 

His  cream  of  Tartar  walk'd  its  deadly  round, 

Till  the  lean  patient  at  the  potion  frown'd, 

And  swore  that  hemlock,  death,  or  what  you  will, 

Were  nonsense  to  the  drugs  that  stuff'd  his  bill. — 

On  those  refusing  he  bestow'd  a  kick, 

Or  menac'd  vengeance  with  his  walking  stick; 

Here  uncontroul'd  he  exercis'd  his  trade, 

And  grew  experienced  by  the  deaths  he  made ; 

By  frequent  blows  we  from  his  cane  endur'd 

He  kill'd  at  least  as  many  as  he  cur'd ; 

On  our  lost  comrades  built  his  future  fame, 

And  scatter'd  fate,  where'er  his  footsteps  came. 

Some  did  not  seem  obedient  to  his  will, 
And  swore  he  mingled  poison  with  his  pill, 
But  I  acquit  him  by  a  fair  confession, 
He  was  no  Englishman — he  was  a  Hessian  * — 
Although  a  dunce,  he  had  some  sense  of  sin, 
Or  else  the  Lord  knows  where  we  now  had  been ; 
Perhaps  in  that  far  country  sent  to  range 
Where  never  prisoner  meets  with  an  exchange — 
Then  had  we  all  been  banish'd  out  of  time 
Nor  I  return'd  to  plague  the  world  with  rhyme. 

Fool  though  he  was,  yet  candour  must  confess 
Not  chief  Physician  was  this  dog  of  Hesse — 
One  master  o'er  the  murdering  tribe  was  plac'd, 
By  him  the  rest  were  honour'd  or  disgrac'd; — 

1  ' '  A  German  doctor  attended  every  morning  at  eight  o'clock  and  admin- 
istered such  remedies  as  were  thought  proper.  Thus  things  went  on,  two  or 
three  dying  every  day,  who  were  carried  on  shore  and  buried  in  the  bank,  till 
three  of  our  crew,  who  had  got  pretty  hearty,  stole  the  boat  one  night  and 
made  their  escape.  This  occasioned  new  trouble.  The  doctor  refused  to 
come  on  board,  and  as  he  rowed  past  us  next  morning  to  see  somebody  in  the 
Jersey,  which  lay  near  us,  some  of  the  sick  calling  to  him  for  blisters,  he  told 
them  to  put  tar  on  their  backs,  which  would  serve  as  well  as  anything,  and  so 
rowed  away.  However,  after  two  or  three  days  his  wrath  was  appeased,  and  he 
deigned  to  come  on  board  again." — Freneaus  Journal. 


36  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Once,  and  but  once,  by  some  strange  fortune  led 
He  came  to  see  the  dying  and  the  dead — 
He  came — but  anger  so  deform'd  his  eye, 
And  such  a  faulchion  glitter'd  on  his  thigh, 
And  such  a  gloom  his  visage  darken'd  o'er, 
And  two  such  pistols  in  his  hands  he  bore ! 
That,  by  the  gods! — with  such  a  load  of  steel 
He  came,  we  thought,  to  murder,  not  to  heal — 
Hell  in  his  heart,  and  mischief  in  his  head, 
He  gloom'd  destruction,  and  had  smote  us  dead, 
Had  he  so  dar'd — but  fate  with-held  his  hand — 
He  came — blasphem'd — and  turn'd  again  to  land. 

From  this  poor  vessel,  and  her  sickly  crew 
An  English  ruffian  all  his  titles  drew, 
Captain,  esquire,  commander,  too,  in  chief, 
And  hence  he  gain'd  his  bread,  and  hence  his  beef, 
But,  sir,  you  might  have  searched  creation  round 
Ere  such  another  miscreant  could  be  found — 
Though  unprovok'd,  an  angry  face  he  bore, 
We  stood  astonish'd  at  the  oaths  he  swore ; 
He  swore,  till  every  prisoner  stood  aghast, 
And  thought  him  Satan  in  a  brimstone  blast ; 
He  wish'd  us  banish'd  from  the  public  light, 
He  wish'd  us  shrouded  in  perpetual  night ! 
That  were  he  king,  no  mercy  would  he  show, 
But  drive  all  rebels  to  the  world  below ; 
That  if  we  scoundrels  did  not  scrub  the  decks 
His  staff  should  break  our  damn'd  rebellious  necks; 
He  swore,  besides,  that  if  the  ship  took  fire 
We  too  should  in  the  pitchy  flame  expire ; 
And  meant  it  so — this  tyrant,  I  engage, 
Had  lost  his  breath  to  gratify  his  rage. — 

If  where  he  walk'd  a  captive  carcase  lay, 
Still  dreadful  was  the  language  of  the  day — 


1781]  THE  BRITISH  PRISON  SHIP  37 

He  call'd  us  dogs,  and  would  have  us'd  us  so, 
But  vengeance  check'd  the  meditated  blow, 
The  vengeance  from  our  injur'd  nation  due 
To  him,  and  all  the  base,  unmanly  crew. 

Such  food  they  sent,  to  make  complete  our  woes, 
It  look'd  like  carrion  torn  from  hungry  crows, 
Such  vermin  vile  on  every  joint  were  seen, 
So  black,  corrupted,  mortified,  and  lean 
That  once  we  try'd  to  move  our  flinty  chief, 
And  thus  address'd  him,  holding  up  the  beef: 

1  'See,  captain,  see!   what  rotten  bones  we  pick, 
"What  kills  the  healthy  cannot  cure  the  sick: 
"Not  dogs  on  such  by  Christian  men  are  fed, 
"And  see,  good  master,  see,  what  lousy  bread!  " 

"Your  meat  or  bread  (this  man  of  flint  replied) 
"Is  not  my  care  to  manage  or  provide — 
"But  this,  damn'd  rebel  dogs,  I'd  have  you  know, 
"That  better  than  you  merit  we  bestow ; 

"  Out  of  my  sight!  " nor  more  he  deign'd  to  say, 

But  whisk'd  about,  and  frowning,  strode  away. 

Each  day,  at  least  three  carcases  we  bore, 
And  scratch'd  them  graves  along  the  sandy  shore ; 
By  feeble  hands  the  shallow  graves  were  made, 
No  stone  memorial  o'er  the  corpses  laid ; 
In  barren  sands,  and  far  from  home,  they  lie, 
No  friend  to  shed  a  tear,  when  passing  by ; 
O'er  the  mean  tombs  insulting  Britons  tread, 
Spurn  at  the  sand,  and  curse  the  rebel  dead. 

When  to  your  arms  these  fatal  islands  fall, 
(For  first  or  last  they  must  be  conquer'd  all) 
Americans!   to  rites  sepulchral  just, 
With  gentlest  footstep  press  this  kindred  dust, 
And  o'er  the  tombs,  if  tombs  can  then  be  found, 
Place  the  green  turf,  and  plant  the  myrtle  round. 


38  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Americans !   a  just  resentment  shew, 
And  glut  revenge  on  this  detested  foe ; 
While  the  warm  blood  exults  the  glowing  vein 
Still  shall  resentment  in  your  bosoms  reign, 
Can  you  forget  the  greedy  Briton's  ire, 
Your  fields  in  ruin,  and  your  domes  on  fire, 
No  age,  no  sex  from  lust  and  murder  free, 
And,  black  as  night,  the  hell  born  refugee ! 
Must  York  forever  your  best  blood  entomb, 
And  these  gorg'd  monsters  triumph  in  their  doom, 
Who  leave  no  art  of  cruelty  untry'd ; 
Such  heavy  vengeance,  and  such  hellish  pride ! 
Death  has  no  charms — his  realms  dejected  lie 
In  the  dull  climate  of  a  clouded  sky ; 
Death  has  no  charms,  except  in  British  eyes, 
See,  arm'd  for  death,  the  infernal  miscreants  rise; 
See  how  they  pant  to  stain  the  world  with  gore, 
And  millions  murder'd,  still  would  murder  more; 
This  selfish  race,  from  all  the  world  disjoin'd, 
Perpetual  discord  spread  throughout  mankind, 
Aim  to  extend  their  empire  o'er  the  ball, 
Subject,  destroy,  absorb,  and  conquer  all, 
As  if  the  power  that  form'd  us  did  condemn 
All  other  nations  to  be  slaves  to  them — 
Rouse  from  your  sleep,  and  crush  the  thievish  band, 
Defeat,  destroy,  and  sweep  them  from  the  land, 
Ally'd  like  you,  what  madness  to  despair, 
Attack  the  ruffians  while  they  linger  there ; 
There  Tryon  sits,  a  monster  all  complete, 
See  Clinton  there  with  vile  Knyphausen  meet, 
And  every  wretch  whom  honour  should  detest 
There  finds  a  home — and  Arnold  with  the  rest. 
Ah !   traitors,  lost  to  every  sense  of  shame, 
Unjust  supporters  of  a  tyrant's  claim ; 


1781]  THE   SPY  39 

Foes  to  the  rights  of  freedom  and  of  men, 

Flush'd  with  the  blood  of  thousands  you  have  slain, 

To  the  just  doom  the  righteous  skies  decree 

We  leave  you,  toiling  still  in  cruelty, 

Or  on  dark  plans  in  future  herds  to  meet, 

Plans  form'd  in  hell,  and  projects  half  complete : 

The  years  approach  that  shall  to  ruin  bring 

Your  lords,  your  chiefs,  your  miscreant  of  a  king, 

Whose  murderous  acts  shall  stamp  his  name  accurs'd, 

And  his  last  triumphs  more  than  damn  the  first. 


THE  SPY1 

Sir  Henry  Clinton,  Major  Andre*,  Lucinda,  Amelia,  Arnold,  Gen.  Green, 
Servants  to  Arnold,  Peasants,  Knyphausen,  Gen.  Robertson. 

SCENE  I. —  West  Point  Fort.     Jeff  ery  and  Pasquin,  servants  to  ARNOLD, 
working  in  a  garden. 

Pasq.  (Throwing  down  his  spade}  Faith,  Jeffery,  I 
am  weary  of  toiling  among  these  rocks  and  precipices. 
I  must  e'en  give  o'er.  Our  master  should  have  fetched 
his  soil  along  with  him  to  these  savage  retreats.  We 
may  work  till  we  are  gray-headed  ere  we  can  produce  a 
turnip  or  a  cabbage  for  him  on  these  barren,  unthrifty 
rocks. 

Jeff.  Be  not  discouraged,  Pasquin,  we  shall  have 
better  soil  to  work  in  ere  long. 

Pasq.     How  know  you  that  ? 

1  This  fragment  of  a  drama,  as  far  as  I  can  find,  was  never  published. 
Freneau,  judging  from  indications,  wrote  it  shortly  after  his  "Prison  Ship," 
in  the  autumn  of  1780,  only  a  few  weeks  after  the  events  took  place  which 
it  records.  It  exists,  as  far  as  I  know,  only  in  Freneau's  fragmentary  and 
much-revised  autograph  manuscript  now  in  the  possession  of  Miss  Adele  M. 
Sweeney  of  Jersey  City.  The  arrest  of  Andre  took  place  September  23,  1780. 


40  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Jeff.  I  overheard  my  master  t'other  day  telling  a 
friend  of  his,  whom,  by  the  by,  the  people  of  this  coun- 
try call  a  Tory,  that  he  had  planned  matters  so  that  in  a 
little  time  the  war  would  be  over,  and  then  he  would 
purchase  one  of  the  most  fertile  tracts  of  land  in  Amer- 
ica and  entitle  it  a  Manor;  that  he  would  settle  the 
same  goodly  possession  with  tenants  and  vassals,  and 
so  being  master  among  them,  spend  the  remainder  of 
his  days  in  quiet. 

Pasq.  I  pray  for  the  speedy  fulfilling  of  this  design. 
Our  master,  I  know,  is  an  able  general.  Why,  I  sup- 
pose he  intends  to  rout  the  enemy  out  of  New  York, 
retake  Charleston,  conquer  the  warships  of  Britain,  kill 
the  king,  and  so  force  the  English  nation  to  make  peace 
with  the  Americans. 

Jeff.  Heaven  only  knows  in  what  manner  he  intends 
to  act  or  what  his  plan  may  be,  but  this  I  am  sure  of,  he 
keeps  it  very  secret,  and  I  believe  there  are  not  above 
one  or  two  of  his  friends  that  know  anything  of  it. 

Pasq.  Well,  the  sooner  he  gets  a  new  garden  for 
us  the  better.  I  have  worn  out  a  dozen  mattocks  and 
as  many  spades  on  these  cursed  craggy  rocks.  One's 
tools  to  work  here  should  be  made  of  adamant.  But, 
Jeffery,  do  you  not  observe  how  gracious  and  intimate 
our  master  has  been  for  these  several  months  past  with 
some  who  are  called  disaffected  ? 

Jeff.  I  have  had  it  in  my  mind  to  make  the  same 
observation  to  you,  and  do  you  not  perceive  that  their 
intimacy  daily  increases  ? 

Pasq.  And  then,  when  our  master  is  at  table  with 
some  of  these  chosen  favorites,  how  he  sneers  and  hints 
ludicrous  things  against  the  American  officers  and 
army.  One  would  think  he  heartily  despised  them,  by 
his  behaviour. 


1781]  THE   SPY  41 

Jeff.  And  what  was  it  he  said  of  the  French  the 
other  day  ?  Did  he  not  say  they  were  a  perfidious 
nation  of  knaves,  a  herd  of  needy  scoundrels  who  were 
endeavoring  to  conquer  this  country  from  the  king  of 
Britain,  that  they  might  add  it  to  their  own  dominions 
and  make  the  people  here  slaves  ? 

Pasq.  And  when  the  general  gives  a  dance  or  an 
entertainment  or  a 'ball,  we  see  none  of  the  true-heart 
Americans  invited.  His  guests  are  a  lukewarm,  half- 
disaffected  sort  of  people,  who  say  more  than  for  their 
own  sakes  I  would  choose  to  mention  to  everybody. 

Jeff.  Well,  this  may  all  be  true,  and  yet  I  cannot 
help  thinking  our  master  is  a  hearty  friend  to  his  coun- 
try. He  does  these  things  for  a  feint,  under  a  mask,  as 
it  were,  to  find  out  secrets  from  the  enemy.  In  good 
faith,  I  am  of  opinion  he  will  shortly  drive  every 
British  soldier  off  the  continent  and  then  become  pos- 
sessed of  his  Lordship  or  Manor,  or  what-so  you  call  it. 

Pasq.  Amen,  I  say,  and  so  let  us  work  on  in  hopes 
of  better  times. 

SCENE  II. — Scene  changes  to  New  York,     SIR  HENRY  CLINTON  and 
MAJOR  ANDRE"  in  a  private  apartment. 

Sir  Henry.     Andre,  my  friend  and  faithful  confidant, 
Since  Fortune  now  vouchsafes  to  smile  again, 
And  stubborn  Charlestown  bends  to  Britain's  yoke, 
What  shall  we  next  attempt  or  next  achieve  ? 
I  have  transmitted  home  a  full  account 
Of  that  great  capture,  that  important  city 
Which  long  has  bid  defiance  to  our  arms, 
With  all  particulars  and  circumstances 
Attending  on  the  siege,  and  in  the  list 
Of  British  officers  with  honour  mentioned, 
You,  sir,  are  not  forgot.     I  must  confess, 


42  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

By  your  advice  I  planned  that  expedition, 

Which  now  shall  set  me  high  in  royal  favor, 

By  your  unconquered  spirit  and  perseverance, 

A  mind  that  laughs  at  toils  and  difficulties, 

I  carried  on  the  siege  with  fire  and  vigour 

Against  a  foe  with  hearts  of  adamant, 

And  found  them  to  submit — but  princely  favor 

Is  like  a  fire  that  only  burns  as  long 

As  you  afford  it  fuel.     Before  this  conquest 

Of  Charlestown  wears  away,  and  hardly  leaves 

A  faint  impression  on  the  royal  mind, 

Let's  hatch  some  great  exploit,  some  daring  action 

That  strikes  into  the  heart  of  this  rebellion, 

That  one  deed,  treading  on  the  heels  of  t'other, 

May  make  us  great  indeed. 

Maj.  Andr/.  I  have  been  thinking 

Some  time,  Sir  Henry,  what  we  should  be  doing. 
'Tis  yet  but  early  in  the  active  season; 
The  summer  scarce  has  finished  her  career, 
And  in  this  mild,  this  pleasing  temperate  climate 
Three  months  as  yet  are  open  for  campaigns; 
But  then  our  worn-out,  dying,  wounded  soldiers 
Demand  our  pity.     Those  who  came  from  Charlestown 
Have  brought  with  them  a  lingering  hectic  fever 
Which  hardly  one  survives.     Our  soldiers  here 
Who  do  the  duty  of  the  garrison, 
With  constant  watching,  unremitted  labor, 
Cannot  be  spared  from  hence.     Were  we  sufficient 
In  horse  and  foot  to  combat  with  the  foe, 
I  forthwith  would  advise  your  Excellency 
Once  more  to  try  the  force  of  Washington, 
That  so,  by  killing  and  by  captivating 
Him  and  his  troops,  we  totally  might  ruin 
This  only  stay,  this  bulwark  of  rebellion. 


1781]  THE   SPY  43 

But  since  our  circumstances  don't  allow 

With  open  force  t'  attack  the  hostile  lines, 

Let's  try  the  witching  power  of  bribery. 

We  read  the  Prince  of  Macedon  declared 

That  those  strong  gates  his  javelins  could  not  pierce 

Nor  battering  ram  effect  a  breach  upon, 

Were  open  still  to  gold.  [Pauses 

Sir  Henry.  Speak  on,  my  friend, 

For  I  approve  the  motion  to  my  soul 
If  any  project  likely  to  succeed, 
Or  well-planned  scheme  thou  canst  impart  to  me, 
Gold  shall  not  be  deficient.     Millions  lie 
Appropriated  to  this  very  purpose, 
And  often  have  I  sent  to  sound  some  chiefs 
Whose  qualities  and  influence  are  great 
In  yonder  hostile  camp,  but  their  stern  souls 
Are  so  well  armed  with  more  than  Spartan  virtue 
That  there  corruption  seems  to  have  no  power, 
And  all  my  schemes  and  plans  are  come  to  nothing. 

Maj.  Andre'.  I  know  a  man 

Who,  wouldst  thou  think  it,  by  his  chieftain  trusted, 
And  even  this  moment  placed  in  high  command, 
And  honoured  to  profusion  by  his  country — 
The  Americans  in  truth  almost  adore  him — 
That  I  do  correspond  with  daily.     O  Britain,  Britain, 
That  one  descended  from  thy  true-born  sons 
Should  plot  against  the  soil  that  gave  him  birth, 
And  for  the  value  of  a  little  gold 
Betray  its  dearest  rights. 

But  traitors  are  the  growth  of  every  country 
And  Arnold  is  our  own ! 

Sir  Henry.  What  say  you  ?     Arnold  ? 

Can  Arnold  then  be  bought  ?      I  greet  you  now ! 
Arnold,  in  chief  command  at  West  Point  fort  ? 


44  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Arnold,  who  galled  our  sides  in  Canada  ? 
Arnold,  who  took  and  plundered  Montreal  ? 
Gold  shall  not  here  be  scarce  if  gold  can  buy  him ; 
Ten  thousand  sterling  pounds  are  at  his  service, 
And  twice  ten  thousand  more  if  he  deliver 
This  West  Point  fort  with  its  dependencies 
Into  the  hand  of  Clinton. 

Maj.  Andre1.     If  we  can  gain  the  fort  we  all  things 

gain, 

The  country  round  must  at  our  mercy  lie ; 
Then  may  our  shipping  sail  to  Albany, 
Disbark  the  troops  that  march  for  Saratoga, 
Who,  taking  thence  the  route  to  Lake  Champlain, 
May  soon  reduce  the  forts,  and  in  a  month 
Open  a  new  acquaintance  with  the  north, 
Communicated  free  to  Canada. — 
Another  great  advantage  we  shall  gain : 
By  being  masters  then  of  Hudson's  river, 
We  shall  cut  off  all  intercourse  and  passage 
Between  the  eastern  and  the  southern  states, 
Which  I  conceive  will  be  of  consequence 
Toward  the  speedy  ending  of  the  war. 

Sir  Henry.     And  so  you  say  that  we  can  buy  the  fort ; 
Then  happy  I — my  fame  and  fortune  sure ; 
This  service  will  be  of  such  eminence 
That  Britain  never  can  requite  Sir  Henry. 

Maj.  Andrt.     I  do  report  that  you  can  buy  the  fort, 
For  well  I  know  the  man  I  have  to  deal  with ; 
For  just  ten  thousand  guineas 
The  troops,  the  fort,  and  Arnold  are  your  own. 
And  to  this  man,  altho'  he  be  a  rascal, 
You  must  consider  we  are  obligated. 
He  quits  his  friends,  his  honour,  and  his  country, 
The  fame  of  all  his  great  and  brilliant  actions, 


1781]  THE   SPY  45 

And  the  encomiums  both  of  France  and  Spain, 
Perhaps  all  Europe,  Britain  not  excepted, 
Sold  for  ten  thousand  guineas  and  to  serve  us. 

Sir  Henry.     And  obligated  we  confess  ourselves. 
This  West  Point  fort — for  this  a  long  campaign 
I  spent  along  the  shores  of  Hudson's  river, 
And  failed  at  last  with  loss  of  Stony  Point, 
The  works,  the  stores,  and  twice  three  hundred  soldiers, 
The  prime  of  all  my  pack; — yes,  powerful  gold, 
I  own  thy  aid  in  this  extremity. 
Tho'  Britain  be  the  greatest  in  the  world 
In  ships  and  men  with  genius  for  the  sea, 
Yet  cannot  her  stout  navy  take  this  fort 
By  open  force  with  all  its  weight  of  cannon. 
It  stands  upon  a  craggy  eminence, 
All  fenced  around  with  towers  and  battlements, 
The  works  of  mighty  nature. 
To  these  subjoined  the  nicest  aids  of  art — 
Glacis  and  bastions,  flanks  and  counter  scarps, 
Horn  works  and  moat,  half  moons  and  covert  way, 
Trenches  and  mines,  tenaille  and  battery, 
With  guns  of  every  size  and  every  bore, 
And  such  a  host  of  desperadoes  there, 
Who  to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood  would  hold  it, 
That  none  but  devils,  I  presume,  can  take  it. 
Beside,  in  sailing  up  the  Hudson  river, 
When  from  this  fort  you're  yet  a  full  mile  distant, 
You  turn  a  point  at  whose  extremity 
So  high  the  mountains  swell  above  the  flood 
That  in  a  moment  all  your  sails  are  lifeless ; 
The  southern  breezes  die  that  blew  with  vigor, 
And  there  you  lie  at  mercy  of  the  fort, 
Your  ships  raked  fore  and  aft  and  ruin  around  you. 
But  all  these  difficulties  cease  if  Arnold 


46  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Betray  the  place,  as  you  would  fain  assure  me. 
Now  tell  me,  friend,  the  manner,  how  and  when 
You  did  entice  this  champion  from  his  duty. 

Maj.  Andrt.     From  some  connection  I  have  had  with 

him, 

I  found  the  leading  feature  of  his  soul 
Was  avarice.     He  could  feign  and  counterfeit, 
Persuade  you  black  was  white  or  white  was  black, 
And  swear,  as  interest  prompted,  false  or  true. 
This  known,  I  reasoned  thus:     If  his  base  soul 
Can  toil  and  fret  and  browbeat  death  itself, 
Endure  the  summer  suns  and  winter  snows 
In  tedious  route  through  hyperborean  wilds, 
And  sordid  wealth  alone  incites  him  to  it, 
Why  may  not  British  gold  have  some  effect 
On  such  a  slavish  soul?     I  wrote  him  straight 
(Your  pardon,  sir,  it  was  without  your  leave) 
And  by  a  trusty  lad  I  sent  the  letter, 
Sewed  in  a  jacket,  to  the  following  import: 
That  if  he  would  forego  his  present  station, 
Betray  the  fortress  and  the  garrison, 
And  he  himself  come  over  to  our  interest, 
He  should  be  recompensed  in  such  a  manner 
That  he  might  sit  him  down  at  ease  in  England, 
Up  to  the  eyes  in  wealth  and  laugh  at  rebels. 

Sir  Henry.     And,  pray,  what  answer  did  he  send  to 
this? 

Maj.  Andrt.     One  that  almost  outdid  my  expectation. 
He  wrote  me  back  that  if  I  would  adventure 
To  trust  myself  within  the  Americ  lines, 
He  would,  by  means  of  secret  friends  and  passports, 
Gain  me  admittance  to  his  residence ; 
Or  meeting  close  in  personal  interview 
In  some  lone  place  hereafter  to  be  fixed  on, 


I78i]  THE  SPY  47 

Confer  with  me  upon  the  fittest  means 
Of  rendering  up  his  charge.     He  further  added 
That  he  was  weary  of  this  damned  rebellion, 
For  ten  thousand  guineas  would  be  yours, 
That  doing  thus  he  meant  his  country's  good, 
And  would  pursue  it  to  his  utmost  power. 

Sir   Henry.       Upon    a    lucky    hour   you    thought    of 

Arnold. 

But,  friend,  I  charge  you,  if  this  scheme  succeed, 
Take  not  the  merit  of  it  to  yourself ; 
But  let  the  world  imagine  it  was  Clinton 
Who  schemed,  who  plotted,  and  seduced  the  villain ; 
That  by  this  deed  more  honour  I  may  gain 
Than  if  I  had  defeated  Washington 
By  dint  of  blows  on  yonder  Jersey  plain. 
Your  recompense  shall  not  be  wanting,  Andre ; 
My  trusty  friend,  go  make  haste  toward  the  highlands. 
A  frigate  shall  be  ready  to  convey  you. 
Accept  the  proffered  conference,  and  bring 
Plans  of  the  fort  and  all  its  avenues, 
The  number  of  the  soldiers  that  defend  it, 
And  whate'er  else  may  be  of  service  to  us ; 
That  tho'  if  by  chance  his  treason  be  discovered, 
And  his  designments  lose  their  consummation, 
We  may  have  somewhat  to  facilitate — 
Some  bold  attack  that  may  hereafter  be 
Upon  this  proud  and  self-sufficient  fortress. 

Maj.  Andrt.     But,  sir,  consider.     If  I  undertake 
So  bold  a  stroke  as  this,  I  risk  my  life, 
Perhaps  may  meet  an  ignominious  death. 
When  once  I  pass  the  British  lines,  that  instant 
Do  I  become  a  spy.     That  character 
Ever  belongs  to  common,  vulgar  men, 
To  suttlers  and  to  pedlars,  desperate  wretches, 


48  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

The  rubbish  and  the  scourings  of  the  world ; 
Can  I  descend  to  so  desperate  an  office  ? 

Sir  Henry.     But,  then,  your  country ! — 
Consider  what  it  is  you  owe  your  country. 
Distressed  she  combats  with  revolted  nations, 
And  can't  by  force  reduce  them  to  subjection ; 
Assist  her  while  you  can,  and  take  my  word, 
You  need  not  fear  an  apprehension. 
I  charge  you,  be  not  found  within  their  lines; 
Remember  still  to  keep  on  neutral  ground, 
Unless  a  flag  of  truce  be  sent  from  Arnold 
That  will  secure  your  person  and  the  plot. 
But  if  by  chance  you  should  be  questioned 
By  any  scouting  parties  of  militia, 
A  purse  of  shillings  scattered  to  the  wretches 
Will  soon  procure  a  passage  unmolested. 
I  long  to  hear  the  upshot  of  this  meeting, 
The  Vulture  man-of-war  is  at  your  service, 
And  shall  to-morrow  take  you  up  the  river 
As  far  as  she  with  safety  may  adventure. 

Maj.  Andre'.     Then  for  the  sake  of  Britain  and  of  you 
Will  I  to  Arnold  haste  away,  Sir  Harry. 
If  things  succeed,  as  I  expect  they  shall, 
Within  three  days  will  I  be  back  to  tell  you 
The  means  we  fall  upon  to  gain  the  fort. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.  —  Enter  an  aide-de-camp  from  GENERAL  WASHINGTON  to 
ARNOLD.     Scene ,   West  Point  Fort.     Time,  midnight. 

Aide  D.  C.     Sir,  I  am  sent  by  our  renowned  general 
To  let  you  know  that  in  his  best  opinion 
Five  hundred  men  in  reason  are  too  few 
To  man  the  works  of  this  important  post. 


1781]  THE  SPY  49 

Three  thousand,  he  informs,  are  at  your  service, 
Lying  at  camp,  with  stores  and  baggage  ready, 
Whene'er  you  send  a  requisition  for  them. 

Arnold.     Five  hundred  are  too  few!     Why,  sir,  what 

means  he  ? 

I  do  assert,  and  do  insist  upon  it, 
That  with  the  aid  of  scant  two  hundred  men 
I  could  defend  this  fort  and  all  its  outworks 
(Its  strength  is  so  prodigious  in  defence) 
Against  ten  legions  of  the  boldest  Britons, 
With  Clinton  at  the  head  to  lead  them  on, 
Whether  he  choose  to  come  by  sea  or  land. 

Aide  D.  C.     Well  be  it  so.     I  have  discharged  my 

duty 

In  bringing  you  our  noble  general's  message. 
Pray,  sir,  have  you  commands  to  send  from  hence  ? 
My  time  to  stay  is  short ;    I  must  be  going. 

Arnold.     Tho'  I  am  steady  to  my  sentiment, 
That  these  five  hundred  men  are  full  sufficient, 
Yet,  to  comply  with  the  spirit  of  his  meaning, 
You  may  inform  the  general,  two  hours'  warning 
Will  bring  me  in  four  thousand  of  militia. 
They  are  as  rugged  and  as  hardy  fellows, 
As  bold  and  desperate  in  the  works  of  war, 
As  skilled  to  hit  the  mark  or  push  the  bagnet, 
As  any  of  the  choicest  continentals. 
Pray  tell  the  general  this,  and  I  am  sure, 
I'm  satisfied,  he'll  be  of  my  opinion.     {Exit  Aide  D.  C. 

Arnold  (solus).     This  is  the  time  for  dark  and  danger- 
ous action ; 

This  is  the  time  that  thieves  and  murderers  choose 
To  execute  their  desperate  designs. 
But  art  thou,  Arnold,  less  than  murderer, 
Who  thus  prepare  to  stab  thy  bleeding  country  ? 


50  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

And  can  I  then  descend  to  be  a  traitor! 

By  honest  toils  a  name  have  I  acquired, 

Great  and  unequalled  in  the  rolls  of  fame ; 

And  shall  that  name  to  infamy  be  doomed 

By  one  base  act  that  mars  and  cankers  all  ? 

For  this  have  I  in  winter's  joyless  reign 

Explored  the  naked  wilds  of  northern  clime, 

When  mid  the  snows  and  frosts  and  chilling  winds 

Cold  earth  has  been  my  bed.     Ambition,  rise 

And  fire  my  soul  to  nobler  purposes. 

To-morrow  Major  Andre  comes  to  meet  me, 

And  I  am  to  consult  on  ways  and  means 

To  give  this  fort  up  to  my  country's  foes. 

Shall  I  repent  of  my  unjust  proceedings, 

Admit  this  daring  Briton  to  my  portal, 

And  say  I  did  thus  to  entrap  the  man 

Who  is  grand  vizar  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton  ? 

Whose  scheming  head  doth  hurt  our  country  more 

Than  all  their  host  beside  ? 

But  that  would  be  ungenerous — more  than  that, 

Ten  thousand  guineas  are  the  offered  price 

Of  my  desertion — more  than  that,  perhaps 

I  shall  henceforward  be  caressed  by  kings 

And  bear  a  generalship  that  may  reduce 

These  states  revolted  back  to  Britain's  sway. 

*****     For  now  I  do  imagine 

They  have  no  rights,  no  claims  to  independence. 

Born  were  we  all,  subjected  to  a  king, 

And  that  subjection  must  return  again. 

The  people  are  not  dull  republicans, 

By  nature  they  incline  to  monarchy. 

How  glorious  should  I  be  to  have  a  share 

In  bringing  back  my  country  to  allegiance. 

Can  France  uphold  them  in  their  proud  demand, 


1781]  THE   SPY  $1 

That  race  of  puny,  base,  perfidious  dogs  ? 

Sooner  shall  all  the  house  of  Bourbon  sink 

Their  Rochambault,  D'Estang  and  La  Fayette, 

And  Spain  confederate  cease  to  be  a  nation, 

And  all  their  allies  dwindle  into  atoms, 

Ere  Britain  will  withdraw  her  righteous  claim 

Or  yield  a  jot  of  her  dominion  here 

To  any  people  living.     Then,  Andre,  come, 

The  sooner  Britain  gains  this  fort  the  better. 

SCENE  II. — MAJOR  ANDR£,  LUCINDA.    Parlor. 

Maj.  Andrt.  I  cannot  leave  this  city,  sweet  Lu- 
cinda,  without  imparting  to  you  that  I  am  going  a  little 
way  toward  the  American  lines,  at  the  request  of  his 
Excellency,  upon  some  business  of  importance.  I  am 
come  to  chat  a  little  with  you  ere  1  go.  It  may  be 
some  days  before  you  see  me  again. 

Lucinda.  If  it  be  not  too  great  a  presumption  in 
me,  my  dear  Major,  I  would  beg  to  know  whether  you 
depart  on  a  peaceable  or  hostile  errand.  You  must 
pardon  a  woman's  curiosity.  I  had  a  frightful  dream 
about  you  a  few  nights  ago,  which  I  cannot  banish 
from  my  mind  ever  since. 

Maj.  Andre.  I  am  happy,  madam,  in  being  the  sub- 
ject of  your  dreams.  But  dreams  are  delusions  of  the 
mind,  mere  vagaries  and  whimsies  not  to  be  attended 
to.  You  may  remember  that,  prior  to  our  Charles- 
town  expedition,  you  discouraged  me  a  good  deal  with 
a  vision  you  had  of  a  vessel  shipwrecked,  and  myself 
with  the  other  passengers  drowned,  and  yet  little  or 
nothing  was  intimated  thereby.  We  made  our  passage 
safe,  conquered  the  place,  and  returned  with  victory 
and  honor. 


52  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Lucinda.  True.  But  your  fleet  endured  a  terri- 
ble hurricane,  in  which  many  perished. 

Maj.  Andre.  O  Lucinda,  thou  art  a  dreamer  of 
dreams,  thou  thinkest,  love. 

Lucinda.  This  last  was  represented  to  my  mind  in 
quite  a  different  manner,  in  such  lively  colours  that  I 
cannot  help  thinking  some  evil  is  foreboded  to  you. 

Maj.  Andre.  Poh !  Let's  hear  -the  extraordinary 
dream,  then,  that  we  may  laugh  a  little  at  it. 

Lucinda.  I  imagined  myself  in  a  country  where  the 
skies  were  forever  cloudy  and  gloomy,  with  frequent 
bursts  of  thunder  and  flashes  of  lightning.  Among 
many  other  objects,  all  of  which  seemed  disconsolate 
and  melancholy,  I  saw  you  endeavouring  to  reach  the 
summit  of  a  sharp,  craggy  precipice.  You  leaped  with 
surprising  agility  over  dark  gulfs  and  apertures  therein, 
which  no  other  man  would  have  thought  of  passing. 
The  spectators  admired  your  activity  and  daring  spirit. 
The  continual  obstacles  in  your  way  seemed  nothing  to 
you,  and  at  length  you  bid  fair  to  gain  the  summit, 
when,  catching  hold  of  a  shrub,  which  was  but  slightly 
rooted  in  one  of  the  crevices  of  the  rock,  it  instantly 
gave  way,  and  you  tumbled  to  the  bottom,  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  pointed  crags  and  torn  in  a  shocking 
manner.  I  shrieked  out  and  waked. 

Maj.  Andre.  Your  dream  was  frightful  indeed;  but 
still  it  was  nothing  but  a  dream.  Why,  I  have  imag- 
ined before  now  in  my  sleep  that  I  have  tumbled  down 
ten  thousand  fathoms  in  a  perpendicular  line;  but  all 
this  was  owing  to  mere  mechanical  causes,  the  motion 
of  the  animal  spirits  or  the  veins  being  rather  too 
replete  with  blood. 

Lucinda.  Well,  be  it  so.  I  hope  my  dream  may 
be  the  forerunner  of  no  mischief.  But  are  you  going 


1781]  THE   SPY  53 

out  on  a  fighting  expedition,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  to 
ask  the  question  ? 

Maj.  Andrt.  My  dearest  love,  I  will  conceal  noth- 
ing from  you.  I  know  you  are  the  girl  of  a  thousand 
for  keeping  a  secret.  It  must  not  take  air.  I  have 
corrupted  General  Arnold.  He  is  to  sell  West  Point 
fort  to  me,  and  this  evening  I  am  to  set  out  and  consult 
with  him  upon  the  fittest  means  to  blind  the  eyes  of  the 
Samson  and  deliver  up  the  place  to  Sir  Henry  without 
danger  of  failure. 

Lucinda.  But  could  not  some  person  be  deputized 
for  this  purpose  whose  life  is  not  of  such  value  to 
Britain  as  yours  ?  You  are  a  proud  soul  to  Sir  Henry 
Clinton.  He  enterprises  nothing  without  first  having 
your  advice  and  direction.  If  you  should  be  inter- 
cepted in  your  way  by  the  Americans,  would  it  not 
endanger  your  life,  my  dear  Andre,  to  be  found  with- 
out some  mission  or  any  plausible  excuse  for  being 
within  an  enemy's  lines  ? 

Maj.  Andre.  You  are  too  timorous,  Lucinda.  I 
shall  go  and  come  by  water  in  an  armed  ship.  I  may 

perhaps  just  venture  on  shore  in  a l  of  time,  but 

shall  take  care  not  to  expose  myself  to  any  danger.  I 
well  know  how  far  to  venture,  but  if  the  worst  come  to 
the  worst,  I  can  tell  them  I  have  deserted  from  the 
British.  Then  I  shall  be  caressed  among  them  till 
such  times  as  I  can  find  an  opportunity  to  escape  and 
join  my  countrymen. 

Lucinda.  You  venture  all  this,  you  say,  at  the 
request  of  Sir  Henry  ? 

Maj.  Andrit.  Yes ;  but  chiefly  to  serve  my  country. 
Had  I  a  thousand  lives,  I  would  lay  them  all  down  for 
Britain  and  my  king.  But  I  must  go.  You  deject  my 

1  Here  occurs  an  illegible  word  in  Freneau's  manuscript. 


54  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

spirits,  my  girl.  A  woman  is  destructive  to  the  spirit 
of  enterprise  in  a  man.  Poh !  I  am  growing  melan- 
choly too,  You  must  cheer  my  drooping  soul,  Lucinda. 
I  heard  you  humming  a  little  song  the  other  day.  Do 
let's  have  it.  I  think  it  begins  thus:  "  My  native 
shades  delight  no  more." 

Lucinda.  Although  I  am  in  no  humour  for  music, 
you  shall  hear  it,  my  love.  I  suppose  it  was  made  by 
some  British  officer  on  his  setting  out  for  America, 
who  was  as  great  an  idolater  to  his  king  and  country  as 
most  English  gentlemen.  [Sings 

My  native  shades  delight  no  more,1 
I  haste  to  meet  the  ocean's  roar, 
I  seek  a  wild  inclement  shore 

Beyond  the  Atlantic  main : 
Tis  virtue  calls! — I  must  away! — 
Nor  care  nor  pleasure  tempts  my  stay, 
Nor  all  that  love  himself  can  say, 

A  moment  shall  detain. 

lfThis  poem  was  first  published  in  the  edition  of  1786  under  the  title, 
"  The  English  Quixote  of  1778  ;  or,  Modern  Idolatry."  In  the  1809  edition 
Freneau  added  the  following  : 

EPILOGUE 

'Tis  so  well  known  'tis  hardly  worth  relating 

That  men  have  worshipped  gods,  though  of  their  own  creating  : 

Art's  handy  work  they  thought  they  might  adore, 

And  bowed  to  gods  that  were  but  logs  before. 

Idols,  of  old,  were  made  of  clay  or  wood, 
And,  in  themselves,  did  neither  harm  nor  good, 
Acted  as  though  they  knew  the  good  old  rule, 
"Friend,  hold  thy  peace,  and  you'll  be  thought  no  fool." 

Britons  !  their  case  is  yours — and  linked  in  fate, 
You,  like  your  Indian  allies — good  and  great — 
Bow  to  some  frowning  block  yourselves  did  rear, 
And  worship  wooden  monarchs — out  of  fear. 


1781]  THE  SPY  55 

To  meet  those  hosts  who  dare  disown 
Allegiance  to  Britannia's  throne, 
I  draw  the  sword  that  pities  none, 

I  draw  their  rebel  blood ; 
Amazement  shall  their  troops  confound, 
When  hackt  and  prostrate  on  the  ground ; 
My  blade  shall  drink  from  every  wound 

A  life-restoring  flood ! 

The  swarthy  Indian,  yet  unbroke, 
Shall  bind  his  neck  to  Britain's  yoke, 
Or  flee  from  her  avenging  stroke 

To  deserts  all  unknown ; 
The  southern  isles  shall  own  her  sway, 
Peru  and  Mexico  obey, 
And  those  who  yet  to  Satan  pray 

Beyond  the  southern  zone. 

For  George  the  Third  I  dare  to  fall, 
Since  he  to  me  is  all  in  all ; 
May  he  subdue  this  earthly  ball 

And  nations  tribute  bring. 
Yon  western  states  shall  wear  his  chain, 
Where  traitors  now  with  tyrants  reign, 
And  subject  shall  be  all  the  main 

To  George,  our  potent  king. 

When  honour  calls  to  guard  his  throne, 
My  life  I  dare  not  call  my  own ; 
My  life  I  yield  without  a  groan 

For  him  whom  I  adore. 
In  lasting  glory  shall  he  reign, 
'Tis  he  shall  conquer  France  and  Spain, 
Tho'  I  perhaps  may  ne'er  again 

Behold  my  native  shore. 


$6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Maj.  Andre.  You  sing  charmingly,  Lucinda.  The 
poor  fellow's  resolution  pleases  me.  He  engages  to 
give  his  life,  if  necessary,  for  his  king  and  country,  and 
yet  perhaps  he  feels  the  ingratitude  of  both  every  hour 
in  the  day.  It  must,  however,  be  so.  Nature  has 
formed  us  with  a  principle  of  love  to  our  native  land. 
What  say  you,  Lucinda  ? 

Lucinda.  It  may  be  so,  sir ;  and  yet  that  love  need 
not  carry  us  to  such  an  idolatrous  extravagance  as  is 
manifested  in  the  little  stanzas  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
singing  to  you. 

Maj.  Andre*.  Indeed  you  are  in  the  right,  but  we 
are  slaves  to  custom. 

Lucinda.  I  have  sung  to  please  you,  my  love ;  now, 
if  you  have  leisure,  I  would  beg  your  attention  a 
moment  to  a  little  ditty  that  pleases  myself. 

Maj.  Andre.  Most  gladly,  my  angel;  I  can  pro- 
long half  an  hour  yet  in  your  agreeable  company. 

[Looking  at  his  watch 

Lucinda  sings1 

You  chide  me  and  tell  me  I  must  not  complain 
To  part  a  few  days  from  my  favourite  swain. 
He  is  gone  to  the  battle  and  leaves  me  to  mourn, 
And  say  what  you  please,  he  will  never  return. 

When  he  left  me  he  kissed  me,  and  said,  my  sweet  dear, 
In  less  than  a  month  I  again  will  be  here ; 
With  anguish  and  sorrow  my  bosom  did  burn, 
And  I  wept,  being  sure  he  would  never  return. 

I  said,  my  dear  creature,  I  beg  you  would  stay, 
But  he  with  his  soldiers  went  strutting  away. 

1  This  lyric  has  been  used  by  Freneau  in  his  poem,  "  Mars  and  Hymen," 
q.  v. 


1781]  THE  SPY  57 

Then  why  should  I  longer  my  sorrows  adjourn, 
For  I  know  in  my  heart  he  will  never  return. 

Whenever  there's  danger  he  loves  to  be  there, 
He  fights  like  a  hero  when  others  despair. 
In  this  expedition  he  goes  to  his  urn ; 
You  call  me  a  fool  if  he  ever  return. 

Maj.  Andre".  The  application  of  this  I  must  take  to 
myself,  I  suppose.  Fie  upon  you,  lady ;  you  need  to 
divert  me  with  merry  jokes  and  a  strain  of  wit  peculiar 
to  yourself.  You  now  are  pensive,  demure,  and  melan- 
choly. You  make  me  so,  too. 

Lucinda.  Yonder  comes  Sir  Henry.  I  suppose  he 
has  some  private  business  with  you.  I  must  retire. 

\Exit  Lucinda.     Enter  Sir  Henry  and  others 

Maj.  Andre'.  How  do  your  Excellencies?  Will 
you  please  to  sit  ? 

Sir  Henry.      Till   you    return    from    this   important 

errand 

I  am  a  slave  to  impatience,  Major  Andre. 
I  beg  you  would  this  night  equip  with  speed, 
And  on  an  eagle's  wings  to  Arnold  haste. 
The  frigate  lies  at  single  anchor  ready, 
And  winds  propitious  to  our  purpose  blow. 
But  hark  ye,  friend,  and  tell  the  general  then 
That  if  he  can  by  any  means  at  all, 
On  any  artful,  plausible  pretence, 
So  manage  matters  and  with  such  address 
As  to  entice  the  great  Americ  chief, 
At  that  same  hour  the  fort  is  yielded  to  us, 
There  to  be  present  on  some  feigned  business, 
That  so  we  may  be  master  of  his  person, 
Tell  him  if  he  does  this  his  pay  is  double. 
Besides  ten  thousand  guineas  we  have  promised, 


58  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Ten  thousand  more  with  gratitude  I'll  pay, 
And  think  him  cheaply  bought.     He  is  the  soul, 
The  great  upholder  of  this  long  contention. 
I  dread  his  prudence  and  his  courage  more 
Than  all  the  armies  that  the  Congress  raise, 
Than  all  the  troops  or  all  the  ships  of  France. 

May.    Andre1.      Well    thought!      I    shall    obey    your 

Excellency. 

It  is  a  bold  and  dangerous  undertaking, 
'Tis  hazardous,  but  not  impossible. 
To  win  on  this  great  chief — 'tis  a  bright  thought. 
He'll  think  himself  as  safe  at  West  Point  Fort 
As  in  the  bosom  of  his  spacious  camp, 
And  therefore  will  not  hesitate  to  come 
Only  attended  by  a  score  of  guards. 
The  same  attempt  may  seize  the  fort  and  him. 

Sir  Henry.     And  be  precise  to  fix  the  time,  when  we 
Must  take  possession  of  the  citadel. 
Against  the  hour  that  I  expect  you  back 
Five  thousand  troops  shall  be  embarked  and  ready 
To  execute  whatever  plan  you  fix  on. 
\Exit  Sir  Henry.     Reenter  Lucinda  with  a  handkerchief 

to  her  eyes 

Maj.  Andre".  The  time  is  come  that  is  appointed 
for  my  departure.  It  is  impossible  that  even  beauty  or 
wit  or  tears  can  now  withhold  me  from  my  purpose. 
I  have  promised  his  Excellency  and  now  to  hesitate 
would  prove  me  to  be  a  coward,  one  altogether  unwor- 
thy to  be  trusted  with  any  business  that  requires  wit 
and  dexterity. 

Lucinda.  Your  resolution  is  fixed,  and  I  do  not 
desire  you  to  fall  from  it;  only  if  heaven  should  so 
order  that  any  fatal  accident  befall  you,  remember  the 
unfortunate  Lucinda.  She  sends  her  good  wishes  along 


1781]  THE   SPY  59 

with  you,  and  prays  for  all  imaginable  prosperity  on 
every  undertaking  in  which  Major  Andre  bears  a  part. 
Maj.  Andre9.  My  thanks  to  you,  my  dearest.  If  a 
heart  so  good  as  thine  petition  heaven  for  my  safety, 
I  have  nothing  to  fear.  Thy  prayers  are  my  guardian 
angels,  and  will  protect  me  in  every  danger.  My 
honour  calls  me  and  I  must  go.  Give  me  a  parting 
kiss,  my  dear.  Adieu,  adieu.  [He  leaves  her 

Now  native  courage  warm  my  wavering  breast, 

And  fires  of  resolution  blaze  within  me, 

For  I  must  on  a  dangerous  errand  go, 

With  secret  cunning  to  deceive  the  foe, 

Whose  active  souls  in  dire  connections  meet, 

Where  one  false  step  my  ruin  makes  complete. 

Ye  guardian  powers  that  still  protect  the  brave, 

Some  pity  on  distressed  Britain  have. 

By  me  she  seeks  some  portion  to  regain 

Of  her  lost  empire,  tried  so  oft  in  vain. 

But  dreadful  scenes  before  my  eyes  appear, 

And  dangers  thicken  as  they  draw  more  near. 

But  soft — no  dangers  can  my  heart  appal, 

I  have  a  soul  that  can  despise  them  all. 

More  than  an  equal  chance  for  life  I  see, 

But  life  and  death  must  be  the  same  to  me.     [Exit 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — Robinson's  house.     A  stormy  night.     ARNOLD.     Pasquin. 

Arnold.     How  looks  the  weather? 
Pasquin.     Stormy,   sir;   very  stormy;   it  blows  ter- 
rifically and  there  is  heavy  rain. 
Arnold.     Pasquin! 
Pasquin.     Sir. 


60  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Arnold.  Tell  the  sentries  upon  duty  to-night  that  I 
expect  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  here  about  ten 
o'clock.  When  he  comes  to  the  outer  gate,  bid  one  of 
them  conduct  him  to  my  apartment. 

Pasquin.     Your  honour  shall  be  obeyed.  [Exit 

Arnold  (solus).     Peace  to  this  gloomy  grove  that  sees 

me  acting 

What  open  daylight  would  disdain  to  own. 
Ye  wood,  be  witness  of  my  dark  designs, 
And  shade  me  o'er,  ye  lofty  eminences; 
Tremendous  gloom,  encompass  me  around 
In  clouds  that  wing  from  Greenland's  foggy  caves, 
Plutonian  darkness  on  your  pinions  bring, 
Conceal  my  base  intent  from  human  view, 
And  be  the  daylight  still  a  stranger  to  it. 
Storm  on,  ye  wind,  the  tempest  that  ye  make 
In  the  broad  regions  of  the  troubled  ether 
Is  quiet  to  the  tumult  of  my  soul! 
Departing  honour, — take  thy  last  adieu, 
'Tis  this  night's  deed  that  stamps  me  for  a  villain. 
Who  comes  there  ?  {Enter  Pasquin 

Pasquin.  Sir,  there  is  a  traveller  just  alighted  at 
Sergeant  Jones's  quarters,  who  desires  to  know  whether 
he  can  have  a  little  private  conference  with  you,  and 
asked  me  whether  you  were  alone  or  no. 

Arnold.     A  traveller?     How  is  he  dressed? 

Pasquin.  He  has  on  a  plain  suit  of  blue  clothes,  a 
cocked  beaver  hat  and  draw  boots.  He  rides  a  common 
bay  horse,  and  by  his  general  appearance  one  would 
suppose  him  to  be  a  commissary,  or  perhaps  a  quar- 
ter-master. 

Arnold.  How  came  you  to  know  all  these  particu- 
lars ;  the  night  being  so  dark  and  stormy  ? 

Pasquin.     I   had   a  glimpse   of  him   by  means  of  a 


1 78 1]  THE   SPY  6l 

lanthorn  we  carried  out  when  he  got  off  his  horse. 
Over  all,  I  forgot  to  mention,  he  had  a  fear-naught 
riding  coat. 

Arnold.     A  plain  blue  suit,  you  say? 

Pasquin.     Yes. 

Arnold.     And  draw  boots  ? 

Pasquin.     Yes. 

Arnold.     And  wore  he  sword  ? 

Pasquin.     No ;   he  had  no  sword,  that  I  saw. 

Arnold.  And  what  aspect  is  he  ?  Is  he  a  well- 
looking  man  ? 

Pasquin.  As  handsome  a  man,  please  your  honour, 
as  ever  the  sun  shone  upon.  It  did  me  good  to  look 
upon  him. 

Arnold  (aside).  This  must  be  him.  \To  Pasquin 
Bid  the  sergeant  show  him  the  way  to  me  immediately, 
and  put  up  his  horse  in  my  own  stable.  He  is  from 
Philadelphia,  a  friend  and  relative  of  mine. 

[Exit  Pasquin 

Arnold  (solus).  This  is  Major  Andre,  indeed.  We 
have  agreed  in  our  correspondence  that  he  shall  pass 
here  under  the  name  of  Captain  Ashton,  to  prevent 
suspicion.  \Sergeant  introduces  Major  Andre 

Arnold.  Captain  Ashton,  my  friend,  how  are  you  ? 
Please  to  draw  near  the  fire  and  sit.  How  do  our 
friends  at  Philadelphia  ?  [Exit  sergeant}  The  booby 
is  now  gone,  and  we  may  talk  freely  without  sus- 
picion. 

Maj.  Andre.  I  am  happy  at  length  to  see  General 
Arnold,  with  whom  I  have  corresponded  so  long  at  a 
distance.  I  hope,  my  dear  general,  you  are  ready  to 
perform  your  promise. 

Arnold.  Undoubtedly  the  fort  shall  be  yours  within 
three  days,  upon  the  conditions  I  mentioned  to  you  in 


62  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

my  last  letter.     I  hope  you  have  apprised  Sir  Henry 
of  them. 

Maj.  Andrt.  Yes,  sir.  He  is  satisfied,  and  thinks 
your  demand  really  moderate ;  but  now  let  us  to  the 
point.  We  must  fall  upon  some  plan  by  which  we 
must  act  without  much  danger  of  miscarriage.  Would 
it  not  be  best  that  our  troops  should  seem  to  take  the 
fort  by  surprise,  and  thus  prevent  the  world  from 
having  any  suspicion  of  treachery  in  the  case  ? 

Arnold.  I  have  had  the  same  thought,  my  dear  sir. 
Besides,  if  we  can  make  this  pass,  I  shall  become  a 
prisoner  of  war  to  you  in  appearance,  be  exchanged 
after  a  little  time,  and  so  be  in  a  capacity  to  serve  you 
again ;  or,  pretending  the  fort  not  tenable,  I  may  make 
my  escape  during  your  attack,  and  all  this  without  any 
suspicion  on  the  part  of  the  Americans. 

Maj.  Andrt.  God  grant  your  scheme  may  be  suc- 
cessful. 

Arnold.  Now  hear  what  I  have  to  propose  further. 
When  you  are  embarked  with  your  army,  suppose  one 
or  two  thousand  men  or  more  sail  up  the  river  as  far  as 
you  safely  can,  short  of  the  fort,  and  endeavour  to  make 
the  country  believe  you  are  on  a  plundering  expedition. 
I  shall  have  companies  out  who  will  give  me  notice  of 
all  your  movements.  Then  land  your  men,  march  up  to 
the  fort,  demand  a  surrender,  which  I  will  absolutely 
refuse.  Upon  which  hang  out  your  bloody  flag  and  fire 
against  the  walls  point  blank,  without  mercy.  In  that 
part  of  the  fortress  where  I  shall  be,  you  will  see  a 
small  white  flag  flying.  Do  not  fire  to  that  quarter. 
The  garrison  shall  discharge  the  artillery  three  times 
over  your  heads,  after  which  I  will  surrender  and  open 
the  gates  to  you.  Then,  by  not  putting  one  of  the 
garrison  to  death,  which  would  be  your  right,  you 


1781]  THE  SPY  63 

having  stormed  it,  you  will  have  an  excellent  opportu- 
nity of  giving  the  world  a  new  instance  of  British 
humanity.  Then  you  may  pour  your  troops  into  the 
fort,  take  possession  of  it,  and  hoist  the  British  flag. 
The  prisoners  may  immediately  be  sent  to  the  shipping 
and  ordered  to  New  York  before  the  Continental  forces 
will  have  a  chance  of  hindering  the  embarkation.  What 
say  you  ? 

Maj.  Andre'.  Excellently  well  imagined.  I  hope  it 
may  succeed.  The  money  shall  be  paid  you  on  your 
arrival  at  York ;  but  there  is  another  service  Sir  Henry 
would  fain  hope  you  could  indulge  him  in,  and  your 
reward  shall  be  double. 
Arnold.  What  may  it  be  ? 

Maj.  Andrd.  He  is  eager  to  be  possessed  of  your 
Commander-in-Chief.  Could  you  contrive  no  way  to 
get  him  into  our  hands  ?  He  is  the  soul  of  this  obsti- 
nate rebellion.  Were  he  a  prisoner  to  us,  America 
would  soon  be  ours  again. 

Arnold  {pausing).  Why,  true,  it  would  greatly  facili- 
tate the  recovery  of  the  colonies.  Let  me  see.  I  will 
endeavour  to  prevail  upon  him  to  spend  a  day  or  two  at 
Robinson's  home.  Nay,  I  am  sure  he  will  be  here  next 
Monday,  and  the  garrison.  There  are  a  number  of  dis- 
affected people  not  far  from  hence,  whom  I  can  engage 
to  secure  his  person  and  convey  him  on  board  the  Vul- 
ture ship  of  war. 

Maj.  Andrt.  If  we  become  by  your  means  pos- 
sessed of  these  two  jewels,  General  Washington  and 
this  important  fort,  we  shall  never  think  the  obligation 
sufficiently  acknowledged.  You  will  become  the  great- 
est man  in  the  world.  Britain  will  adore  you.  She 
will  kiss  the  very  ground  you  tread  upon,  besides  lav- 
ishing wealth  upon  you  by  millions. 


64  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

Arnold.  She  is  heartily  welcome  to  such  poor  ser- 
vices as  I  can  render  her.  What  I  do  is  from  principle, 
from  the  consciousness  of  a  rectitude  of  heart  and  love 
to  my  country. 

Maj.  Andrt*.  Sir,  you  were  born  to  be  a  great  man. 
Now,  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  deliver  me  the  plan  of  the 
fort,  signals  of  recognizance  and  other  papers  of  conse- 
quence in  this  affair,  I  will  be  going.  I  do  not  think 
myself  safe  till  such  times  as  I  get  within  the  British 
lines  again. 

Arnold.  The  danger  is  trifling.  With  a  passport 
from  me,  you  may  go  anywhere  in  these  colonies. 

Maj.  Andrt.  Sir,  I  thank  you.  It  may  be  of  ser- 
vice indeed. 

Arnold.  I  will  write  it  immediately.  There,  sir; 
and  here  is  the  packet.  I  will  not  detain  you,  because 
I  know  the  business  requires  dispatch.  You  will,  how- 
ever, sup  with  me,  and  take  a  glass  of  wine  before 
you  go. 

Maj.  Andrtf.  I  shall  hardly  have  time;  however,  I 
will  wait  half  an  hour. 

Arnold.  Walk  with  me  into  this  other  apartment; 
we  soldiers  do  not  stand  upon  ceremony.  But  how  do 
you  carry  these  papers  so  as  to  conceal  them  in  case 
you  meet  with  any  over-curious  persons  ? 

Maj.  Andrt.  I  have  an  expedient.  I  can  carry 
them  in  the  foot  of  my  boot.  Do  you  see  how  snug 
they  lie  ?  [Putting  them  on 

Arnold.  Aye,  faith,  that  was  well  thought  of;  but 
do  not  put  the  passport  in  your  boot. 

Maj.  Andre.     No,  no.      That  goes  into  my  pocket. 


1781]  THE    SPY  65 


SCENE  II.  —  An  ancient  stone  building  in  the  Dutch  taste.  Three 
officers^  VINCENT,  AMBROSE,  ASMITH.  VINCENT  and  ASMITH 
entering. 

Am.      Well  are  we  met  in  these  sequestered  wilds; 
Whence  come  ye,  brothers,  at  so  late  an  hour  ? 

Vin.     From  scouring  all  the  country  up  and  down, 
To  seize,  if  fortune  please,  illicit  traders, 
Who  are  so  bold  and  unscrupulous  grown 
That  oft  in  open  day,  as  well  as  night, 
They  bear  large  cargoes  of  provision  down 
To  yonder  ships  that  still  infest  our  river. 
How  I  detest  these  underhanded  scoundrels, 
Who,  hungry  as  the  grave  for  British  gold, 
Feed  the  vile  foe  that  lurks  within  our  harbours. 

Am.     Gods!     Can  they  be  so  base, — but  there  are 

they 

Who  sell  their  country  for  a  mess  of  pottage, — 
A  servile,  scheming  race  whose  god  is  gain, 
Who  for  a  little  gold  would  stab  their  fathers 
And  plunder  life  from  her  who  gave  them  life. 
These  are  not  true  Americans.     They  are 
A  spurious  race — scum,  dregs,  and  bastards  all. 
They  are  not  true  Americans,  I  say. 

As.     They  cannot  be,  they  help  toward  our  ruin. 
But,  gentlemen,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think; 
We  have  so  many  lurking  foes  within, 
And  such  a  potent  enemy  without, 
That  I  almost  despair,  I  must  confess, 
That  ever  we  shall  rend  these  thirteen  States 
From  persevering  Britain,  and  compel 
Acknowledgment  of  independence  here. 

Vin.     Say  not  so. 
The  rights  of  humanity,  'tis  these  we  fight  for, 


66  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

And  not  to  carry  ruin  round  the  globe. 

Appearances  are  so  much  in  our  favour 

That  he  who  doubts  that  this  event  shall  be, 

Must  be  as  blind  as  he  whose  useless  orbs 

Have  never  drank  the  radiated  light. 

Nay,  he  who  doubts  of  this,  who  dares  to  doubt 

(If  nature  be  not l  to  miracles 

And  devils  rule  with  delegated  sway) 
Deserves  not  nor  is  worthy  to  enjoy 
The  paradise  we  look  for. 

Amb.  Be  it  so. 

But  let  us  leave  the  great  event  to  fate, 
Who  soon  or  late  will  bring  to  light  its  purpose ; 
Our  duty  to  our  country  must  be  done, 
And  in  so  doing  we  its  freedom  hasten. 
But,  friends,  why  stay  we  here?     By  yonder  stars 
That  still  revolving  point  toward  the  pole, 
I  find  it  must  be  midnight. 

Vin.     I  do  expect  a  score  of  peasants  here, 
A  set  of  hardy,  bold,  and  faithful  fellows, 
Whom  I  can  trust  in  all  emergencies. 
In  different  parties  I  shall  these  despatch 
Toward  the  hostile  lines,  for  I  suspect 
That  intercourse  too  often  doth  subsist 
Between  our  disaffected  and  the  foe. 

Amb.     And  are  these  peasants  armed  ? 

Vin.     Armed  with  a  musquet  and  a  bayonet ; 
A  true  and  desperate  soldier  wants  no  more. 

As.     And  thirty  cartridges  to  every  man, 
With  three  days'  victuals  in  their  knapsacks  stored. 

Amb.     It  is  enough.     I  hope  they  will  not  tarry. 

1  An  illegible  word. 


1781]  THE   SPY  67 

SCENE  III. — A  number  of  armed  peasants  in  an  outhouse. 

ist  P.  Do  you  know  what  we  are  sent  for,  brother 
Harry  ? 

2nd  P.     To  go  on  some  secret  expedition,  I  suppose. 

ist  P.     And  which  way  shall  we  bend,  think  ye  ? 

2nd  P.  God  bless  you.  Why  do  you  ask  such  a 
question  ?  It  is  not  for  us  to  know  where  we  are 
going.  We  shall  know  bye  and  bye,  I  warrant  you, 
after  we  have  marched  two  or  three  score  of  miles. 

ist  P.     And  where  are  our  officers  ? 

2nd  P.  They  are  in  the  adjoining  house.  They 
will  be  with  us  presently. 

^rd  P.  And  how  shall  we  pass  the  time  till  they 
come  ? 

2nd  P.  O,  merrily  enough.  We  can  dance  and 
sing. 

ist  P.     Harry,  you  can  sing.     Give  us  a  song. 

2nd  P.  [Sings 

Ours  not  to  sleep  in  shady  bowers,1 

When  frosts  are  chilling  all  the  plain, 
And  nights  are  cold  and  long  the  hours 
To  check  the  ardor  of  the  swain, 
Who  parting  from  his  cheerful  fire 
All  comforts  doth  forego, 
And  here  and  there 
And  everywhere 
Pursues  the  prowling  foe. 

2nd  P.     How  like  you  that  ? 

1  This  poem  had  also  been  used  in  "  Mars  and  Hymen."  In  later  editions 
it  was  printed  as  a  distinct  lyric,  with  the  title  "  The  Northern  Soldier."  The 
present  version,  reprinted  from  Freneau's  manuscript,  will  be  seen  to  differ 
considerably  from  the  others. 


68  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

3rd  P.  O,  very  well.  I  love  to  hear  anything  that 
touches  upon  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life. 

4-th  P.  Give  us  the  rest;  give  us  the  rest.  I  love 
that  song,  Harry. 

2nd  P. 

But  we  must  sleep  in  frost  and  snows, 

No  season  shuts  up  our  campaign ; 
Hard  as  the  oaks,  we  dare  oppose 
The  autumn's  or  the  winter's  reign. 
Alike  to  us  the  winds  that  blow 
In  summer's  season  gay, 
Or  those  that  rave 
On  Hudson's  wave 
And  drift  his  ice  away. 

For  Liberty,  celestial  maid, 

With  joy  all  hardships  we  endure. 
In  her  blest  smiles  we  are  repaid, 
In  her  protection  are  secure. 
Then  rise  superior  to  the  foe, 
Ye  freeborn  souls  of  fire ; 
Respect  these  arms, 
'Tis  freedom  warms, 
To  noble  deeds  aspire. 

Winter  and  death  may  change  the  scene, 
The  cold  may  freeze,  the  ball  may  kill, 
And  dire  misfortunes  intervene ; 
But  freedom  shall  be  potent  still 
To  drive  these  Britons  from  our  shore, 
Who,  cruel  and  unkind, 
With  slavish  chain 
Attempt  in  vain 
Our  freeborn  limbs  to  bind. 


1781]  THE   SPY  69 

Pasq.  O,  excellent — "  Our  freeborn  limbs  to  bind  " 
— by  my  soul,  they  never  shall  bind  mine.  Harry, 
give  us  another  song  on  our  affairs  and  then  we'll  be 
ready. 

All.     Ay,  ay;   another,  another. 

2nd  P.  I  have  not  many  by  heart.  I  do  recollect 
one  at  present,  but  it  was  made  at  the  beginning  of  the 
war. 

All.     No  matter,  no  matter;   let's  hear  it. 

2nd  P.  [Sings 

The  cohorts  of  Britain  are  now  all  complete, 

She  has  brushed  up  her  soldiers  and  manned  out  her 

fleet; 

The  lion  has  roared  whose  trade  is  to  kill, 
And  we  are  the  victims  whose  blood  he  must  spill. 

But  ere  I  am  slaughtered  and  wrapped  in  a  shroud 
I  must  tell  you  the  motive  that  makes  him  so  proud. 
The  monkeys  and  puppies  that  bow  to  his  rule 
Have  told  him  a  lie  and  deceived  the  old  fool. 

They  say  we  are  cowards,  not  dressed  in  red  coats, 
That  he  without  danger  may  cut  all  our  throats ; 
If  we  see  but  a  Briton,  confounded  with  fear, 
We'll  throw  down  our  muskets  and  run  like  a  deer. 

That  one  thousand  men  with  a  captain  would  dare 
To  march  from  New   Hampshire  to  Georgia,    they 

swear. 

But  here  lies  the  trick  of  these  wonderful  men, 
They  tell  us  they'll  do  it,  but  do  not  say  when. 

Such  a  motive  to  fight  would  you  ever  conceive, 
Yet  such  is  the  motive  that  makes  him  so  brave. 


70  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

On  such  a  presumption,  in  hopes  of  applause, 
He  whets  up  his  grinders  and  sharpens  his  claws. 

But  hark,  Mr.  Lion,  and  be  not  so  stout, 

In  fancy  alone  you  have  put  us  to  rout. 

To  show  you  how  little  your  threat'nings  avail, 

Here's  a  kick  at  your  breech  and  a  clip  at  your  tail.1 


But  everything  seems  poisoned  where  I  tread, 
And  I  am  tortured  to  perfection. 

\Exit.     Enter  an  officer  of  the  guard 

SCENE  IV. — Another  apartment  in  said  house.     Enter  AIDE  to 
GEN.  ARNOLD. 

Aide.     General  Arnold  here  ? 

Jeff.     Two  hours  have  hardly  yet  elapsed  since  he 
Across  the  river  to  the  garrison 
On  some  important  business  went  in  haste, 
So  as  I  told  to  his  attendant  here. 
For  since  the  general  parted  I  arrived. 
Is  he,  then,  at  the  garrison  ?  by  heaven, 
We'll  have  him  in  a  trice. 

Aide.     You'll  have  him  in  a  trice.     Pray,  what  means 
that? 

Jeff.     I  see  your  ignorance,  my  honest  friend. 
Why  such  a  damned,  unnatural  plot  has  happened 
That  when  I  mention  it,  if  you  have  feeling, 
At  the  first  word  your  blood  must  chill  with  horror 
And  admiration  shake  your  very  soul. 
This  traitor  Arnold,  this  vile,  abandoned  traitor, 
This  monster  of  ingratitude  unequalled, 

1  A  part  of  the  manuscript  is  missing  at  this  point. 


1781]  THE   SPY  ?I 

Has  been  conspiring  with  an  English  spy 
To  render  up  the  fort  to  General  Clinton. 

Aide.     What  fort  ?  the  fort  at  West  Point,  mean  you  ? 

Jeff.     The  fort  at  West  Point,  on  my  sacred  honour, 
The  garrison,  dependencies,  and  stores, 
And,  what  is  more,  the  person  of  our  leader. 
Five  thousand  troops  at  York  are  now  embarked, 
And  even  wait  this  night  to  take  possession. 

Aide.     Is  this  reality  ;   sure  you  are  jesting. 
And  yet  you  serious  seem  to  be  of  countenance. 
Lips  that  quiver,  eyes  that  glow  with  passion, 
Tempt  me  to  think  your  story  may  be  true. 
And  yet  I  doubt  it.     Came  you  here  to  seize  him  ? 

Jeff.     Nay,    doubt  it  not.     I   have  the   papers  with 

me 
That  at  a  glance  betray  this  horrid  treason. 

Aide.     For  what  could  he  do  this? 
Was  it  Resentment,  Avarice,  Ambition 
That  prompted  him  to  act  the  traitor's  part  ? 
And  yet  I'm  sure  it  never  could  be  avarice. 
His  country  lavishes  her  wealth  upon  him ; 
He  has  the  income  of  a  little  king, 
And  perquisites  that  by  a  hundred  ways 
Not  only  the  base  wants  of  life  supply, 
But  deck  him  out  in  elegance  and  grandeur. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  he  has  ambitious  views: 
He  aims  to  make  his  court  to  Britain's  king, 
And  rise  upon  the  ruins  of  his  country. 
Perhaps  it  is  resentment  and  disgust, 
For  many  hate  him,  and  have  often  said 
He  fattens  on  the  plunder  of  the  public. 

Jeff.     'Tis  avarice,  sir,  that  base,  unmanly  motive. 
The  glare  of  British  gold  has  captivated 
This  hero,  as  we  thought  him.     What  a  curse, 


72  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1775 

That  human  souls  can  of  such  stuff  be  moulded, 

That  they,  foregoing  fame  and  character, 

E'en  for  the  sake  of  what  is  despicable, 

Be  foe  to  virtue  and  to  virtue's  friend. 

But  such  are  to  be  found,  and  every  age  has  seen  'em, 

Who,  for  the  sake  of  mere  external  show, 

Some  qualities  that  seemed  to  them  attractive l 


1  Here  the  manuscript  ends  abruptly. 


PART  III 

ERA  OF  THE  FREEMAN'S  JOURNAL 
1781 — 1790 


ERA    OF   THE   FREEMAN'S   JOURNAL 
1781 — 1790* 

ON  THE  MEMORABLE  VICTORY2 

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 


O'er  the  rough  main  with  flowing  sheet 
The  guardian  of  a  numerous  fleet, 

Ser aphis  from  the  Baltic  came  ; 
A  ship  of  less  tremendous  force 
Sail'd  by  her  side  the  self-same  course, 

Countess  of  ScarUro  was  her  name. 

1  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  Adver- 
tiser 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  Free- 
man's Journal. 

2  This  was  the  first  poem  contributed  by  Freneau  to  the  Freeman' s  Jour- 
nal.     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. 


76  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


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  ScarVro  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 

11  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 ; 


[790]  ON  A  MEMORABLE  VICTORY  77 

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. 


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. 


78  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

II 

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. 


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.1 

1  "Overwhelming  half  below."  —  Ed.  1795. 


1790]  ON  A  MEMORABLE  VICTORY  79 

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.1 

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 ; 

1 "  And  hosts  were  shrouded  in  the  main." — Ed.  1795. 


80  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


1790]  AN  ADDRESS  8 1 


AN    ADDRESS1 

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 — 


1  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  soth  of  August,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  his  excel- 
lency 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  Wash- 
ington, the  opening  line  reading,  "Accept,  great  chief,"  etc.  For  the  edition 
of  1795  it  was  changed  to  include  officers  and  soldiers. 


82  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Through    wintry  waves   they  fled,   and    thought   each 

wave 
Their  last,  best  safety  from  a  foe  so  brave ! l 

What  men,  like  you,  our  warfare  could  command, 
And  bring  us  safely  to  the  promised  land  ?  — 
Not  swoln  with  pride,2  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  chief3  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  heroes4  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,5 
Still  may  the  fates  thy  valued  life  maintain. — 

i ««  *      *    *      they  fle^  an(j  thought  the  sea 

With  all  its  storms  less  terrible  than  thee  !  " — Ed.  1786. 
2  "  Not  Clinton-like" — Ib.  3  "You  undismay'd." — Ib. 

4  "  In  him  a  hero." — Ib. 

5  This  and  the  line  following  not  in  the  original  version. 


1790]  AN  ADDRESS  83 

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,  svvoln  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*  only  equal  honours  claim, 
Alike  in  merits — not  the  first  in  fame ! 

*  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. 


84  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

A   NEW-YORK   TORY1 

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  buff2 — 
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 ; 

1  Freeman1  s  Journal,  September  5,  1781. 

2  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. 


1790]  A  NEW-YORK  TORY  TO  HIS  FRIEND  85 

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  Trumbull1  is  taken ! 

1  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  pre- 
ferred 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. — \_DuyckincKsnote,  ed.  of  1865. 


86  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

TO  LORD  CORNWALLIS1 

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  fields2 — 
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,3  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  ? 

1  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." 

2  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." 

3  "  Ruffian."— Ed.  1786. 


1790]  A  LONDON  DIALOGUE  87 

See,  round  thy  posts  how  terribly  advance 
The  chiefs,  the  armies,  and  the  fleets  of  France ; l 
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. 


A  LONDON  DIALOGUE2 

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. 

1  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  gth  that  the  Americans  and  French  felt  ready 
to  begin  the  bombardment  of  the  British  works. 

2  Freemari s  Journal,  September  19,  1781.     The  original  title,  the  one  used 
in  the  1786  edition,  was  "  Dialogue  between  the  Lords  Dunmore  and  Mans- 
field."    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  con- 
tinued 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. 


88  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,1 

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. 

Duntnore 

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. 

1  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." 


1790]  LORD  CORNWALLIS  TO  CLINTON  89 


LORD  CORNWALLIS   TO   SIR   HENRY 
CLINTON1 

[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's2  self  endures  such  misery. 
Was  I  foredoomed  in  tortures3  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. 

1  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. 

2  "  Satan's  self."— Ed.  1786.  3  "  Like  Korah."— Ib. 


90  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,  Graves1 — 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  trifler2  takes  me  for  his  theme — 
Long,  much  too  long  in  this  hard  service  tried, 
Bespattered  still,  be-deviled,  and  belied ; 

"  Lord  Sandwich,  after  the  retirement  of  Howe,  gave  the  naval  command 
at  New  York  to  officers  without  ability ;  and  the  aged  Arbuthnot  was  suc- 
ceeded by  Graves,  a  coarse  and  vulgar  man  of  mean  ability,  and  without  skill 
in  his  profession." — Bancroft. 
2  "School-boy."— Ed.  1786. 


1790]  THE  VANITY  OF  EXISTENCE  QI 

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. 


THE  VANITY   OF  EXISTENCE1 

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. 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  October  24,  1781,  under  the  title 
A  Moral  Thought,"  and  reprinted  without  change  in  the  edition  of  1786. 


92  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


ON  THE  FALL  OF  GENERAL  EARL  CORN- 
WALLIS 

Who,  with  above  seven  thousand  Men,  surrendered  themselves  prisoners 
of  war  to  the  renowned  and  illustrious  General  GEORGE  WASH- 
INGTON, Commander-in-chief  of  the  allied  armies  of  France  and 
America,  on  the  memorable  igth  of  October,  lySi.1 

'  '  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  with2  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  ruffian3  next,  who  scour'd  our  ravag'd  fields, 
Foe  to  the  human  race,4  Cornwallis  yields  !  — 
None  e'er  before  essay'd  such  desperate  crimes, 
Alone  he  stood,  arch-butcher  of  the  times, 


is  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." 

—  Horn.  Odyssey,  Book  XXII. 

In  the  issue  of  the  Freeman's  Journal  of  October  24,  1781,  the  editor 

\_Continued  on  page  qj. 

2  "  Formed  on."—  Ed.  1^95.  3  "  Conqueror.  "—/£. 

4  "  Foe  to  the  rights  of  man."  —  Ib. 


1790]  ON  THE  FALL  OF  CORNWALLIS  93 

Rov'd  uncontroul'd  this  wasted  country  o'er, 

Strew'd  plains  with  dead,  and  bath'd  his  jaws  with  gore  P1 

'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!2 
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 ! — 

voiced  his  joy  by  printing  the  following  in  large  letters,  that  covered  more  than 
half  of  the  first  page  of  the  paper  : 


BE  IT  REMEMBERED 

That  on  the  i7th  day  of  October,  1781,  Lieut.  General 
Charles  Earl  Cornwallis  with  above  5000  British  troops 
surrendered  themselves  prisoners  of  war  to  his  excel- 
lency 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  text  of  the  1786  edition,  which  was  printed  verbatim  from  the 
newspaper,  and  have  indicated  in  the  footnotes  the  most  significant  changes. 

1  This  does  not  overdo  the  contemporary  estimate  of  Cornwallis.    Attempt- 
ing 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. 

2  "  Lord  of  war." — Ed.  1795. 


94  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,1 
Then  say — "Cornwallis  has  atchiev'd  it  all." — 
Yet  he  preserves  the  honour  and  the  fame 
That  vanquished  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  reptile2  birth. 
That  white-cliff'd  isle,  the  vengeful  dragon's3  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  ; 4 
This  brilliant  year  their  total  downfall  see, 
And  what  Cornwallis  is,  may  Clinton  be.5 

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,6 
The  wrongs  revenging  that  their  fathers  bore : 

1  This  line  and  the  nine  following  lines  were  omitted  from  the  edition 
of  1795. 

"  Warrior."—  Ed.  1795.  4  "And  all  wars  be  done." — Ib. 

3  "  Tyrant's."— Ib.  *  "  Sir  Henry  be."— Ib. 

6  "  Manned  by  brave  souls,  to  see  the  British  shore." — Ib. 


1790]  ON  THE  FALL  OF  CORNWALLIS  95 

As  Samuel  hew'd  the  tyrant  Agag  down,1 
So  hew  the  wearer  of  the  British  crown ; 
Unpitying,  next  his  hated  offspring  slay, 
Or  into  foreign  lands  the  fiends  convey : 2 
Give  them  their  turn  to  pine  and  die  in  chains, 
'Till  not  one  monster3  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  think4 — 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, 

1  "As  earthquakes  shook  the  huge  Colossus  down." — Ed.  1795. 

2  "  By  force  convey." — Ib.  3  "  Tyrant." — Ib. 
4  "Nor  say."— Ib. 


96  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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*  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  f  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, 

*  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. 

f  The  Parcce,  or  Fates,  who,  according  to  the  Heathen  mythology,  were 
three  in  number. — Ib. 


1790]  ON  THE  FALL  OF  CORNWALLIS  97 

"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  serpent1  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  Britain1  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,3 
And  hung  a  millstone  round  your  halter' d  neck — 4 
Then  plung'd  forever  to  the  wat'ry  bed, 
Hell  in  your  heart,  and  vengeance  on  your  head.5 

All  must  confess,  that  in  regard  to  you,6 
'Twas  wrong  to  rob  the  devil  of  his  due — 
For  Hayne,  for  Hayne!7  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 ; 

1  "  His  godship."— Ed.  1795.  2  "  The  rage  of  Europe."— /£. 

3  "Mast."— 16. 

4  "  Took  one  sad  survey  of  your  wanton  waste." — Ib. 

6  "  Lost  all  your  honours — even  your  memory  dead." — Ib. 

6  This  and  the  five  following  lines  omitted  in  edition  of  1795. 

7  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  execu- 
tion was  in  the  order  of  Cornwallis  which  had  filled  the  woods  of  Carolina 
with  assassins." — Bancroft. 


98  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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  Beelzebubs1  was  slain, 

Doom'd  to  disgrace  no  human  shape  again — 

As  if  from  hell  this  horned  host  he  drew,2 

Swift  from  the  South  the  embodied  ruffians3  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  murderer4  nam'd — 
He  nobly  gave  the  miscreant5  all  he  claim'd, 
And  bade  Cornwallis,  conquer'd  and  distress'd, 
Bear  all  his  torments  in  his  tortur'd  breast. 

1  "Gog-magogs."— Ed.  1795. 

2  "From  depth  of  woods  this  hornet  host  he  drew." — Ib. 

3  "  Envenom'd  ruffians." — Ib.  *  "The  mean  invader." — Ib. 
5  "  The  prisoner." — Ib. 


1790]  ON  THE  FALL  OF  CORNWALLIS  99 

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  mark1 
To  know  Cornwallis — may  he  howl  and  bark! — 
On  eagle's  wings  explore  your  downward  flight2 
To  the  deep  horrors  of  the  darkest  night,3 
Where,  rapt  in  shade  on  ocean's  utmost  bound,4 
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,* 
Doom'd  through  the  tracks  of  endless  space  to  run 
No  more  revolving  to  confound  the  sun. 

Such  horrid  deeds  your  spotted  soul5  defame 
We  grieve  to  think  your  shape  and  ours  the  same ! 
Enjoy  what  comfort  in  this  life  you  can,6 
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  fall8 — even  you,  though  much  too  late, 

*  See  Whiston's  Hypothesis. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  This  line  and  the  next  omitted  from  later  editions. 

2  "  Homeward  flight." — Ed.  1795. 

3  "  Plan  future  conquests  and  new  battles  fight." — Ib. 

*  This  and  the  following  five  lines  omitted  from  later  editions. 
6  "Your  murdering  host." — Ed.  1795. 

6  This  and  the  following  seven  lines  omitted  from  later  editions. 

7  "  Remorse  be  theirs." — Ed.  1800. 


100  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Shall  curse  the  day  you  languished  to  be  great ; 
Haste  from  the  torments  of  the  present  life,1 
Quick,  let  the  halter  end  thee  or  the  knife ; 
So  may  destruction  rush  with  speedy  wing, 
Low  as  yourself,  to  drag  your  cruel  king ; 2 
His  head  torn  off,  his  hands,  his  feet,  and  all,3 
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. 


1  This  line  and  the  following  omitted  from  later  editions. 

2  "  Each  tyrant  king." — Ed.  1809. 

3  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." 


1790]      TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BRAVE  AMERICANS          IOI 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  BRAVE 
AMERICANS1 

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 ! 2 

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 ! 

1  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. 

2  "  In  the  two  engagements  the  Americans  lost  in  killed,  wounded,  and 
missing,  five  hundred  and  fifty-four  men." — Bancroft. 


102  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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.1 

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.2 

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. 

1  Scott  borrowed  this  line  in  the  introduction  to  the  third  canto  of  Mar- 
mion,  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." 

2  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. 


1790]  ARNOLD'S  DEPARTURE  103 

ARNOLD'S   DEPARTURE1 

Imitated  from  Horace 

' '  Mala  soluta  navis  exit  alite 
Ferens  olentem  Mczvium"  &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, 

1  First  published  in  the  July  10,  1782,  issue  of  the  Freeman's  Journal, 
under  the  title  "  The  loth  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. 


104  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

When  angry  Pallas  spent  her  rage  no  more 
On  vanquished  Ilium,  then  in  ashes  laid, 

But  turned  it  on  the  barque  that  Ajax*  bore, 
Avenging  thus  her  temple  and  the  maid. 

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,  f 
And  a  fat  lamb,  in  sacrifice,  shall  die. 


PLATO,  THE  PHILOSOPHER,  TO  HIS  FRIEND 

THEON1 

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,2 

Nor  to  the  vault  thy  steps  refuse, 

Thy  constant  home  shall  soon  be  there. 

*  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. 

t  The  Tempests  were  Goddesses  amongst  the  Romans.  —  Ib. 

1  Freeman's  Journal,  January  2,  1782.  In  the  editions  of  1795  and  1809, 
the  title  is  "To  an  Old  Man." 

"With  me  a  while,  old  man,  repair." — Ed.  1795. 


790]  PLATO  TO  THEON  105 

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.1 

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  infant2  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. 

"  The  torments  of  life's  closing  year." — Ed.  1795. 
2  "Blasted. "—Ib. 


106  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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  nature1  dropt  a  tear) 

Those  monarchs  have  to  darkness  fled 
And  ruin  bounds  their  mad  career. 

The  grandeur  of  this  earthly  round, 

Where  Theon2  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. 

1  "  Reason." — Ed.  1795.  2  "Folly." — Ib. 


1790]  PLATO  TO  THEON  IO/ 

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  breast1 
Is  weary  of  his  mansion  here. 

Like  Phosphor  clad  in  bright  array2 

His  height  meridian  to  regain, 
He  can,  nor  will  no  longer  stay 3 

To  shiver  on  a  frozen  plain. 

Life's  journey  past,  for  death4  prepare, 

'Tis  but  the  freedom  of  the  mind, 
Jove  made  us  mortal — his  we  are, 

To  Jove,  dear  Theon,5  be  resigned. 

1  "  That  swells  the  breast."— Ed.  1793. 

2  "  Sent  before  the  day."— Ib. 

3  "  The  dawn  arrives — he  must  not  stay." — Ib. 
*"Fate."— Ib. 

5  "  Be  all  our  cares."— Ib. 


108  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

PROLOGUE1 

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; 

1  First  published  in  the  Freemaris  Journal,  January  9,  1782,  with  the  fol- 
lowing introduction  :  "On  Wednesday  evening,  the  2d  instant  [January  2, 
1782]  Alex.  Quesnay,  Esq.,  exhibited  a  most  elegant  entertainment  at  the  play- 
house, 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  gentle- 
men 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. 


1790]  PROLOGUE  109 

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,1  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. 

JIn  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." 


110  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


STANZAS1 

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. 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman1  s  Journal,  January  23,  1782. 


1790]  STANZAS  III 

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. 


112  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE  ROYAL  ADVENTURER1 

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, 
11  Rebellion  die  when  he  appears; 

"  My  Tories  leap  with  ]oy." 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  January  30,  1782.  "Prince  Wil- 
liam 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,  accom- 
panied 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  chim- 
ney sweeps,  smitten  with  the  poetic  flame,  composed  odes  in  his  praise,  some 


1790]  THE  ROYAL  ADVENTURER  113 

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; 
1  'Three  wasted  islands  and  a  town 
"In  rubbish  bury'd — half  burnt  down, 

"  Is  all  that  we  can  claim : 


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." 


14  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

"  I  am  of  royal  birth,  'tis  true, 
11  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." 


LORD  DUNMORE'S  PETITION    TO  THE 
LEGISLATURE  OF  VIRGINIA1 

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. 

1  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. 


1790]  LORD  DUNMORE'S   PETITION  115 

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  wTho : 

But  now,  to  our  sorrow,  disgrace,  and  surprise, 

No  longer  deceived  by  the  Father  of  Lies,* 

We  hear  with  our  ears,  and  we  see  with  our  eyes: — 

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,1 

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.2 

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. 

*  The  printer  of  the  Royal  Gazette. — Freneaus  note,  ed.  of  1786. 

1  ' '  The  last  Royal  Governors  :  Robert  Eden  of  Maryland  ;  Joseph  Martin 
of  North  Carolina  ;  William  Franklin  of  New  Jersey  ;  William  Tryon  of  New 
York. " — Duyckinck. 

2 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. 


Il6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


EPIGRAM1 

Occasioned  by  the  title  of  Mr.  Rivington's*  New  York  Royal  Gazette 
being  scarcely  legible 

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. 

*  Royal  printer  to  his  Britannic  majesty  while  his  forces  held  the  city  of 
New  York,  from  1776  to  November  25,  1783. — Freneau's  note. 
1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  February  13,  1782. 


[790]  A  SPEECH  117 

'  'Tis  yours  to  deceive  with  the  semblance  of  truth, 
'  Thou  friend  of  my  age,  and  thou  guide  of  my  youth ! 
1  But,  to  prosper,  pray  send  me  some  further  supplies, 
<  A  sett  of  new  types,  and  a  sett  of  new  lies." 


A  SPEECH1 

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 ; 2 
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  Hero3  that  steer'd  for  the  cape  of  Good  Hope 
With  Monsieur  Suffrein  was  unable  to  cope— 

1  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. 

2  Alluding  to  the  last  campaign  of  the  war,  which  culminated  in  the  surren- 
der of  Cornwallis. 

3  ' '  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. 


Il8  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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, 
11  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! — 


1790]  A  SPEECH  119 

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. 


120  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

RIVINGTON'S  LAST  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT1 

[A  True  Copy  from  the  Records]2 

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. 

1  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, 
Hudsoris  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,  Riv- 
ington 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. 

2  Omitted  in  later  editions. 


1790]     RIVINGTON'S  LAST  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT       121 

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. 


122  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

My  fiddles,  my  flutes,  French  horns  and  guittars* 
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. f 

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\ 

It  will  strengthen  his  stomach,  prevent  it  from  turning, 

And  digest  the  affront  of  his  effigy  burning. 

To  Baron  Knyphausen,1  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,  §  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.  [ 

*  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  i8og. 

f  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. 

%  Before  flesh  and  after  fish.— See  the  Royal  Gazette.— Ib. 

\  General  James  Robertson. — Ib. 

||  Used  in  the  venereal  disease. — Ib. 

1  Baron  Wilhelm  von  Knyphausen,  in  command  of  the  Hessian  troops." 


1790]    RIVINGTON'S   LAST  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT       123 

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  Mathews2  (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  CoghillKnap*  and  brother  Hugh  Gaine. 

JAMES  RIVINGTON,  (L.S.) 

NEW-YORK,  Feb.  20,  1782. 

*  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. 

1  "Tremendous."— Ed.  iSog. 

8  David  Mathews,  Mayor  of  New  York  during  the  British  occupancy. 


124  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


LINES 

Occasioned  by  Mr.  Rivington's  new  Titular  Types  to  his  Royal  Gazette^ 
of  February  27,  I7821 

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. 

Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  March  13,  1782, 


1790]  LINES  125 

LINES 

On  Mr.  Rivington's  new  engraved  King's  Arms  to  his  Royal  Gazette  * 

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." 


1  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. 


126  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

A   PROPHECY1 

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; 

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  i8th  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  contain- 


1790]  A  PROPHECY  I2/ 

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 ; l 
In  the  year  eighty-six2  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. 


ing  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. 

1  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." 

2  "  In  the  year  eighty-three." — Ed.  1795. 


128  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

THE  ARGONAUT 

OR,    LOST    ADVENTURER1 

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, 
4 'Ah,  what  have  they  to  do  with  things  like  these! 

11 1  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. 

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


1790]  THE  ARGONAUT  129 

'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; 

1  And  slighted  all  the  gain  that  Neptune  yields 

« For  Damon's  cottage,  or  Palemon's  fields. 

1  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: 

1  But  Fortitude,  tho'  wroes  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, 

1  To  wintry  worlds,  with  heavy  heart,  I  go 
"To  face  the  cold  glance  of  the  northern  bear, 

1  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." 


130  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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  ! 


THE  POLITICAL  BALANCE1 

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, 
11  The  third  of  his  name,  and  by  far  the  worst  fool : 

1  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. 


1790]  THE   POLITICAL  BALANCE  131 

"  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, 
11  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; 


132  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

"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  were1  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,*   new  burnished,   he  hung  at  Cape 
Horn. 

*  Stars,  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  which  mark  the  South  Pole  in  Southern 
latitudes. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  "On  which  were  engraven  twice." — Ed.  1786. 


1790]  THE  POLITICAL  BALANCE  133 

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). 


134  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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

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,1 
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,2  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,3  but  complain  not  to  me." 

*  Their  national  debt  being  now  above  /.  200,000,000  sterling. — Freneau's 
note. 

1  This  and  the  nine  following  lines  were  written  for  the  edition  of  1809. 

2  "  Merely  for  music."—  Ed.  ij86.          3  "  If  you  will," — Ib. 


1790]  THE  POLITICAL  BALANCE  135 

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, 

1 '  And  her  freedom  shall  be,  but  the  choice  *  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! 
11  Friend  Vulcan,  it  is  a  most  beautiful  sphere! 

"  Now  while  I  am  busy  in  taking  apart 
4 '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." 

1  "  Length."— Ed.  1786. 


136  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,*  for  their  pay,  had  a  hearty — huzza! 

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." 

*  American  soldiers.  —  Freneau's  note. 


1790]  THE  POLITICAL  BALANCE  137 

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

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."1 

*  An  Island  on  the  north-west  of  Scotland. — Frenearfs  note. 
1  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, 
4  That  (unless  they  are  Welchmen)  I  swear  they  a.r& goats.'  " 


138  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

"  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. 


1790]  THE  POLITICAL  BALANCE  139 

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."* 


*  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  magnani- 
mous people,  and  a  most  vicious  and  vitiating  government.  Perhaps  the  follow- 
ing extract  from  a  pamphlet  lately  published  in  London  and  republished  at 
Baltimore  (June,  1809)  by  Mr.  Bernard  Dornin,  will  place  the  preceding  sen- 
timent 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  pur- 
poses 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  perpetuat- 
ing 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  quali- 
ties 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 


140  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [178: 


DIALOGUE  AT  HYDE-PARK  CORNER1 

(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. 

taken  of  the  loyalty  of  Englishmen,  to  make  them  meanly  submissive ;  their 
piety  is  turned  into  persecution  ;  their  courage  into  useless  and  obstinate  conten- 
tion ;  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  steal- 
ing ;  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." — Frenearfs  note. 

1  Text  from  the  edition  of  1809.     The  poem  first  appeared  in  the  Free- 
matt1  s  Journal,  April  24,  1782. 


1790]  DIALOGUE  AT  HYDE-PARK  CORNER  141 

Burgoyne 

Our  fortunes  different  forms  assume, 
I  called  and  called  for  elbow-room,1 
Till  Gates  discharged  me  to  my  doom ; 2 
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. 

1  See  Vol.  I,  page  166,  note. 

2  "  Had  I  been  blest  with  elbow-room, 

I  might  have  found  a  different  doom." — Ed.  1786. 


142  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


ON  THE  LATE  ROYAL  SLOOP  OF  WAR 
GENERAL  MONK1 

(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 — 
11  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 ; 

1  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  satis- 
faction and  shows  him  truly  worthy  of  the  trust  committed  to  him." 


1790]  TRUTH  ANTICIPATED  143 

*<  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." 


TRUTH   ANTICIPATED1* 

A  Rivingtonian  Dialogue 

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. 

1  The  first  trace  that  I  can  find  of  this  poem  is  in  the  1 786  edition,  where 
it  is  signed,  "  Written  April,  1782." 

*  "  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." — Freneads  note  to  i8og  edition. 

On  June  5,  1782,  Freneau  printed  the  following  in  fat  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  gth,  wherein  16  of  my  rear  were  prevented  by  calms  from  join- 
ing in  the  action,  on  the  I2th  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  impossi- 
ble 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 


144  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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.1 

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. 

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." 

1  "  For  that  was  enough." — Ed.  1786. 


1790]  TRUTH  ANTICIPATED  145 

"  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. 

11  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  f y ! 

"  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  : 


146  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

11  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. 


1790]  BARNEY'S   INVITATION  147 


BARNEY'S  INVITATION1 

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. 

1  "A  number  of  gentlemen  having  met  in  the  evening  [about  April  i, 
1 782]  at  Crawford  and  Donaldson's  insurance  office  in  High  street  and,  con- 
versing 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  en- 
gaged, 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 


148  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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 *  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. 

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. 

1  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. 


1790]  SONG  149 

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  AH. 


SONG1 

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 : 

1  First  published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal  May  8,  1782,  with  the  follow- 
ing 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 


150  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


1 1 


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 
f  *  Sailing  with  the  General  Greene — 
First  we'll  fight  the  Hyder  Alt, 
"  Taking  her  is  taking  them  : 


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. 


1790]  SONG  151 

11  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. 


152  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

11  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 — 


1790]  ON  SIR  HENRY  CLINTON'S  RECALL  153 

Thus  be  Britain's  woes  completed, 

Thus  abridged  her  cruel  reign, 
'Till  she  ever,  thus  defeated, 

Yields  the  sceptre  of  the  main. 


ON  SIR  HENRY  CLINTON'S  RECALL1 

The  dog  that  is  beat  has  a  right  to  complain — 
Sir  Harry  returns  a  disconsolate  man, 
To  the  face  of  his  master,  the  Lord's2  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*  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.3 

*  Generals  Howe  and  Burgoyne. — Freneatis  note. 

1  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. 

2  " Devil's."— Ed.  1786. 

3  In  1775  Lord  Howe  was  appointed  Admiral  of  the  British  fleet  in  North 


154  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,*  quoth  honest  Will  Tryon, 
Are  rags  to  discourage  the  Sons  of  the  Lion  ?) 

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, 
11  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  f  disgrace, 
Nor  how  soon  your  own  colours  would  go  to  the  case. 

America  and  leader  of  the  commission  to  effect  if  possible  a  reconciliation 
with  the  colonists.  With  him  were  sent  two  major-generals,  Clinton  and  Bur- 
goyne,  to  conduct  the  war  with  vigor  if  war  were  found  to  be  inevitable.  The 
three  leaders  arrived  in  Boston  May  25,  1775- 

*See  his  Letters  to  Gen.  Parsons. — Freneau's  note. 

fCornwallis.—  Ib. 


1790]  ON  SIR  HENRY  CLINTON'S  RECALL  155 

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  com- 
manded. 

Thought  you,  "  If  friend  Arnold  this  fort  will  deliver, 
11  We  then  shall  be  masters  of  all  Hudson's  river, 
"  The  east  and  the  south  losing  communication, 
11  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  vile1  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. 

'd."— Ed.  1786. 


156  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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.1 


SIR  GUY  CARLETON'S    ADDRESS  TO  THE 
AMERICANS2 

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. 

1  "  Commission'd  to  steal,  and  commission'd  to  lie." — Ed.  1786. 

2  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  de- 
parted with  the  army. 


1790]  CARLETON'S  ADDRESS  157 

But  I  heartily  wish,  that,  instead  of  Sir  Guy, 
They  had  sent  out  a  seer  from  the  island  of  Side, 
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. 


158  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

'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. 


[790]  SCANDANAVIAN  WAR  SONG  159 


SCANDANAVIAN  WAR  SONG1 

Balderi  patris  scamna 
Par  at  a  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. 

1  First  printed  June  19,  1782,  in  number  16  of  the  series  of  papers  contrib- 
uted 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  Philos- 
opher 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  particu- 
larly 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  ?  " 


160  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE  PROJECTORS1 

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, 

1  First  published  in  the  Freeman1 's  Journal,  July  3,  1782,  under  the  signa- 
ture "  Cassibilan."     I  have  followed  the  1809  text. 


1790]  THE  PROJECTORS  l6l 

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  named1  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;2 
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,3 
Each  Roman  soldier  tilled  the  earth, 
Great  as  a  monarch  on  the  throne 
By  having  something  of  his  own. 

1  "  Let  me  become." — Ed.  ij86. 

2  "  'Twas  policy  the  world  enslav'd." — Ib. 

3  This  line  and  the  following  not  in  the  1786  version. 


1 62  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


ON  GENERAL  ROBERTSON'S  PROCLA- 
MATION1 

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. 

1  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.,  &°<r.  The  Commander-in-chief  having  shown  the  great  con- 
fidence 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  avoca- 
tions 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. 

4 '  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, 


1790]  ON  ROBERTSON'S  PROCLAMATION  163 

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? — 
11  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,1  we  easily  face, 

"  But  when  they're  in  motion — it  alters  the  case; 

"To  skirmish  with  Huddles*  is  all  our  desire 

"  For  though  we  can  murder,  we  cannot  stand  fire. 

they  are  supposed  to  be  judges  of  the  importance  of  their  own  time,  and  may 
act  by  proper  substitutes. 

4 '  As  no  person  deserves  protection  in  a  place  of  which  he  refuses  to  con- 
tribute 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  com- 
manding Officer  of  the  corps  to  which  he  belongs,  where  he  is  to  be  kept  till 
further  orders. 

JAMES  ROBERTSON. 

New  York,  June  22,  1782." 

*Capt.  Huddy,  an  American  Captain,  who,  after  capitulating  in  a  block- 
house, was  hanged  by  refugees,  called  new  levies. — Freneaus  note. 

1  "  Gun  bullets  in  boxes." — Ed.  1786. 


164  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

"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.1 

"  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." 

1  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." 


1790]  A  PICTURE  OF  THE  TIMES  165 

A    PICTURE    OF    THE   TIMES1 

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. 

1  Contributed  to  the  July  19,  1782,  issue  of  the  Freeman's  Journal  over 
the  signature  "  Philomeides."  The  title  in  the  1786  edition  was  "  Philosoph- 
ical Reflections."  I  have  used  the  original  text. 


166  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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? 


1790]          PRINCE  WILLIAM  HENRY'S  SOLILOQUY  167 

'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. 


PRINCE  WILLIAM  HENRY'S  SOLILOQUY1 

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 — 2 
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. 

1  Freeman! 's  Journal,  July  24,  1782.     Text  from  edition  of  1786. 

2  The  prayer  of  the  prince  was  soon  answered. 


168  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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*  (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 : 

*New  York  and  the  neighbouring  islands. — Freneatis  note. 


1790]  SATAN'S  REMONSTRANCE  169 

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. 


SATAN'S  REMONSTRANCE1 

[  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. — 

1  First  published   in   the  Freeman's  Journal,  August  7,  1782,   with  the 
note,  "  See  the  Royal  Gazette  of  the  loth  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  friend- 
ship for  individuals,  have  at  times  led  him  to  credit  and  circulate  paragraphs 


170  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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;  — 

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. 


[790]  SATAN'S  REMONSTRANCE  171 

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.1 

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 ! 


1  This  stanza,  printed  in  the  edition  of  1786,  was  omitted  from  the  later 
editions. 


172  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE  REFUGEES'  PETITION  TO  SIR  GUY 
CARLETON1 

Humbly  Sheweth — 

That  your  Honour's  petitioners,2  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  Frenchmen3  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 ; 

1  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. 

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

3  "  Halters  and  gibbets." — Ed.  1786. 


1790]  SIR  GUY'S  ANSWER  173 

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.1 

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  freights2 
We'll  go  to  the  Rebels,  and  get  our  estates. 


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: 

1  "  To  get  us  away  to  the  shallows  of  Styx." — Ed.  1786. 

2  "  By  the  mass  and  the  will  of  the  fates." — Ib. 


174  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

If  these  do  not  suit  you,  then  take  your  new  plan, 
Make  your  peace  with  the  rebels,  (march  off  to  a  man) : l 
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.2 


TO  A  CONCEALED  ROYALIST3 

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.* 

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, 

1  "  That  is,  if  you  can." — Ed.  ijS6. 

2  "  But  if  still  you  object — to  be  all  on  a  level, 

Burn  up  your  red  coats  and  go  off  to  the  Devil''1 — Ib. 

3  During  the  summer  of  1782  the  Freeman's  Journal  waged  a  bitter  war- 
fare 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 

Continued  on  page  if 5 

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


1790]  TO  A  CONCEALED  ROYALIST  175 

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's1  wreathes  to  shade  his  leaden  scull: 
So,  midnight  darkness  union  claims  with  light: 
So,  oil  and  water  in  one  mass  unite : — 


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." 

1  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." 


I  ?6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

No  more  your  rage  in  plundered  verse  repeat, 
Sink  into  prose — even  there  no  safe  retreat.1 
Reed's2  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.3 


1  "  Sneak  into  prose — the  dunce's  last  retreat." — Ed.  1786. 

2  The  attack  of  "  The  Foe  to  Tyrants  "  was  directed  mainly  against  Gen- 
eral 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. 
n,  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  ap- 
peared against  the  author."     A  second  edition  was  called  for  several  weeks 
after  the  first  issue  of  this  pamphlet. 

3Freneau  signed  these  lines  as  they  appeared  in  the  Journal  "  A  FOE  TO 
MALICE." 


1790]  TO  THE  CONCEALED  ROYALIST 

TO  THE  CONCEALED  ROYALIST1 

In  Answer  to  a  Second  Attack2 

Quid  immerentes  hospites  vexas,  cants 

Ignavus  adversum  lupos  ? 
Quin  hue  inanes,  si  potes,  vertis  minas, 

Et  me  remorsurum  petis  ?  — 

— Hor.  Epod.  10. 

Base  as  they  are,  this  rancorous  royal  crew3 
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. — 

1  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. 

Continued,  page  ij8 

2  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." 

3  "Vile  as  they  are,  this  lukewarm  Tory  crew." — Ed.  if  86. 


178  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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 : — l 
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. 

1  "  And  round  your  neck  the  wythe  or  halter  twine, 
And  be  the  office  of  the  hangman  mine." — Ed.  1786. 

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  borrowed  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." 


1790]  TO  THE  CONCEALED  ROYALIST  179 

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 : l 
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. 


TO  THE  CONCEALED  ROYALIST2 

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. 

1  "  Blockheads  in  power  or  traitors  in  disgrace." — Ed.  1786. 

2  In  the  Journal  of  September  n,  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. 


180  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

'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 ! 

"  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. 


1790]  TO  THE  ROYALIST  UNVEILED  l8l 

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 ! 


TO  THE  ROYALIST  UNVEILED1 

( 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 — 

1This  poem  appeared  September  25,  1782.  The  laureate  of  the  Inde- 
pendent 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. 


182  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

To  him  apply — go — soothe  him  in  distress,1 
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 ; 

1  "  To  him  apply,  dear  Oswald,  in  distress." — Independent  Gazetteer. 

"  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  ; 
'T  would  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  *  brazen  throat, 

Or  midnight  Watchmen's  cries. 

' '  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. 

*  Cryer  of  Philadelphia. 


1790]  TO  THE  ROYALIST  UNVEILED  183 

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." 


"  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  * 
Display'd  her  dull,  somnific  mien, 
In  majesty  and  might. 

"  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. 

*  The  Queen  of  Dullness. 


184  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


"  '  Corcoran,*  long  ago,  hath  fled, 
And  roving  Jem,f  '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. 

"  '  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 !  " 

*  Dr.  Corcoran,  a  poetaster,  well  known. 

t  Jemmy,  the  rover,  a  sonnetter  of  the  Pennsylvania  line. 


1790]  TO  SHYLOCK  AP-SHENKIN  185 


TO  SHYLOCK  AP-SHENKIN1 

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? 

1  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. 


1 86  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Should  Shylock's  poems1  style  you  all  that's  base, 
Abuse  your  stature,  and  malign2  your  face, 
Make  you  the  worst  and  vilest  of  your  kind, 
With  not  one  spark  of  virtue3  in  your  mind; 
Would  you  to  Shylock's4  rancorous  page  reply, 
So  fam'd  for  scandal,  and  so  prone  to  lie? 

Still  may  those  bag-pipes  of  sedition  play, 
(For  fools  may  write5  and  knaves  must  have  their  day) 
Still  from  that  page  let  clamorous  bards8  defame, 
And  madness  rave,  and  malice  take  her  aim : 
May  scribes  on  scribes  in  verse  and  prose  combine, 
And  fiend-like  Sawney  roar7  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 ; 

"  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." 

1  "Oswald's  scribblers." — Freeman 's  Journal. 

2  "  Blaspheme."—  Ed.  1786.  3  "  Reason."— Ib, 

4  "  Who  would  to  Oswald's." — Freeman's  Journal. 

5  "  Must  prate  and  dogs." — Ed.  1786. 

6  "  Hoarse-mouth'd  whelps." — Ib. 

7  "  And  one  dark  chaos  gloom. " — Ib. 


1790]  THE  PROPHECY  OF  KING  TAMMANY  187 

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  barbecue1  their  bones, 
And,  the  last  horrors  of  their  souls  to  calm, 
Shylock,  their  bard,2  console  them  with — a  psalm ! 


THE  PROPHECY  OF  KING  TAMMANY3 

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 ! 

1  "  Canonize." — Freeman1  s  Journal. 

2  "  Fallen,  the  priest."— Ed.  1786. 

3  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  December  n,  1782. 

Tammany  was  an  Indian  chieftain  of  the  Lenni  Lennape  Confederacy  of 
New  York  and  Pennsylvania  during  the  early  colonial  era.  There  is  a  tradi- 
tion 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." 


188  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

"  What  have  we  done,  great  patrons,  say, 
"  That  strangers  seize  our  woods  away, 

"  And  drive  us  naked  from  our  native  plain? 

11  Rage  and  revenge  inspire  my  soul, 
"  And  passion  burns  without  controul; 

"  Hence,  strangers,  to  your  native  shore! 
11  Far  from  our  Indian  shades  retire, 
"  Remove  these  gods  that  vomit  fire, 

I  '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; — 

II  But  why  these  weak  complaints  and  sighs? 
11  Are  there  not  gardens  in  the  west, 

"  Where  all  our  far-famed  Sachems  rest? — 
11  I'll  go,  an  unexpected  guest, 

"  And  the  dark  horrors  of  the  way  despise. 

11  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, 


1790]  THE  PROPHECY  OF  KING  TAMMANY  189 

"  And  ravage  all  your  shore ! 
"  Your  warriors  and  your  children  sl^, , 
"  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 
11  When  virtue  only  could  support  the  fray 
11  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. 


190  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


RIVINGTON'S  REFLECTIONS1 

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,2 
'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? 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman1  s  Journal,  December,  1782,  in  two  installments 
and  inserted  without  change  in  the  edition  of  1786.  The  first  installment  bore 
the  motto  ' ' Indusus  pcenam  expectat. — Virg.,"  and  the  second  the  motto 
"  Incertus  quo  fata  fer ant,  quo  sistere  detur. — Virg."  Almost  no  change  was 
made  in  the  text  for  the  later  editions.  Rivington  bore  this  attack  with  cool- 
ness; 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  respect- 
ing 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." 

2 ' '  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. 


I7QO]  RIVINGTON'S  REFLECTIONS  191 

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  non- 
sense. 

The  late  news  from   Charleston  my  mind  has  per 

plext, 

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's1  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 : 

1  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." 


IQ2  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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.* 

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 ; 

*  See  Gay's  Fables. — Freneau's  note,  Ed.  1786. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  REFLECTIONS  193 

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,1 

And  it  must  be  a  truth  that  admits  no  denying, 

If  they  spare  us  for  Murder  they'll  spare  us  for  Lying. 


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, 

1  The  Freeman's  Journal  of  April  24  and  May  I,  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  Jer- 
sey 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  com- 
mitted, sent  a  deputation  to  general  Washington,  with  a  full  and  certified  state 


194  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 

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  repre- 
sented 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  ingrati- 
tude of  those  he  has  served." 
Asgill  was  finally  released. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  REFLECTIONS  195 

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  should  n'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, 


196  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Throughout  the  black  list  of  the  people  that  sin 
I  cannot  once  find  that  I'm  mention'd  therein; 
Whoremongers,  idolaters,  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,* 
Ye   may   swear   that  poor  Jemmy  would  have  to  sing 
mass. 

*  "  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  n  inst. — Freneaus  note. 


1790]  NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES  197 


NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES 

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

January  I,  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. 


198  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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  VERSES1 

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, 

*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." 


1790]  NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES  199 

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) 


200  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


1790]  HUGH  GAINE'S   LIFE  2OI 

POLITICAL    BIOGRAPHY1 

HUGH    GAINE'S    LIFE* 

CITY  OF  NEW-YORK,  JAN.  i,  1783.1 

To  the  Senate  \  of  York,  with  all  due  submission, 
Of  honest  HUGH  GAINE  the  humble  Petition  ;2 
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. 

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  dwelling3  of  doctor  Brownjohn, 
(Who  now  to  the  drug-shop4  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. 

*A  character  well  remembered  in  New  York,  and  the  adjacent  States, — 
now  deceased. — Frenearfs  note.     Gaine  died  April  25,  1807. 

f  The  British  army  evacuated  New  York  the  November  following. — Ib. 
\  The  Legislature  of  the  State  were  at  this  time  in  session  at  Fishkill. — Ib. 

1  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.      "  Game's  polit- 
ical creed  it  seems  was  to  join  the  strongest  party.      When  the   British  troops 

Continued,  page  202 

2  "  It  is  to  be  questioned  if  Gaine  ever  wrote  a  petition." — Paul  Leicester 
Ford. 

3  "  Drug  shop." — Ed.  ij86.  4  "  Dog  house." — Ib. 


202  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,* 
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, 

*  A  cynical  and  very  eccentric  Physician. — Freneaiis  note. 


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,  he  privately  withdrew  from 
Newark  and  returned  to  New  York.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  he  peti- 
tioned 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  Philadel- 
phia. I  have  used  the  text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


1790]  HUGH  GAINE'S  LIFE  203 

Saw  money  come  in,  as  the  papers  went  out, 
While  Parker  and  Weyman*  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'sf  coach; 

*  New  York  Printers,  many  years  before  the  Revolution.  —  Freneau's 
note.  Parker  and  Weyman  were  in  partnership  in  the  printing  business  be- 
tween the  years  1753  and  1759,  during  which  time  they  were  the  leading 
printers  of  New  York. 

f  Lieutenant-Governor  Cadwallader  Golden. — Ib. 


204  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


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  Yankee1  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 — 
1  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, 

^'Fellow."— Ed.  1786. 


1790]  HUGH  GAINE'S   LIFE  205 

Unmerited  odium  on  Britain  to  throw,1 

I  printed  some  treason  for  Philip  Freneau, 

Some  damnable  poems  reflecting  on  Gage,2 

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,3 
Who  made  it  his  stud}^  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,4 
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  Vande- 

put.* 

That  night  f  when  the  Hero  (his  patience  worn  out) 
Put  fire  to  the  cannons  and  folks  to  the  rout, 

*  Captain  of  the  Asia  man  of  war,  who  cannonaded  the  city. — Freneau' s 
note, 

t  August,  1775.— /*. 

1  "  To  gain  a  mere  trifle,  a  shilling  or  so." — Ed.  1786. 

2  General  Gage's  Soliloquy,  and  General  Gages  Confession,  both  printed  in 

1775- 

3  "  Under   orders    from  the   New  York   Convention   Isaac  Sears,  in  the 
night  of  the  twenty-fourth  of   August   [1775]  removed  cannon  from  the  bat- 
tery 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. 

4  This  line  and  the  following  not  in  the  1786  edition. 


206  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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  !  * 
Some  thought  him  saluting  his  Sally's  and  Nancy's,1 
'Till  he  drove  a  huge  ball  through   the   roof  of    Sam 

Francis;  f 

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 

*  A  cant  phrase  among  privateers  men. — Freneau's  note. 

\  A  noted  Inn-holder  in  New-York. — Ib.     "  Black  Sam." — Ed.  1786. 

1  "  At  first  we  supposed  it  was  only  a  sham." — Ed.  1786. 


1790]  HUGH   GAINE'S   LIFE  2O/ 

— "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,* 
(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. 


As  matters  have  gone,  it  was  plainly  a  blunder, 
But  then  I  expected  the  Whigs  must  knock  under, 

*  From  Long-Island. — Freneau's  note. 


208  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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) 


1 79°]  HUGH  GAINE'S  LIFE  209 

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 ;  * 
The  parson,  who  now  I  hope  is  in  glory, 
Was  then  upon  earth,  and  a  terrible1  tory, 
Not  Cooper  f  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, 

*A   high   church  Episcopalian,   then  rector  of  Trinity  Church,   N.  Y., 
since  deceased. — Freneau^s  note. 

t  Miles  Cooper,  President  of  Kings  (now  Columbia  College). — Ib, 
1  "  Moderate."— Ed.  1786. 


2IO  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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." 


Such  solemn  confession,1  in  scriptural  stile 
Worked  out  my  salvation,  at  least  for  a  while ; 

1  "  Pitiful  whining." — Ed.  1795. 


1790]  HUGH  GAINE'S  LIFE  211 

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  1  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 — l 
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  true2 

1  "  With  his  paunch  of  a  hog,  and  his  brains  of  an  oyster, 

Whence  the  mischief  came  he  with  his  radical  moisture." — Ed.  ij86. 

2  This  line  and  the  three  following  not  in  the  edition  of  1786. 


212  POEMS  OF   PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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; 


1790]  HUGH  GAINE'S   LIFE  213 

The  Crown  he  will  promise  to  hold  in  disgrace : l 
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 2  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. 

1  This  line  and  the  three  following  not  in  the  original  version. 

2  "  The  false-hearted  Tory."— Ed.  1786. 


214  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Blest  seasons  advance,  when  Britons1  shall  find 
That  they  can  be  happy,  and  you  2  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  GAINED 


STANZAS4 

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. 

1 ' '  Tories."— Ed.  1786.  2  ' '  Whigs. "— Id. 

3  Dr.  Francis,  in  his  paper  on  Christopher  Colles,  records  this  story  : 

"  While  on  one  of  his  visits  at  Game's  a  customer  saluted  him  loudly  by 
name,  the  sound  of  which  arrested  the  attention  of  the  old  Royalist,  who,  lift- 
ing 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." 

4  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Jottrnal,  February  19,  1783,  and  copied  by 
the  Charleston  Weekly  Gazette,  May  13  following.    Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


1790]  STANZAS  215 

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. 


2l6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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." 


1790]  ON  THE  BRITISH  KING'S  SPEECH  2 17 

ON  THE  BRITISH  KING'S  SPEECH1 

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.2 

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 ! 

1  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  Decem- 
ber [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. 

2  "And  feed  with  hope  his  heart's  desire." — Ed.  1786. 


218  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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    Christian1 
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?  take  all  his  fleet, 

And  never  let  them  rise  again : 

1  "  Grateful."— Ed.  1786. 

2  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. 


1790]  A  NEW-YORK  TORY'S  EPISTLE  219 

Confine  him  to  his  gloomy  isle, 

Let  Scotland  rule  her  half, 
Spare  him  to  curse  his  fate  awhile, 

And  Whitehead,*  thou  to  write  his  epitaph. 


A  NEW-YORK  TORY'S  EPISTLE1 

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, 

*  William  Whitehead,  Poet  Laureat  to  his  Majesty  —  author  of  the 
execrable  birth-day  Odes. — Freneau's  note,  Ed.  1786. 

1  Freeman 's  Journal,  May  7,  1783.  In  the  later  editions  it  was  entitled 
"  Renegado  Epistle."  Text  from  the  edition  of  1786. 


220  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,1 

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 ! 


1  Two  added  lines  in  the  later  editions  : 

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


1790]  A  NEW-YORK  TORY'S  EPISTLE  221 

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 ! 


222  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,1 
Kings  cannot  always  conquer  when  they  please, 
Nor  are  they  rebels  who  mere  freedom  claim, 
Conquest  alone  can  ratify  the  name — 

1  "  From  nature  constant  still 
Kings  hold  not  worlds  or  empires  at  their  will." — Ed. 


1790]  MANHATTAN   CITY  223 

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. 


MANHATTAN    CITY1 

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  herd2  remains: 
Must  vipers  to  your  halls3  repair; 
Must  poison  taint  that  purest  air  ? 

1  In  the  edition  of  1786  entitled  "  New- York,  September,  1783." 

2  "  A  motley  crew." — Ed.  1786.  3  "  Through  thy  streets." — Ib. 


224  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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,1 
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:2 
While,  to  receive  the  odious3  freight, 
A  thousand  sable  transports  wait. 

Had  he  been  born  in  days  of  old 
When  men  with  gods  their  'squires4  enrolled, 
Hermes  had  claimed  his  aid  above, 
Arch-quibbler  in  the  courts  of  Jove.5 

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 ! 

1  "  I  stood."— Ed.  1786. 

2  "  Lo  !    Skinner  there  collects  a  crew, 

(Their  temples  brushed  with  Stygian  dew)" — Ib. 

3  "  Ghastly."— 72.  4  "  Beasts."— 72. 
5  ' '  Like  Nero's  horse,  he  had  been  made 

A  consul  for  some  Nero's  aid." — Ib. 


1790]  VERSES  225 


VERSES1 

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

December,   1783 


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. 


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  conquer1  d  with  his  suffering  bands, 
And  grew  immortal  by  distress: 

Thus  calms  succeed  the  stormy  blast, 
And  valour  is  repaid  at  last. 

1  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. 


226  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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. 


For  ravag'd  realms  and  conquer'd  seas 
Rome  gave  the  great  imperial  prize, 
And,  swell'd  with  pride,  for  feats  like  these, 
Transferred  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,1 
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. 

1  "Bristly  head."— Ed.  1809. 


1790]  VERSES  22/ 

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. 

ii 

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. 


228  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

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'*  whom  Rome's  proud  legions  sway'd, 
Return'd,  and  sought  his  sylvan  shade. 


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. 

Cincinnatus.  —  Freneau's  note. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  CONFESSIONS  229 

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. 


RIVINGTON'S   CONFESSIONS1 

Addressed  to  the  Whigs  of  New- York 

December  31,  1783 

PART    I 

Long  life  and  low  spirits  were  never  my  choice, 
As  long  as  I  live  I  intend  to  rejoice ; 
When  life  is  worn  out,  and  no  wine's  to  be  had 
'Tis  time  enough  then  to  be  serious  and  sad. 

'Tis  time  enough  then  to  reflect  and  repent 
When  our  liquor  is  gone,  and  our  money  is  spent, 
But  I  cannot  endure  what  is  practis'd  by  some 
This  anticipating  of  evils  to  come : 

1  First  published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,   December  31,    1783.      The 
text  follows  the  1786  version. 


230  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

A  debt  must  be  paid,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
Alike,  in  their  turns,  by  the  grave  and  the  gay, 
And  due  to  a  despot  that  none  can  deceive 
Who  grants  us  no  respite  and  signs  no  reprieve. 

Thrice  happy  is  he  that  from  care  can  retreat, 
And  its  plagues  and  vexations  put  under  his  feet; 
Blow  the  storm  as  it  may,  he  is  always  in  trim, 
And  the  sun's  in  the  zenith  forever  to  him. 

Since  the  world  then  in  earnest  is  nothing  but  care, 
(And  the  world  will  allow  I  have  also  my  share) 
Yet,  toss'd  as  I  am  in  the  stormy  expanse, 
The  best  way,  I  find,  is  to  leave  it  to  chance. 

Look  round,  if  you  please,  and  survey  the  wide  ball 
And  chance,  you  will  find,  has  direction  of  all: 
'Twas  owing  to  chance  that  I  first  saw  the  light, 
And  chance  may  destroy  me  before  it  is  night  ! 

'Twas  a  chance,  a  mere  chance,  that  your  arms  gain'd 

the  day, 

'Twas  a  chance  that  the  Britons  so  soon  went  away, 
To  chance  by  their  leaders  the  nation  is  cast 
And  chance  to  perdition  will  send  them  at  last. 

Now  because  I  remain  when  the  puppies  are  gone 
You    would    willingly    see    me    hang'd,    quarter'd   and 

drawn, 

Though  I  think  I  have  logic  sufficient  to  prove 
That  the  chance  of  my  stay — is  a  proof  of  my  love. 

For  deeds  of  destruction  some  hundreds  are  ripe, 
But  the  worst  of  my  foes  are  your  lads  of  the  type : 
Because  they  have  nothing  to  put  on  their  shelves 
They  are  striving  to  make  me  as  poor  as  themselves. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  CONFESSIONS  231 

There's  Loudon1  and   Kollock,2  these  strong  bulls  of 

Bashan, 

Are  striving  to  hook  me  away  from  my  station, 
And  Holt,3  all  at  once,  is  as  wonderful  great 
As  if  none  but  himself  was  to  print  for  the  State. 

Ye  all  are  convinc'd  I'd  a  right  to  expect 
That  a  sinner  returning  you  would  not  reject — 
Quite  sick  of  the  scarlet  and  slaves  of  the  throne, 
'Tis  now  at  your  option  to  make  me  your  own. 

Suppose  I  had  gone  with  the  Tories  and  rabble 
To  starve,  or  be  drown'd  on  the  shoals  of  cape  Sable, 
I  had  suffer'd,  'tis  true — but  I'll  have  you  to  know, 
You  nothing  had  gain'd  by  the  voice  of  my  woe. 

You  say  that  with  grief  and  dejection  of  heart 

I  pack'd  up  my  awls  with  a  view  to  depart, 

That  my  shelves  were  dismantled,  my  cellars  unstor'd, 

My  boxes  afloat,  and  my  hampers  on  board : 

And  hence  you  infer  (I  am  sure  without  reason) 
That  a  right  you  possess  to  entangle  my  weazon — 
Yet  your  barns  I  ne'er  burnt,  nor  your  blood  have  1  spilt, 
And  my  terror  alone  was  no  proof  of  my  guilt. 

1  A  New  York  printer,  publisher  of  The  New  York  Packet  during  the 
Revolutionary  period.      From    1776  until   1783   he  published   the   paper  at 
Fishkill. 

2  Shepard  Kollock,  soldier-editor  of  the  Revolution.     Established  the  New 
Jersey  Journal  at  Chatham,  N.  J.,  in  1779.     Removed  in  1783  to  New  York, 
where  he  undertook  the  New  York  Gazetteer.     Later,  in  1787,  he  moved  to 
Elizabeth-Town,  N.  J.,  and  revived  his  first  journal,  which  he  successfully 
edited  for  thirty-one  years.     Kollock  died  in  Philadelphia,  July  28,  1839. 

3  John  Holt,  printer,  born  in  Williamsburg,  Virginia,   in  1721,   died  in 
New  York  City,  January  30,   1784.      Holt  founded  in  1776  the  New  York 
Journal,  which  during  the  Revolution  bore  the  famous  device  of  a  snake  cut 

into  parts,  with  the  motto  "  Unite  or  Die." 


232  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

The  charge  may  be  true — for  I  found  it  in  vain 
To  lean  on  a  staff  that  was  broken  in  twain, 
And  ere  I  had  gone  at  Port  Roseway  to  fix, 
I  had  chose  to  sell  drams  on  the  margin  of  Styx. 

I  confess,  that,  with  shame  and  contrition  opprest, 
I  sign'd  an  agreement  to  go  with  the  rest, 
But  ere  they  weigh'd  anchor  to  sail  their  last  trip, 
I  saw  they  were  vermin,  and  gave  them  the  slip. 

Now,  why  you  should  call  me  the  worst  man  alive, 
On  the  word  of  a  convert,  I  cannot  contrive, 
Though  turn'd  a  plain  honest  republican,  still 
You  own  me  no  proslelyte,  do  what  I  will. 

My  paper  is  alter'd — good  people,  don't  fret; 

I  call  it  no  longer  the  Royal  Gazette : 1 

To  me  a  great  monarch  has  lost  all  his  charms, 

I  have  pull'd  down  his  Lion,  and  trampled  his  Arms. 

While  fate  was  propitious,  I  thought  they  might  stand, 
You  know  I  was  zealous  for  George's  command, 
But  since  he  disgrac'd  it,  and  left  us  behind, 
If  I  thought  him  an  angel — I've  alter'd  my  mind. 

On  the  very  same  day  that  his  army  went  hence 
I  ceas'd  to  tell  lies  for  the  sake  of  his  pence ; 
And  what  was  the  reason  —  the  true  one  is  best  — 
I  worship  no  suns  when  they  move  to  the  west : 

In  this  I  resemble  a  Turk  or  a  Moor, 
Bright  Phoebus  ascending,  I  prostrate  adore ; 
And,  therefore,  excuse  me  for  printing  some  lays, 
An  ode  or  a  sonnet  in  Washington's  praise. 

1  After  the  war  Rivington  removed  from  the  head-line  of  his  paper  the 
arms  of  Great  Britain  and  changed  the  title  to  Rivington' s  New  York  Gazette 
and  Universal  Advertiser. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  CONFESSIONS  233 

His  prudence  alone1  has  preserv'd  your  dominions, 
This  bravest  and  boldest  of  all  the  Virginians ! 
And  when  he  is  gone  —  I  pronounce  it  with  pain- 
We  scarcely  shall  meet  with  his  equal  again.2 

Old  Plato  asserted  that  life  is  a  dream 

And  man  but  a  shadow  (whate'er  he  may  seem)3 

By  which  it  is  plain  he  intended  to  say 

That  man,  like  a  shadow,  must  vanish  away : 

If  this  be  the  fact,  in  relation  to  man, 
And  if  each  one  is  striving  to  get  what  he  can, 
I  hope,  while  I  live,  you  will  all  think  it  best, 
To  allow  me  to  bustle  along  with  the  rest. 

A  view  of  my  life,  though  some  parts  might  be  solemn, 
Would  make,  on  the  whole,  a  ridiculous  volume : 
In  the  life  that's  hereafter  (to  speak  with  submission) 
I  hope  I  shall  publish  a  better  edition : 

Even  swine  you  permit  to  subsist  in  the  street; — 
You  pity  a  dog  that  lies  down  to  be  beat  — 
Then  forget  what  is  past — for  the  year's  at  a  close  — 
And  men  of  my  age  have  some  need  of  repose. 

1  "  His  prudence  and  caution." — Ed.  1795. 

2  The  edition  of  1809  added  at  this  point  the  following  six  lines  not  in  the 
earlier  editions  : 

"  The  gods  for  that  hero  did  trouble  prepare, 
But  gave  him  a  mind  that  could  feed  upon  care, 
They  gave  him  a  spirit,  serene  but  severe, 
Above  all  disorder,  confusion,  and  fear  ; 
In  him  it  was  fortune  where  others  would  fail  : 
He  was  born  for  the  tempest,  and  weathered  the  gale." 

3  "  A  cloud,  or  a  stream." — Ed.  1795. 


234  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

PART    II 

But  as  to  the  Tories  that  yet  may  remain, 
They  scarcely  need  give  you  a  moment  of  pain : 
What  dare  they  attempt  when  their  masters  are  fled; — 
When  the  soul  is  departed  who  wars  with  the  dead? 

Poor  souls !   for  the  love  of  the  king  and  his  nation 
They  have  had  their  full  quota  of  mortification; 
Wherever  they  fought,  or  whatever  they  won 
The  dream's  at  an  end  —  the  delusion  is  done. 

The  Temple  you  rais'd  was  so  wonderful  large 
Not  one  of  them  thought  you  could  answer  the  charge, 
It  seem'd  a  mere  castle  constructed  of  vapour, 
Surrounded  with  gibbets  and  founded  on  Paper. 

On  the  basis  of  freedom  you  built  it  too  strong! 
And  Clinton1  confess'd,  when  you  held  it  so  long, 
That  if  any  thing  human  the  fabric  could  shatter 
The  Royal  Gazette  must  accomplish  the  matter.* 

An  engine  like  that,  in  such  hands  as  my  own 
Had  shaken  king  Codjoef  himself  from  his  throne, 
In  another  rebellion  had  ruin'd  the  Scot, 
While  the  Pope  and  Pretender  had  both  gone  to  pot. 

If  you  stood  my  attacks,  I  have  nothing  to  say — 
I  fought,  like  the  Swiss,  for  the  sake  of  my  pay ; 
But  while  I  was  proving  your  fabric  unsound 
Our  vessel  miss'd  stay,  and  we  all  went  aground. 

"  Si  Pergama  dextra 
Defendi  possent,  etiam  hac  defensa  fuissent." — Virg. 

— Frenearfs  note. 

t  The  Negro  king  in  Jamaica,  whom  the  English  declared  independent  in 
1739-  See  our  freeman's  Journal,  No.  37,  for  the  treaty. — Freneads  note 
in  1783. 

1  "  CARLETON."—  Ed.  1795. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  CONFESSIONS  235 

Thus  ended  in  ruin  what  madness  begun, 
And  thus  was  our  nation  disgrac'd  and  undone, 
Renown'd  as  we  were,  and  the  lords  of  the  deep, 
If  our  outset  was  folly,  our  exit  was  sleep. 

A  dominion  like  this,  that  some  millions  had  cost! — 
The  king  might  have  wept  when  he  saw  it  was  lost; — 
This  jewel — whose  value  I  cannot  describe; 
This  pearl  —  that  was  richer  than  all  his  Dutch  tribe. 

When  the  war  came  upon  us,  you  very  well  knew 
My  income  was  small  and  my  riches  were  few  — 
If  your  money  was  scarce,  and  your  prospects  were  bad, 
Why  hinder  me  printing  for  people  that  had? 

'Twould  have  pleas'd  you,  no  doubt,  had  I  gone  with  a 

few  setts 

Of  books,  to  exist  in  your  cold  Massachusetts ; 
Or  to  wander  at  Newark,  like  ill  fated  Hugh, 
Not  a  shirt  to  my  back,  nor  a  soal  to  my  shoe. 

Now,  if  we  mistook  (as  we  did,  it  is  plain) 

Our  error  was  owing  to  wicked  Hugh  Gaine, 

For  he  gave  us  such  scenes  of  your  starving  and  strife 

As  prov'd  that  his  pictures  were  drawn  from  the  life. 

On  the  waves  of  the  Styx  had  he  rode  quarantine, 
He  could  not  have  look'd  more  infernally  lean 
Than  the  day,  when  returning  dismay'd  and  distrest, 
Like  the  doves  to  their  windows,  he  flew  to  his  nest.1 

The  part  that  he2  acted,  by  some  men  of  sense 
Was  wrongfully  held  to  be  malice  propense, 
When  to  all  the  world  it  was  perfectly  plain, 
One  principle  rul'd  him3 — a  passion  for  gain. 

1  In  the  later  editions  this  stanza  was  inserted  after  stanza  i,  Part   II,  and 
made  to  refer  to  the  Tories. 

2  "  That  I  acted. "—.Ear.  f<.  3  "  Rul'd  me."— Ib. 


236  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

You  pretend  I  have  suffer' d  no  loss  in  the  cause, 
And  have,  therefore,  no  right  to  partake  of  your  laws: 
Some  people  love  talking — I  find  to  my  cost, 
I  too  am  a  loser  —  my  character's  lost! l 

Nay,  did  not  your  printers  repeatedly  stoop 

To  descant  and  reflect  on  my  Portable  Soup  ? 

At  me  have  your  porcupines  darted  the  quill, 

You  have  plunder'd  my  Office,*  and  published  my  Will.2 

Resolv'd  upon  mischief,  you  held  it  no  crime 
To  steal  my  Reflections?  and  print  them  in  rhyme, 
When  all  the  world  knew,  or  at  least  they  might  guess, 
That  the  time  to  reflect  was  no  time  to  confess; 4 

You  never  consider'd  my  children  and  wife,5 

That  my  lot  was  to  toil  and  to  struggle6  through  life; 

My  windows  you  broke  —  they  are  all  on  a  jar, 

And  my  house  you  have  made  a  mere  old  man  of  war. 

And  still  you  insist  I've  no  right  to  complain !  — 
Indeed  if  I  do,  I'm  afraid  it's  in  vain- 
Yet  am  willing  to  hope  you're  too  learnedly  read 
To  hang  up  a  printer  for  being  misled. 

If  this  be  your  aim,  I  must  think  of  a  flight  — 
In  less  than  a  month  I  must  bid  you  good-night, 
And  hurry  away  to  that  whelp  ridden  shore 
Where  Clinton  and  Carleton  retreated  before. 

*  November,  1775. — Freneau's  note.  On  November  27,  1775,  a  band  of 
armed  men,  under  Sears  of  Connecticut,  entered  the  city  on  horseback,  de- 
stroyed his  press  and  scattered  his  types. 

1  "  My  PENSION  is  lost!" — Ed.  1795. 

2  See  page  120.  3  See  page  190. 

4  "When  all  the  town  knew  (and  a  number  confess'd) 

That  papers,  like  these,  were  no  cause  of  arrest." — Ed. 

5  "  My  struggles  and  strife." — Ib.       6  "  To  worry." — Ib. 


1790]  RIVINGTON'S  CONFESSIONS  237 

From  signs  in  the  sky,  and  from  tokens  on  land 
I'm  inclin'd  to  suspect  my  departure's  at  hand: 
The  man  in  the  moon  is  unusually  big, 
And  Inglis,  they  tell  me,  has  grown  a  good  Whig.1 

For  many  days  past,  as  the  town  can  attest, 
The  tail  of  the  weather-cock  hung  to  the  west — 2 
My  shop,  the  last  evening,  seem'd  all  in  a  blaze, 
And  a  hen  crow'd  at  midnight,  my  waiting  man  says ; 

Even  then,  as  I  lay  with  strange  whims  in  my  head, 

A  ghost  hove  in  sight,  not  a  yard  from  my  bed, 

It  seem'd  Gen'ral  Robertson,3  brawly  array'd, 

But  I  grasp'd  at  the  substance,  and  found  him  a  shade ! 

He  appear'd  as  of  old,  when,  head  of  the  throng, 

And  loaded  with  laurels,  he  waddled  along  — 

He  seem'd  at  the  foot  of  my  bedstead  to  stand 

And  cry'd —  "  Jemmy  Rivington,  reach  me  your  hand; 

"And  Jemmy,  (said  he)  I  am  sorry  to  find 

"Some  demon  advis'd  you  to  loiter  behind; 

"The  country  is  hostile  —  you  had  better  get  off  it, 

<  <  Here's  nothing  but  squabbles,  all  plague  and  no  profit ! 

"Since   the  day  that  Sir  William  came  here  with  his 

throng 

"  He  manag'd  things  so  that  they  always  went  wrong, 
"And  tho'  for  his  knighthood,  he  kept  Meschianza, 
"  I  think  he  was  nothing  but  mere  Sancho  Panga. 

1  In  place  of  these  lines,  the  edition  of  1795  has  the  following  : 

"  Old  Argo  the  ship, —  in  a  peep  at  her  star, 
I  found  they  were  scraping  her  bottom  for  TAR." 

2  "  A  boy  with  a  feather-bed  troubled  my  rest." — Ed.  1795. 

3  Royal  Governor  of  New  York.     He  arrived  in  the  city  March  21,  1780. 
He  was  considered  harsh  and  arbitrary  by  the  patriots. 


238  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

1  'That  famous  conductor  of  moon-light  retreats, 
"  Sir  Harry,  came  next  with  his  armies  and  fleets, 
"  But,  finding  the  rebels  were  dying  and  dead, 
"  He  grounded  his  arms  and  retreated  to  bed. 

"  Other  luck  we  had  once  at  the  battle  of  Boyne! 
"  But  here  they  have  ruin'd  Earl  Charles  and  Burgoyne, 
"  Here  brave  col'nel  Monckton  was  thrown  on  his  back, 
1  'And  here  lies  poor  Andre!  the  best  of  the  pack." 

So  saying,  he  flitted  away  in  a  trice, 
Just  adding,  "he  hop'd  I  would  take  his  advice" — 
Which  I  surely  shall  do  if  you  push  me  too  hard  — 
And  so  I  remain,  with  eternal  regard, 

JAMES  RIVINGTON,  printer,  of  late,  to  the  king, 

But  now  a  republican  —  under  your  wing  — 

Let  him  stand  where  he  is  —  don't  push  him  down 

hill, 
And  he'll  turn  a  true  Blue-Skin,  or  just  what  you 

will. 


A   NEWS-MAN'S   ADDRESS1 

What  tempests  gloom'd  the  by-past  year  — 

What  dismal  prospects  then  arose ! 
Scarce  at  your  doors  I  dar'd  appear, 
So  many  were  our  griefs  and  woes : 

But  time  at  length  has  chang'd  the  scene, 
Our  prospects,  now,  are  more  serene. 

1From  the  edition  of  1795.  The  poem  was  first  published  as  a  broad- 
side in  1784,  with  the  title,  "  New- Year  Verses,  For  those  who  carry  the  Penn- 
sylvania Gazette  To  the  Customers.  January  I,  1784,"  and  was  reproduced 
almost  verbatim  in  the  1786  edition. 


1790]  A  NEW-SMAN'S  ADDRESS  239 

Bad  news  we  brought  you  every  day, 

Your  seamen  slain,  your  ships  on  shore, 
The  army  fretting  for  their  pay  — 

('Twas  well  they  had  not  fretted  more!) 
'Twas  wrong  indeed  to  wear  out  shoes, 
To  bring  you  nothing  but  bad  news. 

Now  let's  be  joyful  for  the  change  — 

The  folks  that  guard  the  English  throne 
Have  given  us  ample  room  to  range, 

And  more,  perhaps,  than  was  their  own ; 
To  western  lakes  they  stretch  our  bounds, 
And  yield  the  Indian  hunting  grounds. 

But  pray  read  on  another  year, 

Remain  the  humble  newsman's  friend ; 
And  he'll  engage  to  let  you  hear 

What  Europe's  princes  next  intend. — 
Even  now  their  brains  are  all  at  work 
To  rouse  the  Russian  on  the  Turk. 

Well  —  if  they  fight,  then  fight  they  must, 

They  are  a  strange  contentious  breed ; 
One  good  effect  will  be,  I  trust, 

The  more  are  kill'd,  the  more  you'll  read; 
For  past  experience  clearly  shews, 
That  Wrangling  is  the  Life  of  News. 


240  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


NEW    YEAR'S   VERSES1 

Addressed  to  the  customers  of  the  Freeman's  Journal,  by  the  Lad 
who  carries  it 

January  7,  1784 

Blest  be  the  man  who  early  prov'd 
And  first  contriv'd  to  make  it  clear 

That  Time  upon  a  dial  mov'd, 

And  trac'd  that  circle  call'd  a  year; 

Ere  he  arose,  the  savage,  man, 

No  bounds  to  years  or  seasons  knew, 

On  Nature's  book  his  reckoning  ran, 
And  social  festivals  were  few. 

In  after  days,  when  folks  grew  wise 
New  wonderments  were  daily  found, 

Systems  they  built  on  pumpkin  pies, 

And  prov'd  that  every  thing  went  round. 

Experience  shows  they  reason'd  right, 

(With  laurels  we  their  tombs  should  crown) 

For  half  the  world  is  in  such  plight 
That  one  would  swear  it  upside  down. 

Now  I  am  one,  (and  pray  attend) 
Who,  marching  in  a  smaller  sphere, 

To  set  you  right,  my  service  lend, 
By  bringing  Papers  through  the  year, 

1  Text  from  the  1786  edition.     The  poem  appears  in  the  1795  edition 
under  the  title  "  A  News-Carrier's  Petition." 


I79o]  NEW  YEAR'S  VERSES  241 

Which  to  your  Honours  may  impart 

A  thousand  new  invented  schemes, 
The  works  of  wit,  and  toils  of  art, 

News,  commerce,  politics,  and  dreams: 

Though  in  a  sheet,  at  random  cast, 
Our  motley  knowledge  we  dispose, 

From  such  a  mass,  in  ages  past, 
Have  less  substantial  fabrics  rose ; 

The  Sybil  wise,  as  Virgil  says, 

Her  writings  to  the  leaves  consign'd, 

Which  soon  were  borne  a  thousand  ways, 
Derang'd  and  scatter'd  by  the  wind. 

Not  such  neglect  in  me  is  seen  — 

Soon  as  my  leaves  have  left  the  press 

I  haste  to  bring  them,  neat  and  clean, 
At  all  times  in  a  New  Year's  dress. 

Though  winds  their  ancient  spite  retain, 
And  strive  to  tear  them  from  my  hold, 

I  bear  them  safe  through  wind  and  rain, 
Despising  heat,  despising  cold. 

While  thus  employed,  from  week  to  week, 

You  surely  will  not  think  it  hard 
If,  with  the  rest,  I  come  to  seek 

Some  humble  token  of  regard. 

Nor  will  you  deem  my  conduct  strange 
If  what  I  long  have  thought  be  true  — 

That  life  itself  is  constant  change, 

And  death,  the  want  of  something  new. 


242  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE    HAPPY    PROSPECT1 

Though  clad  in  winter's  gloomy  dress  all  Nature's  works 

appear, 
Yet  other  prospects  rise  to   bless   the   new  returning 

year : 

The  active  sail  again  is  seen  to  greet  our  western  shore, 
Gay  plenty  smiles  with  brow  serene,  and  wars  distract 

no  more. 

No  more  the  vales,  no  more  the  plains  an  iron  harvest 

yield; 
Peace  guards  our  doors,  impells  our  swains  to  till  the 

grateful  field : 
From   distant    climes,   no    longer  foes   (their   years  of 

misery  past) 
Nations  arrive,  to  find  repose  in  these  domains  at  last. 

And,  if  a  more  delightful  scene  attracts  the  mortal  eye, 
Where  clouds  nor  darkness  intervene,  behold,  aspiring 

high, 
On  Freedom's  soil  those   Fabrics  plann'd,   on  virtue's 

basis  laid, 
That  make  secure  our  native  land,  and  prove  our  toils 

repaid. 

Ambitious  aims  and  pride  severe,  would  you  at  dis- 
tance keep, 

What  wanderer  would  not  tarry  here,  here  charm  his 
cares  to  sleep ! 

1  This  is  Freneau's  hymn  of  thanksgiving  at  the  close  of  the  war.     Text 
from  the  1795  edition,  where,  as  far  as  I  can  discover,  it  was  first  published. 


1 79o]  THE  DYING  INDIAN  243 

O,  still  may  health  her  balmy  wings  o'er  these  fair  fields 

expand, 
While  commerce  from  all  climates  brings  the  products 

of  each  land. 

Through  toiling  care  and  lengthen'd  views,  that  share 

alike  our  span, 
Gay,  smiling  hope  her  heaven  pursues,  the  eternal  friend 

of  man : 
The  darkness  of  the  days  to  come  she  brightens  with 

her  ray, 
And  smiles  o'er  Nature's  gaping  tomb,  when  sickening 

to  decay ! 


THE    DYING   INDIAN1 
TOMO-CHEQUI 

"On  yonder  lake  I  spread  the  sail  no  more! 
Vigour,  and  youth,  and  active  days  are  past  — 
Relentless  demons  urge  me  to  that  shore 
On  whose  black  forests  all  the  dead  are  cast: — 
Ye  solemn  train,  prepare  the  funeral  song, 
For  I  must  go  to  shades  below, 
Where  all  is  strange  and  all  is  new ; 
Companion  to  the  airy  throng !  — 

What  solitary  streams, 

In  dull  and  dreary  dreams, 
All  melancholy,  must  I  rove  along! 

1  Text  from  the  edition  of  1809.  First  published  in  the  Freeman' s  Jour- 
nal, March  17,  1784.  It  was  inserted  without  change  into  the  edition  of  1786, 
where  it  bore  the  title:  "The  Dying  Indian,  or  Last  Words  of  Shalum. 
March,  1784.  Debemur  morti  nos,  nostraque."  The  two  later  editions  were 
unchanged  save  in  title. 


244  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

To  what  strange  lands  must  Chequi  take  his  way ! 
Groves  of  the  dead  departed  mortals  trace : 
No  deer  along  those  gloomy  forests  stray, 
No  huntsmen  there  take  pleasure  in  the  chace, 
But  all  are  empty  unsubstantial  shades, 
That  ramble  through  those  visionary  glades; 
No  spongy  fruits  from  verdant  trees  depend, 

But  sickly  orchards  there 

Do  fruits  as  sickly  bear, 
And  apples  a  consumptive  visage  shew, 
And  withered  hangs  the  hurtle-berry  blue. 

Ah  me !   what  mischiefs  on  the  dead  attend  ! 
Wandering  a  stranger  to  the  shores  below, 
Where  shall  I  brook  or  real  fountain  find  ? 
Lazy  and  sad  deluding  waters  flow  — 
Such  is  the  picture  in  my  boding  mind ! 

Fine  tales,  indeed,  they  tell 

Of  shades  and  purling  rills, 

Where  our  dead  fathers  dwell 

Beyond  the  western  hills, 
But  when  did  ghost  return  his  state  to  shew ; 
Or  who  can  promise  half  the  tale  is  true? 

I  too  must  be  a  fleeting  ghost!  — no  more  — 
None,  none  but  shadows  to  those  mansions  go ; 
I  leave  my  woods,  I  leave  the  Huron  shore, 
For  emptier  groves  below ! 

Ye  charming  solitudes, 

Ye  tall  ascending  woods, 
Ye  glassy  lakes  and  prattling  streams, 

Whose  aspect  still  was  sweet, 

Whether  the  sun  did  greet, 
Or  the  pale  moon  embraced  you  with  her  beams  — 

Adieu  to  all ! 


1790]  THE  DYING  INDIAN  245 

To  all,  that  charmed  me  where  I  strayed, 

The  winding  stream,  the  dark  sequestered  shade; 

Adieu  all  triumphs  here  ! 
Adieu  the  mountain's  lofty  swell, 
Adieu,  thou  little  verdant  hill, 
And  seas,  and  stars,  and  skies  —  farewell, 
For  some  remoter  sphere  ! 

Perplexed  with  doubts,  and  tortured  with  despair, 
Why  so  dejected  at  this  hopeless  sleep  ? 
Nature  at  last  these  ruins  may  repair, 
When  fate's  long  dream  is  o'er,  and  she  forgets  to  weep 
Some  real  world  once  more  may  be  assigned, 
Some  new  born  mansion  for  the  immortal  mind  ! 
Farewell,  sweet  lake ;   farewell  surrounding  woods, 
To  other  groves,  through  midnight  glooms,  I  stray, 
Beyond  the  mountains,  and  beyond  the  floods, 

Beyond  the  Huron  bay ! 

Prepare  the  hollow  tomb,  and  place  me  low, 
My  trusty  bow  and  arrows  by  my  side, 
The  cheerful  bottle  and  the  venison  store ; 
For  long  the  journey  is  that  I  must  go, 
Without  a  partner,  and  without  a  guide." 

He  spoke,  and  bid  the  attending  mourners  weep, 
Then  closed  his  eyes,  and  sunk  to  endless  sleep ! 


246  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

LINES1 

Intended  for  Mr.  Peale's  Exhibition 
May  10,  1784 

I 

Toward  the  skies 

What  columns  rise 
In  Roman  style,  profusely  great ! 

What  lamps  ascend, 

What  arches  bend, 
And  swell  with  more  than  Roman  state ! 


High  o'er  the  central  arch  display'd 
Old  Janus  shuts  his  temple  door, 
And  shackles  war  in  darkest  shade ; 
Saturnian  times  in  view  once  more. 

3 

Pride  of  the  human  race,  behold 
In  Gallia's  king  the  virtues  glow, 
Whose  conduct  prov'd,  whose  goodness  told, 
That  kings  can  feel  for  human  woe. 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  May  19,  1784,  which  the  text 
follows.  Practically  unchanged  for  the  later  editions.  The  following  descrip- 
tion of  this  arch  appeared  in  the  Journal,  May  I2th  : 

"Monday  at  noon,  the  sheriff,  attended  by  the  proper  officers,  made  proc- 
lamation of  the  Definitive  Treaty  of  Peace  concluded  between  America  and 
Great-Britain.  At  the  same  time  the  state  flag  was  hoisted  on  Market  street 
wharf,  and  in  the  evening  the  transparent  paintings  which  were  designed  in 
celebration  of  the  general  peace,  and  were  to  have  been  shewn  on  the  22d 
January  last,  but  prevented  by  an  unfortunate  accident ;  being  revived  by  sub- 


1790]  LINES  247 

Thrice  happy  France  in  Louis  blest, 
Thy  genius  droops  her  head  no  more ; 
In  the  calm  virtues  of  the  mind 
Equal  to  him  no  Titus  shin'd  — 
No  Trajan  —  whom  mankind  adore. 

4 

Another  scene  too  soon  displays ! 
Griefs  have  their  share,  and  claim  their'part, 
They  monuments  to  ruin  raise, 
And  shed  keen  anguish  o'er  the  heart: 
Those  heroes  that  in  battle  fell 
Demand  a  sympathetic  tear, 
Who  fought,  our  tyrants  to  repell  — 
Memory  preserves  their  laurels  here. 

In  vernal  skies 

Thus  tempests  rise, 
And  clouds  obscure  the  brightest  sun  — 

Few  wreathes  are  gain'd 

With  blood  unstain'd, 
No  honours  without  ruin  won. 

5 

The  arms  of  France  three  lillies  mark  — 
In  honour's  dome  with  these  enroll'd 
The  plough,  the  sheaf,  the  gliding  barque 
The  riches  of  our  State  unfold. 

scription,  and  executed  by  the  ingenious  Mr.  Peale,  were  exhibited,  and  afforded 
great  satisfaction  to  many  thousands  of  spectators. 

The  following  is  a  Description  of  the  Triumphal  Arch  and  its  ornaments  : 
THE  Arch  is  fifty  Feet  and  six  Inches  wide,  and  thirty-five  Feet  and 
six  Inches  high,  exclusive  of  the  Ballustrade,  which  is  three  Feet  and  nine 
Inches  in  height.  The  Arch  is  fourteen  Feet  wide  in  the  clear,  and  each  of  the 
smaller  Arches  nine  feet.  The  Pillars  are  of  the  Ionic  Order.  The  Entab- 
lature, all  the  other  Parts,  and  the  Proportions  correspond  with  that  Order  ; 
and  the  whole  Edifice  is  finished  in  the  Style  of  Architecture  proper  for  such 


248  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

6 

Ally'd  in  Heaven,  a  sun  and  stars 
Friendship  and  peace  with  France  declare  — 
The  branch  succeeds  the  spear  of  Mars, 
Commerce  repairs  the  wastes  of  war : 
In  ties  of  concord  ancient  foes  engage 
Proving  the  day-spring  of  a  brighter  age. 

7 

These  States  defended  by  the  brave, 
Their  military  trophies,  see  ! 
The  virtue  that  of  old  did  save 
Shall  still  maintain  them  great  and  free : 
Arts  shall  pervade  the  western  wild, 
And  savage  hearts  become  more  mild. 


Of  science  proud,  the  source  of  sway, 

Lo  !   emblematic  figures  shine ; 

The  arts  their  kindred  forms  display, 

Manners  to  soften  and  refine: 

A  stately  tree  to  heaven  its  summit  sends 

And  cluster'd  fruit  from  thirteen  boughs  depends. 

9 

With  laurel  crown'd 
A  chief  renown'd 

(His  country  sav'd)  his  faulchion  sheaths; 
Neglects  his  spoils 
For  rural  toils 

a  Building,  and  used  by  the  Romans.  The  Pillars  are  adorned  with  spiral 
Festoons  of  Flowers  in  their  natural  Colours.  .  .  .  [Then  follows  a  half- 
column  description  of  the  various  ornaments  and  devices.] 

The  whole  Building  illuminated  by  about  twelve  hundred  Lamps." 


1790]  LINES  249 

And  crowns  his  plough  with  laurel  wreaths : 

While  we  this  Roman  chief  survey, 

What  apt  resemblance  strikes  the  eye  ! 

Those  features  to  the  soul  convey 

A  Washington  in  fame  as  high, 

Whose  prudent,  persevering  mind 

Patience  with  manly  courage  join'd, 

And  when  disgrace  and  death  were  near, 

Look'd  through  the  black  distressing  shade, 

Struck  hostile  Britons  with  unwonted  fear 

And  blasted  their  best  hopes,  and  pride  in  ruin  laid. 

10 

Victorious  virtue !   aid  me  to  pursue 
The  tributary  verse  to  triumphs  due  — 
Behold  the  peasant  leave  his  lowly  shed, 
Where  tufted  forests  round  him  grow ; — 
Tho'  clouds  the  dark  sky  overspread, 
War's  dreadful  art  his  arm  essays, 
He  meets  the  hostile  cannon's  blaze, 
And  pours  redoubled  vengeance  on  the  foe. 

ii 

Born  to  protect  and  guard  our  native  land, 

Victorious  virtue  !  still  preserve  us  free ; 

Plenty  —  gay  child  of  peace,  thy  horn  expand, 

And,  Concord,  teach  us  to  agree  ! 

May  every  virtue  that  adorns  the  soul 

Be  here  advanc'd  to  heights  unknown  before ; 

Pacific  ages  in  succession  roll, 

'Till  Nature  blots  the  scene, 

Chaos  resumes  her  reign 

And  heaven   with  pleasure  views  its  works  no 
more. 


250  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE    HURRICANE1 

Happy  the  man  who,  safe  on  shore, 
Now  trims,  at  home,  his  evening  fire ; 

Unmov'd,  he  hears  the  tempests  roar, 
That  on  the  tufted  groves  expire : 

Alas!   on  us  they  doubly  fall, 

Our  feeble  barque  must  bear  them  all. 

Now  to  their  haunts  the  birds  retreat, 

The  squirrel  seeks  his  hollow  tree, 
Wolves  in  their  shaded  caverns  meet, 

All,  all  are  blest  but  wretched  we  — 
Foredoomed  a  stranger  to  repose, 
No  rest  the  unsettled  ocean  knows. 

While  o'er  the  dark  abyss*  we  roam, 
Perhaps,  with  last  departing  gleam, 

We  saw  the  sun  descend  in  gloom, 
No  more  to  see  his  morning  beam ; 

But  buried  low,  by  far  too  deep, 

On  coral  beds,  unpitied,  sleep ! 

*Near  the  east  end  of  Jamaica,  July  30,  1784. — Freneau's  note. 

1  First  published  in  the  April  13,  1785,  issue  of  the  Freeman's  Journal, 
under  the  title,  "Verses,  made  at  Sea,  in  a  Heavy  Gale,"  and  reprinted  ver- 
batim in  the  1786  edition.  In  the  August  20,  1788,  issue  of  the  Journal  the 
poem  was  republished  in  connection  with  the  following  note  (in  italics)  :  "In 
that  violent  hurricane  at  Jamaica,  on  the  night  of  the  3Oth  of  July,  1784,  in 
which,  no  more  than  eight,  out  of  150  sail  of  vessels,  in  the  ports  of  Kingston 
and  Port-Royal,  were  saved,  capt.  Freneau  was  at  sea,  and  arrived  at  Kings- 
ton next  morning,  a  mere  wreck.  On  that  occasion,  the  following  beautiful 
lines,  extracted  from  the  first  volume  of  his  writings,  were  penned."  Text 
from  the  edition  of  1809. 


[790]  THE  HURRICANE  251 

But  what  a  strange,  uncoasted  strand 
Is  that,  where  fate  permits  no  day  — 

No  charts  have  we  to  mark  that  land, 
No  compass  to  direct  that  way  — 

What  Pilot  shall  explore  that  realm, 

What  new  Columbus  take  the  helm  ! 

While  death  and  darkness  both  surround, 
And  tempests  rage  with  lawless  power, 

Of  friendship's  voice  I  hear  no  sound, 
No  comfort  in  this  dreadful  hour  — 

What  friendship  can  in  tempests  be, 
What  comfort  on  this  raging  sea  ? 

The  barque,  accustomed  to  obey, 
No  more  the  trembling  pilots  guide : 

Alone  she  gropes  her  trackless  way, 

While  mountains  burst  on  either  side  — 

Thus,  skill  and  science  both  must  fall; 

And  ruin  is  the  lot  of  all. 


252  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


TO    THE    KEEPER   OF  THE    KING'S    WATER 

WORKS1 

Near  Kingston,2  in  the  island  of  Jamaica,  on  being  refused  a  puncheon 

of  water 

Written  August,  1784 

' '  The  celestial  Deities  protect  and  relieve  strangers  in  every  country,  as 
long  as  those  strangers  respect  and  submit  to  the  laws  of  the  country" 

— KiEN-Lm,  alias  JOHN  TUCK,   Viceroy  of  Canton. 

Can  he,  who  o'er  two  Indies  holds  the  sway, 
Where'er  the  ocean  flows,  whose  fleets  patrole, 

Who  bids  Hibernia's  rugged  sons  obey, 

And  at  whose  nod  (you  say)  shakes  either  pole : — 

Can  he,  whose  crown  a  thousand  jewels  grace 
Of  worth  untold  —  can  he,  so  rich,  deny 

One  wretched  puncheon  from  this  ample  waste, 
Begg'd  by  his  quondam  subject — very  dry  ? 

Vast  are  the  springs  in  yonder  cloud-capt  hill : 
Why,  then,  refuse  the  abundant  flowing  wave? 

Where  hogs,  and  dogs,  and  keepers  drink  their  fill, 
May  we  not  something  from  such  plenty  crave  ? 

1  From  the  edition  of  1809.     The  poem  seems  first  to  have  appeared  in  the 
National  Gazette  of  January  12,  1792,  with  the  following  note  :    "  The  follow- 
ing lines  were  written  some  years  ago  (Sept.  1784)  on  board  the  brig  Dromilly, 
in  Kingston  harbour,  Jamaica  ;  and  sent  to  the  keeper  of  the  King's  water- 
works, near  Rock  fort  ;  who  had  refused  the  writer  a  puncheon  of  water  from  a 
reservoir  that  was,  by  royal  order,  appropriated  to  the  use  of  the  royal  navy." 
The  present  text  is  somewhat  varied  from  that  in  the  edition  of  1795. 

2  "  Rock-Fort."— Ed. 


1790]  LINES  253 

Keeper! — must  we  with  empty  cask  return! 

Just  view  the  limpid  stream  that  runs  to  waste! — 
Denied  the  stream  that  flows  from  Nature's  urn, 

By  locks  and  bolts  secur'd  from  rebel  taste  ? 

Well! — if  we  must,  inform  the  royal  ear, 

Poor  are  some  kings  that  now  in  Britain  live : 

Tell  him,  that  Nature  is  no  miser  here; 

Tell  him  —  that  he  withholds  —  what  beggars  give. 


LINES1 

Written  at  Port-Royal,  in  the  Island  of  Jamaica 

Here,  by  the  margin  of  the  murmuring  main, 
While  her  proud  remnants  I  explore  in  vain, 
And  lonely  stray  through  these  dejected  lands 
Fann'd  by  the  noon-tide  breeze  on  burning  sands, 
Where  the  dull  Spaniard  once  possess'd  these  shades, 
And  ports  defended  by  his  Pallisades  *— 
Tho'  lost  to  us,  Port  Royal  claims  a  sigh, 
Nor  shall  the  Muse  the  unenvied  gift  deny. 

Of  all  the  towns  that  grac'd  Jamaica's  isle 
This  was  her  glory,  and  the  proudest  pile, 
Where  toils  on  toils  bade  wealth's  gay  structures  rise, 
And  commerce  swell'd  her  glory  to  the  skies : 

*  Pallisades  a  narrow  strip  of  land  about  seven  miles  in  length,  running 
nearly  from  north  to  south,  and  forming  the  harbours  of  Port  Royal  and  Kings- 
ton.— Frenearfs  note,  1809  edition. 

1  First  published  in  the  1788  edition,  the  text  of  which  I  have  followed. 
For  the  1809  edition  Freneau  made  numerous  verbal  changes.  On  an  average, 
he  changed  a  word  in  every  line.  No  poem  of  Freneau's  shows  more  clearly 
his  peculiar  mania  for  revision.  In  the  1795  edition  the  title  is  "  Port  Royal," 
in  the  1809  edition  it  is  "  Written  at  Port  Royal,  in  the  Island  of  Jamaica  — 
September,  1784." 


254  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

St.  Jago,  seated  on  a  distant  plain, 
Ne'er  saw  the  tall  ship  entering  from  the  main, 
Unnotic'd  streams  her  Cobra's*  margin  lave 
Where  yond'  tall  plantains  shade  her  glowing  wave, 
And  burning  sands  or  rock  surrounded  hill 
Confess  its  founder's  fears  —  or  want  of  skill. 

While  o'er  these  wastes  with  wearied  step  I  go, 
Past  scenes  of  death  return,  in  all  their  woe,1 
O'er  these  sad  shores  in  angry  pomp  he  pass'd, 
Mov'd  in  the  winds,  and  rag'd  with  every  blast  — 
Here,  f  opening  gulphs  confess'd  the  almighty  hand, 
Here,  the  dark  ocean  roll'd  across  the  land, 
Here,  piles  on  piles  an  instant  tore  away, 
Here,  crowds  on  crowds  in  mingled  ruin  lay, 
Whom  fate  scarce  gave  to  end  their  noon-day  feast, 
Or  time  to  call  the  sexton,  or  the  priest. 

Where  yond'   tall    barque,   with   all    her  ponderous 

load, 

Commits  her  anchor  to  its  dark  abode, 
Eight  fathoms  down,  where  unseen  waters  flow 
To  quench  the  sulphur  of  the  caves  below, 
Here  midnight  sounds  torment  the  sailor's  ear, 

*  A  small  river  falling  into  Kingston  Bay,  nearly  opposite  Port  Royal — and 
which  has  its  source  in  the  hills  beyond  Spanish  Town. — Freneau's  note,  1809 
edition. 

fOld  Port-Royal  contained  more  than  1500  buildings,  and  these  for  the 
most  part  large  and  elegant.  This  unfortunate  town  was  for  a  long  time 
reckoned  the  most  considerable  mart  of  trade  in  the  West  Indies.  It  was 
destroyed  on  the  I7th  of  June,  1692,  by  an  earthquake  which  in  two  minutes 
sunk  the  far  greater  part  of  the  buildings  ;  in  which  disaster  near  3000  people 
lost  their  lives. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  The  edition  of  1809  adds  : 

"  Here/0r  their  crimes  {perhaps}  in  ages  fled, 
Some  vengeful  fiend,  familiar  with  the  dead  — " 


1790]  LINES  255 

And  drums  and  fifes  play  drowsy  concerts  here,1 
Sad  songs  of  woe  prevent  the  hours  of  sleep, 
And  Fancy  aids  the  fiddlers  of  the  deep ; 
Dull  Superstition  hears  the  ghostly  hum, 
Smit  with  the  terrors  of  the  world  to  come. 

What  now  is  left  of  all  thy  boasted  pride ! 
Lost  are  thy  glories  that  were  spread  so  wide, 
A  spit  of  sand  is  thine,  by  heaven's  decree, 
And  wasting  shores  that  scarce  resist  the  sea: 
Is  this  Port-Royal  on  Jamaica's  coast, 
The  Spaniard's  envy,  and  the  Briton's  boast ! 
A  shatter'd  roof  o'er  every  hut  appears, 
And   mouldering  brick-work  prompts    the   traveller's 

fears ; 

A  church,  with  half  a  priest,  I  grieve  to  see, 
Grass  round  its  door,  and  rust  upon  its  key !  — 
One  only  inn  with  tiresome  search  I  found 
Where  one  sad  negro  dealt  his  beverage  round ;  — 
His  was  the  part  to  wait  the  impatient  call, 
He  was  our  landlord,  post-boy,  pimp,  and  all; 
His  wary  eyes  on  every  side  were  cast, 
Beheld  the  present,  and  revolv'd  the  past, 
Now  here,  now  there,  in  swift  succession  stole, 
Glanc'd  at  the  bar,  or  watch'd  the  unsteady  bowl. 

No  sprightly  lads  or  gay  bewitching  maids2 
Walk  on  these  wastes  or  wander  in  these  shades; 
To  other  shores  past  times  beheld  them  go, 
And  some  are  slumbering  in  the  caves  below ; 

1  The  edition  of  1809  adds  : 

"  Of  ghosts  all  restless  ! —  (cease  they  to  complain  — 

More  than  a  century  should  relieve  their  pain — )." 

A  footnote  adds  the  comment  :   "A  superstition,  at  present,  existing  only 
among  the  ignorant." 

2  "  Handsome  Yankee  maids." — Ed.  1809. 


256  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

A  negro  tribe  but  ill  their  place  supply, 
With  bending  back,  short  hair,  and  downcast  eye ; l 
A  feeble  rampart  guards  the  unlucky  town, 
Where  banish'd  Tories  come  to  seek  renown, 
Where  worn-out  slaves  their  bowls  of  beer  retail, 
And  sun-burnt  strumpets  watch  the  approaching  sail. 

Here  (scarce  escap'd  the  wild  tornado's  rage) 
Why  sail'd  I  here  to  swell  my  future  page! 
To  these  dull  scenes  with  eager  haste  I  came 
To  trace  the  reliques  of  their  ancient  fame, 
Not  worth  the  search !  —  what  domes  are  left  to  fall, 
Guns,  gales,  and  earthquakes  shall  destroy  them  all  — 
All  shall  be  lost!  — tho'  hosts  their  aid  implore, 
The  Twelve  Apostles*  shall  protect  no  more, 
Nor  guardian  heroes  awe  the  impoverish'd  plain ; 
No  priest  shall  mutter,  and  no  saint  remain, 
Nor  this  palmetto  yield  her  evening  shade, 
Where  the  dark  negro  his  dull  music  play'd, 
Or  casts  his  view  beyond  the  adjacent  strand 
And  points,  still  grieving,  to  his  native  land, 
Turns  and  returns  from  yonder  murmuring  shore, 
And  pants  for  countries  he  must  see  no  more  — 
Where  shall  I  go,  what  Lethe  shall  I  find 
To  drive  these  dark  ideas  from  my  mind ! 
No  buckram  heroes  can  relieve  the  eye, 
And  George's  honours  only  raise  a  sigh — 

*  A  Battery  so  called,  on  the  side  of  the  harbour  opposite  to  Port-Royal. 
— Freneau's  note. 

1  The  edition  of  1809  adds  : 

' '  That  gloomy  race  lead  up  the  evening  dance, 
Skip  on  the  sands,  or  dart  the  alluring  glance  : 

Sincere  are  they  ?  —  no  —  on  your  gold  they  doat  — 
And  in  one  hour  —  for  that  would  cut  your  throat. 
All  is  deceit  —  half  hell  is  in  their  song 
And  from  the  silent  thought? —  You  have  done  us  wrong  !  " 


1790]  LINES  257 

Not  even  these  walls  a  glad  remembrance  claim,1 
Where  grief  still  wastes  a  half  deluded  dame, 
Whom  to  these  coasts  a  British  Paris  bore, 
And  basely  left,  lost  virtue  to  deplore. — 
In  foreign  climes  detain'd  from  all  she  lov'd, 
By  friends  neglected,  long  by  fortune  prov'd, 
While  sad  and  solemn  pass'd  the  unwelcome  day, 
What  charms  had  life  for  her,  to  tempt  her  stay ! 
Deceiv'd  in  all  —  for  meanness  could  deceive  — 
Expecting  still,  and  still  condemn'd  to  grieve, 
She  scarcely  saw,  to  different  hearts  allied, 
That  her  dear  Florio  ne'er  pursued  a  bride. — 
Are  griefs  like  thine  to  Florio's  bosom  known? 
Must  these,  alas,  be  ceaseless  in  your  own?  — 
Life  is  a  dream  —  its  varying  shades  I  see, 
But  this  base  wanderer  hardly  dreams  of  thee. 

Ye  mountains  vast,  whose  heights  the  heaven  sustain, 
Adieu,  ye  mountains,  and  fair  Kingston's  plain; 
Where  Nature  still  the  toils  of  art  transcends  — 
In  this  dull  spot  the  fine  delusion  ends, 
Where  burning  sands  are  borne  by  every  blast 
And  these  mean  fabrics  still  bewail  the  past ; 
Where  want,  and  death,  and  care,  and  grief  reside, 
And  threatening  moons  advance  the  imperious  tide:  — 
Ye  stormy  winds,  awhile  your  wrath  suspend, 
Who  leaves  the  land,  a  bottle,  and  a  friend, 
Quits  this  bright  isle  for  yon'  blue  seas  and  sky, 
Or  even  Port-Royal  quits  —  without  a  sigh! 

Sept.  1784. 

1  This  line  and  the  fifteen  following  omitted  from  the  later  editions. 


258  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


TO   SIR  TOBY1 

A  Sugar  Planter  in  the  interior  parts  of  Jamaica,  near  the  City  of  San 
Jago  de  la  Vega,  (Spanish  Town)  1784 

"  The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  black  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus" 

—SHAKESPEARE. 

If  there  exists  a  hell  —  the  case  is  clear  — 
Sir  Toby's  slaves  enjoy  that  portion  here : 
Here  are  no  blazing  brimstone  lakes — 'tis  true; 
But  kindled  Rum  too  often  burns  as  blue ; 
In  which  some  fiend,  whom  nature  must  detest, 
Steeps  Toby's  brand,  and  marks  poor  Cudjoe's  breast.* 

Here  whips  on  whips  excite  perpetual  fears, 
And  mingled  howlings  vibrate  on  my  ears : 
Here  nature's  plagues  abound,  to  fret  and  teaze, 
Snakes,  scorpions,  despots,  lizards,  centipees  — 
No  art,  no  care  escapes  the  busy  lash ; 
All  have  their  dues — and  all  are  paid  in  cash  — 
The  eternal  driver  keeps  a  steady  eye 
On  a  black  herd,  who  would  his  vengeance  fly, 
But  chained,  imprisoned,  on  a  burning  soil, 
For  the  mean  avarice  of  a  tyrant,  toil ! 

*  This  passage  has  a  reference  to  the  West  India  custom  (sanctioned  by 
law)  of  branding  a  newly  imported  slave  on  the  breast,  with  a  red  hot  iron,  as 
an  evidence  of  the  purchaser's  property. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  Text  from  the  edition  of  1809.  The  poem  seems  first  to  have  been  pub- 
lished in  the  National  Gazette  of  July  21,  1792,  under  the  title,  "  The  Island 
Field  Hand,"  with  the  note  :  "  Written  some  years  ago  at  a  sugar  plantation  in 
Jamaica."  The  present  text  contains  numerous  minor  variations  from  the 
edition  of  1795.  The  four  lines  beginning  "  The  eternal  driver  "  are  original 
in  the  1809  edition. 


1790]  TO  SIR  TOBY  259 

The  lengthy  cart-whip  guards  this  monster's  reign  — 
And  cracks,  like  pistols,  from  the  fields  of  cane. 

Ye  powers !  who  formed  these  wretched  tribes,  relate, 
What  had  they  done,  to  merit  such  a  fate ! 
Why  were  they  brought  from  Eboe's*  sultry  waste, 
To  see  that  plenty  which  they  must  not  taste  — 
Food,  which  they  cannot  buy,  and  dare  not  steal; 
Yams  and  potatoes  —  many  a  scanty  meal!  — 

One,  with  a  gibbet  wakes  his  negro's  fears, 
One  to  the  windmill  nails  him  by  the  ears ; 
One  keeps  his  slave  in  darkened  dens,  unfed, 
One  puts  the  wretch  in  pickle  ere  he's  dead : 
This,  from  a  tree  suspends  him  by  the  thumbs, 
That,  from  his  table  grudges  even  the  crumbs! 

O'er  yond'  rough  hills  a  tribe  of  females  go, 
Each  with  her  gourd,  her  infant,  and  her  hoe; 
Scorched  by  a  sun  that  has  no  mercy  here, 
Driven  by  a  devil,  whom  men  call  overseer  — 
In  chains,  twelve  wretches  to  their  labours  haste ; 
Twice  twelve  I  saw,  with  iron  collars  graced !  — 

Are  such  the  fruits  that  spring  from  vast  domains? 
Is  wealth,  thus  got,  Sir  Toby,  worth  your  pains!  — 
Who  would  your  wealth  on  terms,  like  these,  possess, 
Where  all  we  see  is  pregnant  with  distress  — 
Angola's  natives  scourged  by  ruffian  hands, 
And  toil's  hard  product  shipp'd  to  foreign  lands. 

Talk  not  of  blossoms,  and  your  endless  spring; 
What  joy,  what  smile,  can  scenes  of  misery  bring?  — 
Though  Nature,  here,  has  every  blessing  spread, 
Poor  is  the  labourer  —  and  how  meanly  fed! — 

Here  Stygian  paintings  light  and  shade  renew, 
Pictures  of  hell,  that  Virgil's  f  pencil  drew : 

*  A  small  negro  kingdom  near  the  river  Senegal. — Freneau's  note. 
fSee  Eneid,  Book  6th.— and  Fenelon's  Telemachus,  Book  18.—  Ib. 


260  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Here,  surly  Charons  make  their  annual  trip, 
And  ghosts  arrive  in  every  Guinea  ship, 
To  find  what  beasts  these  western  isles  afford, 
Plutonian  scourges,  and  despotic  lords:  — 

Here,  they,  of  stuff  determined  to  be  free, 
Must  climb  the  rude  cliffs  of  the  Liguanee ;  * 
Beyond  the  clouds,  in  sculking  haste  repair, 
And  hardly  safe  from  brother  traitors  there. —  f 


ELEGY  ON  MR.  ROBERT  BELL1 

The  celebrated  humourist,  and  truly  philanthropic  Book-seller    formerly 
of  Philadelphia,  written,  1786 

By  schools  untaught,  from  Nature's  source  he  drew 
That  flow  of  wit  which  wits  with  toil  pursue, 
Above  dependence,  bent  to  virtue's  side ; 
Beyond  the  folly  of  the  folio's  pride; 
Born  to  no  power,  he  took  no  splendid  part, 
Yet  warm  for  freedom  glowed  his  honest  heart* 
Foe  to  all  baseness,  not  afraid  to  shame 
The  little  tyrant  that  usurped  his  claim : 
Bound  to  no  sect,  no  systems  to  defend, 
He  loved  his  jest,  a  female,  and  his  friend :  — 

*The  mountains  northward  of  Kingston. — Freneau's  note. 

f  Alluding  to  the  Independent  negroes  in  the  blue  mountains,  who  for  a 
stipulated  reward,  deliver  up  every  fugitive  that  falls  into  their  hands,  to  the 
English  Government. — Ib. 

1  First  published  in  the  Freemaris  Journal,  February  28,  1787,  with  the 
explanation,  "Written  more  than  two  years  ago."  The  date  in  the  title 
above,  taken  from  the  1809  edition,  is  doubtless  wrong. 

"It  is  believed  that  Robert  Bell,  an  Englishman  or  a  Scotchman,  who 
came  to  Philadelphia  about  1772  or  1773,  was  the  first  person  who  kept  a  circu- 
lating library  in  this  city.  He  had  his  place  of  business  in  Third  street  below 
Walnut.  He  was  also  one  of  the  first  to  establish  book  auctions  here,  in  which 


1790]  ON  THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  SHIP  261 

The  tale  well  told,  to  each  occasion  fit, 
In  him  was  nature —  and  that  nature  wit: 
Alike  to  pride  and  wild  ambition  dumb, 
He  saw  no  terrors  in  the  world  to  come. 
But,  slighting  sophists  and  their  flimsy  aid, 
To  God  and  Reason  left  the  works  they  made. 

In  chace  of  fortune,  half  his  life  was  whim, 
Yet  fortune  saw  no  sycophant  in  him; 
Bold,  open,  free,  the  world  he  called  his  own, 
But  wished  no  wealth  that  cost  a  wretch  a  groan  — 

Too  social  Bell!   in  others  so  refined, 
One  sneaking  virtue  ne'er  possessed  your  mind  — 
Had  Prudence  only  held  her  share  of  sway, 
Still  had  your  cup  been  full,  yourself  been  gay ! 
But  while  we  laughed,  and  while  the  glass  went  round, 
The  lamp  was  darkened  —  and  no  help  was  found; 
On  distant  shores  you  died,  where  none  shall  tell, 
"Here  rest  the  virtues  and  the  wit  of  Bell." 


ON   THE  FIRST   AMERICAN   SHIP1 

Empress  of  China,  Capt.  Greene 

That  explored  the  rout  to  China,  and  the  East-Indies,  after  the 
Revolution,  1784 

With  clearance  from  Bellona  won 
She  spreads  her  wings  to  meet  the  Sun, 
Those  golden  regions  to  explore 
Where  George  forbade  to  sail  before. 

effort  he  met  very  serious  opposition  from  the  booksellers.  He  published 
several  works  prior  to  the  Revolutionary  War,  but  during  that  struggle  he 
seems  to  have  left  the  city.  He  died  in  Richmond,  Va.,  Sept.  26,  1784."— 
Watson 's  Annals, 

He  published  Freneau's  American  Independence  in  Philadelphia  in  1778. 

1  Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


262  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Thus,  grown  to  strength,  the  bird  of  Jove, 
Impatient,  quits  his  native  grove, 
With  eyes  of  fire,  and  lightning's  force 
Through  the  blue  asther  holds  his  course. 

No  foreign  tars  are  here  allowed 
To  mingle  with  her  chosen  crowd, 
Who,  when  returned,  might,  boasting,  say 
They  shewed  our  native  oak  the  way. 

To  that  old  track  no  more  confined, 
By  Britain's  jealous  court  assigned, 
She  round  the  Stormy  Cape*  shall  sail, 
And,  eastward,  catch  the  odorous  gale. 

To  countries  placed  in  burning  climes 
And  islands  of  remotest  times 
She  now  her  eager  course  explores, 
And  soon  shall  greet  Chinesian  shores. 

From  thence  their  fragrant  teas  to  bring 
Without  the  leave  of  Britain's  king; 
And  Porcelain  ware,  enchased  in  gold, 
The  product  of  that  finer  mould. 

Thus  commerce  to  our  world  conveys 
All  that  the  varying  taste  can  please ; 
For  us,  the  Indian  looms  are  free, 
And  Java  strips  her  spicy  tree. 

Great  pile  proceed!  — and  o'er  the  brine 
May  every  prosperous  gale  be  thine, 
'Till  freighted  deep  with  Asia's  stores, 
You  reach  again  your  native  shores. 

*  Cabo  Tormentosa  (The  Cape  of  Storms)  so  called  by  Vasco  da  Gatna, 
and  by  the  earliest  Portuguese  adventurers  to  India — now  called  the  cape  of 
Good  Hope. — Freneau's  note. 


1790]  THE  NEWSMONGER  263 

THE  NEWSMONGER1 

A  Character 

An  insect  lives  among  mankind 

For  what  wise  ends  by  fate  designed 

"Tis  hard,  'tis  very  hard,  to  find. 

In  pain  for  all,  but  thanked  by  few 
Not  twice  a  year  he  gets  his  due  — 
Yet,  patiently  he  struggles  through. 

Beneath  some  garret  roof  restrained 
To  one  dull  place  forever  chained 
His  word  is,  "  little  money  gained." 

The  flowers  that  deck  the  summer  field, 
The  bloom  of  spring,  too  long  concealed, 
To  him  no  hour  of  pleasure  yield. 

His  life  is  everlasting  whim ; 

The  seasons  change  —  but  scarce  for  him  — 

On  sheets  of  news  his  eyes  grow  dim. 

He  life  maintains  on  self-esteem, 

He  plans,  contrives,  and  lives  by  —  scheme  — 

And  blots  good  paper  —  many  a  ream. 

Distrest  for  those  he  never  saw  — 

Of  kings  and  nobles  not  in  awe, 

He  scorns  their  mandates,  and  their  law. 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  February  21,  1787,     In  the  1809 
edition,  which  the  text  follows,  1784  is  given  as  the  date  of  composition. 


264  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Relief  he  finds  for  others'  woes  — 
The  wants  of  all  the  world  he  knows  — 
His  boots  are  only  out  at  toes. 

Now,  Europe's  feuds  distract  his  brains : 
Now,  Asia's  news  his  head  contains  — 
But  still  his  labour  for  his  pains. 

The  river  Scheldt  he  opens  wide, 
And  Joseph's  ships  in  triumph  ride, — 
The  Dutchmen  are  not  on  his  side. 

On  great  affairs  condemned  to  fret,— 
The  interest  on  our  foreign  debt, 
He  hopes  good  Louis  may  forget. 

He  fears  the  banks  will  hurt  our  trade; 
And  fall  they  must  —  without  his  aid  — 
Meanwhile  his  taylor  goes  unpaid. 

Our  western  posts,  which  Britons  keep 
In  spite  of  treaties,  break  his  sleep  — 
He  plans  their  capture  —  at  one  sweep. 

He  grumbles  at  the  price  of  flour, 

And  mourns  and  mutters,  many  an  hour, 

That  congress  have  so  little  power, 

Although  he  has  no  ships  to  lose, 
The  Algerines  he  loves  to  abuse  — 
And  hopes  to  hear  —  some  bloody  news. 

The  French  (he  thinks)  will  soon  prepare 
To  undertake  some  grand  affair  — 
So  'tis  but  war  "  we  need  not  care." 


1790]  THE  NEWSMONGER  265 

Where  Mississippi  laves  the  plain 

He  hopes  the  bold  Kentucky  swain, 

Will  seize  the  forts,  and  plague  Old  Spain : 

Such  morning  whims,  such  evening  dreams ! 
Through  wakeful  nights  he  plans  odd  schemes, 
To  dispossess  her  of  those  streams. 

He  prophesies,  the  time  must  come 
When  few  will  drink  West  India  rum  — 
Our  spirits  will  be  proof  at  home. 

The  Tories  on  New  Scotland's  coast, 
He  thinks  may  of  full  bellies  boast 
In  half  a  century  —  at  most. 

Then  shakes  his  head,  and  shifts  the  scene  — 
Talks  much  about  the  "  Empress  Queen  " — 
And  wonders  what  the  Austrians  mean  ? 

He  raves,  and  scolds  and  seems  afraid 
The  States  will  break  by  China  trade, 
"  Since  specie  for  their  tea  is  paid." 

Then  tells,  that,  "  just  about  next  June, 

Lunardi  in  his  new  balloon 

Will  make  a  journey  —  to  the  moon." 

Thus,  all  the  business  of  mankind, 
And  all  the  follies  we  might  find 

Are  huddled  in  his  shattered  mind. 

/ 

'Till  taught  to  think  of  new  affairs, 

At  last,  with  death,  he  walks  down  stairs, 

And  leaves  —  the  wide  world  to  his  heirs. 


266  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY1 

This  American  world,  all  our  histories  say, 
Secluded  from  Europe,  long  centuries  lay, 
And  peopled  by  beings  whom  white-men  detest, 
The  sons  of  the  Tartars,  that  came  from  the  west. 

These  Indians,  'tis  certain,  were  here  long  before  ye  all, 
And  dwelt  in  their  wigwams  from  time  immemorial ; 
In  a  mere  state  of  nature,  untutored,  untaught, 
They   did    as    they    pleased,    and    they   spoke   as   they 
thought — 

No  priests  they  had  then  for  the  cure  of  their  souls, 
No  lawyers,  recorders,  or  keepers  of  rolls ; 
No  learned  physicians  vile  nostrums  concealed  — 
Their  druggist  was  Nature —  her  shop  was  the  field. 

In  the  midst  of  their  forests  how  happy  and  blest, 

In  the  skin  of  a  bear  or  buffalo  drest! 

No  care  to  perplex,  and  no  luxury  seen 

But  the  feast,  and  the  song,  and  the  dance  on  the  green. 

Some  bowed  to  the  moon,  and  some  worshipped  the  sun, 
And  the  king  and  the  captain  were  centered  in  one ; 
In  a  cabin  they  met,  in  their  councils  of  state, 
Where  age  and  experience  alone  might  debate. 

With  quibbles  they  never  essayed  to  beguile, 
And  Nature  had  taught  them  the  orator's  style; 
No  pomp  they  affected,  not  quaintly  refined 
The  nervous  idea  that  glanced  on  the  mind. 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman! s  Journal,  December  15,  1784,  under  the 
pseudonym  "  K."  Republished  in  the  editions  of  1795  and  1809.  Text  from 
the  latter  edition. 


1790]  SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  267 

When  hunting  or  battle  invited  to  arms, 
The  women  they  left  to  take  care  of  their  farms  — 
The  toils  of  the  summer  did  winter  repay, 
While  snug  in  their  cabins  they  snored  it  away. 

If  death  came  among  them  his  dues  to  demand, 
They  still  had  some  prospects  of  comfort  at  hand  — 
The  dead  man  they  sent  to  the  regions  of  bliss, 
With  his  bottle  and  dog,  and  his  fair  maids  to  kiss. 


Thus  happy  they  dwelt  in  a  rural  domain, 
Uninstructed  in  commerce,  unpractised  in  gain, 
'Till,  taught  by  the  loadstone  to  traverse  the  seas, 
Columbus  came  over,  that  bold  Genoese. 

From  records  authentic,  the  date  we  can  shew, 
One  thousand  four  hundred  and  ninety  and  two 
Years,  borne  by  the  seasons,  had  vanished  away, 
Since  the  babe  in  the  manger  at  Bethlehem  lay. 

What  an  asra  was  this,  above  all  that  had  passed, 
To  yield  such  a  treasure,  discovered  at  last  — 
A  new  world,  in  value  exceeding  the  old, 
Such  mountains  of  silver,  such  torrents  of  gold ! 

Yet  the  schemes  of  Columbus,  however  well  planned 
Were  scarcely  sufficient  to  find  the  main  land ; 
On  the  islands  alone  with  the  natives  he  spoke, 
Except  when  he  entered  the  great  Oronoque: 

In  this  he  resembled  old  Moses,  the  Jew, 
Who,  roving  about  with  his  wrong-headed  crew, 
When  at  length  the  reward  was  no  longer  denied, 
From  the  top  of  Mount  Pisgah  he  saw  it,  and  died. 


268  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

These  islands  and  worlds  in  the  watery  expanse, 
Like  most  mighty  things,  were  the  offspring  of  chance, 
Since  steering  for  Asia,  Columbus  they  say, 
Was  astonished  to  find  such  a  world  in  his  way! 

No  wonder,  indeed,  he  was  srnit  with  surprize  — 
This  empire  of  Nature  was  new  to  their  eyes  — 
Cut  short  in  their  course  by  so  splendid  a  scene, 
Such  a  region  of  wonders  intruding  between  ! 

Yet  great  as  he  was,  and  deserving  no  doubt, 
We  have  only  to  thank  him  for  finding  the  rout; 
These  climes  to  the  northward,  more  stormy  and  cold, 
Were  reserved  for  the  efforts  of  Cabot  the  bold. 

Where  the  sun  in  December  appears  to  decline 
Far  off  to  the  southward,  and  south  of  the  line, 
A  merchant*  of  Florence,  more  fortunate  still, 
Explored  a  new  track,  and  discovered  Brazil: 

Good  Fortune,  Vespucius,  pronounced  thee  her  own, 
Or  else  to  mankind  thou  hadst  scarcely  been  known  — 
By  giving  thy  name,  thou  art  ever  renowned  — 
Thy  name  to  a  world  that  another  had  found ! 

Columbia,  the  name  was,  that  merit  decreed, 
But  Fortune  and  Merit  have  never  agreed  — 
Yet  the  poets,  alone,  with  commendable  care 
Are  vainly  attempting  the  wrong  to  repair. 

The  bounds  I  prescribe  to  my  verse  are  too  narrow 
To  tell  of  the  conquests  of  Francis  Pizarro ; 
And  Cortez  'tis  needless  to  bring  into  view, 
One  Mexico  conquered,  the  other  Peru. 

*  Americus  Vespucius. — Freneau's  note. 


1790]  SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  269 

Montezuma  with  credit  in  verse  might  be  read, 
But  Dryden  has  told  you  the  monarch*  is  dead! 
And  the  woes  of  his  subjects  —  what  torments  they  bore, 
Las  Casas,  good  bishop,  has  mentioned  before : 

Let  others  be  fond  of  their  stanzas  of  grief  — 
1  hate  to  descant  on  the  fall  of  the  leaf- 
Two  scenes  are  so  gloomy,  I  view  them  with  pain, 
The  annals  of  death,  and  the  triumphs  of  Spain. 

Poor  Atahualpa  we  cannot  forget  — 
He  gave  them  his  utmost  —  yet  died  in  their  debt, 
His  wealth  was  a  crime  that  they  could  not  forgive, 
And  when  they  possessed  it,  forbade  him  to  live. 

Foredoomed  to  misfortunes  (that  come  not  alone) 
He  was  the  twelfth  Inca  that  sat  on  the  throne, 
Who  fleecing  his  brother  f  of  half  his  domains, 
At  the  palace  of  Cusco  confined  him  in  chains. 

But  what  am  I  talking  —  or  where  do  I  roam  ? 
'Tis  time  that  our  story  was  brought  nearer  home  — 
From  Florida's  cape  did  Cabot  explore 
To  the  fast  frozen  region  of  cold  Labradore. 

In  the  year  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety  and  eight 
He  came,  as  the  annals  of  England  relate, 
But  finding  no  gold  in  the  lengthy  domain, 
And  coasting  the  country,  he  left  it  again. 

Next  Davis  —  then  Hudson  adventured,  they  say, 
One  found  out  a  streight,  and  the  other  a  bay, 
Whose  desolate  region,  or  turbulent  wave 

One  present  bestowed  him  —  and  that  was  a  grave. 

• 

*  Indian  Emperor,  a  tragedy. — Freneau's  note. 
f  Huascar,  who  was  legal  heir  to  the  throne. — Ib. 


270  POEMS  OF  PHILIP   FRENEAU  [1781 

In  the  reign  of  a  virgin  (as  authors  discover) 
Drake,  Hawkins,  and  Raleigh  in  squadrons  came  over 
While  Barlow  and  Grenville  succeeded  to  these, 
Who  all  brought  their  colonies  over  the  seas. 

These,  left  in  a  wilderness  teeming  with  woes, 
The  natives,  suspicious,  concluded  them  foes, 
And  murdered  them  all  without  notice  or  warning, 
Ralph  Lane,  with  his  vagabonds,  scarcely  returning. 

In  the  reign  of  king  James  (and  the  first  of  the  name,) 
George  Summers,  with  Hacluit,  to  Chesapeake  came, 
Where  far  in  the  forests,  not  doomed  to  renown, 
On  the  river  Powhatan*  they  built  the  first  town,  f 

Twelve  years  after  this,  some  scores  of  dissenters 
To  the  northernmost  district  came  seeking  adventures ; 
Outdone  by  the  bishops,  those  great  faggot  fighters; 
They  left  them  to  rule  with  their  cassocks  and  mitres. 

Thus  banished  forever,  and  leaving  the  sod, 
The  first  land  they  saw  was  the  pitch  of  Cape  Cod, 
Where  famished  with  hunger  and  quaking  with  cold 
They  planned  their  New-Plymouth  —  so  called  from  the 
old. 

They  were,  without  doubt,  a  delightful  collection;  — 
Some  came  to  be  rid  of  a  Stuart's  direction, 
Some  sailed  with  a  view  to  dominion  and  riches, 
Some  to  pray  without  book,  and  a  few  to  hang  witches. 

Some,  came  on  the  Indians  to  shed  a  new  light, 
Convinced  long  before  that  their  own  must  be  right, 
And  that  all  who  had  died  in  the  centuries  past 
On  the  devil's  lee  shore  were  eternally  cast. 

*  James  River,  Virginia.  — Freneau's  note.      |  James  Town. — Ib. 


1790]  SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  271 

These  exiles  were  formed  in  a  whimsical  mould, 

And  were  awed  by  their  priests,  like  the  Hebrews  of 

old; 

Disclaimed  all  pretences  to  jesting  and  laughter, 
And  sighed  their  lives  through,  to  be  happy  hereafter. 

On  a  crown  immaterial  their  hearts  were  intent, 
They  looked  towards  Zion,  wherever  they  went, 
Did  all  things  in  hopes  of  a  future  reward, 
And  worried  mankind  —  for  the  sake  of  the  Lord. 

With  rigour  excessive  they  strengthened  their  reign, 
Their  laws  were  conceived  in  the  ill-natured  strain, 
With  mystical  meanings  the  saint  was  perplext, 
And  the  flesh  and  the  devil  were  slain  by  a  text. 

The  body  was  scourged,  for  the  good  of  the  soul, 

All  folly  discouraged  by  peevish  controul, 

A  knot  on  the  head  was  the  sign  of  no  grace, 

And  the  Pope  and  his  comrade  were  pictured  in  lace. 

A  stove  in  their  churches,  or  pews  lined  with  green, 
Were  horrid  to  think  of,  much  more  to  be  seen, 
Their  bodies  were  warmed  with  the  linings  of  love, 
And  the  fire  was  sufficient  that  flashed  from  above. 

'Twas  a  crime  to  assert  that  the  moon  was  opaque, 
To  say  the  earth  moved,  was  to  merit  the  stake ; 
And  he  that  could  tell  an  eclipse  was  to  be, 
In  the  college  of  Satan  had  took  his  degree. 

On  Sundays  their  faces  were  dark  as  a  cloud  — 

The  road  to  the  meeting  was  only  allowed, 

And  those  they  caught  rambling,  on  business  or  pleasure, 

Were  sent  to  the  stocks,  to  repent  at  their  leisure. 


2/2  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

This  day  was  the  mournfullest  day  in  the  week  — 
Except  on  religion,  none  ventured  to  speak  — 
This  day  was  the  day  to  examine  their  lives, 
To  clear  off  old  scores,  and  to  preach  to  their  wives. 

Their  houses   were   forts,   that  seemed  proof  against 

light; 

Their  parlours,  all  day,  were  the  blackness  of  night: 
And,  as  if  at  their  thresholds  a  cannon  did  roar, 
The  animals  hardly  dared  open  their  door 
'Till  the  sun  disappeared — then,  like  a  mole's  snout 
In  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  their  noses  popped  out. 

In  the  school  of  oppression  though  woefully  taught, 
'Twas  only  to  be  the  oppressors  they  sought; 
All,  all  but  themselves  were  be-deviled  and  blind, 
And  their  narrow-souled  creed  was  to  serve  all  man- 
kind. 

This  beautiful  system  of  nature  below 
They  neither  considered,  nor  wanted  to  know, 
And  called  it  a  dog-house  wherein  they  were  pent, 
Unworthy  themselves,  and  their  mighty  descent. 

They  never  perceived  that  in  Nature's  wide  plan 
There  must  be  that  whimsical  creature  called  Man, 
Far  short  of  the  rank  he  affects  to  attain, 
Yet  a  link  in  its  place,  in  creation's  vast  chain. 


Whatever  is  foreign  to  us  and  our  kind 
Can  never  be  lasting,  though  seemingly  joined  — 
The  hive  swarmed  at  length,  and  a  tribe  that  was  teazed 
Set  out  for  Rhode-Island  to  think  as  they  pleased. 


1790]  SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  273 

Some  hundreds  to  Britain  ran  murmuring  home  — 

While  others  went  off  in  the  forests  to  roam, 

When  they  found  they  had  missed  what  they  looked  for 

at  first, 
The  downfall  of  sin,  and  the  reign  of  the  just. 

Hence,  dry  controversial  reflections  were  thrown, 
And  the  old  dons  were  vexed  in  the  way  they  had  shown ; 
So  those  that  are  held  in  the  work-house  all  night 
Throw  dirt  the  next  day  at  the  doors,  out  of  spite. 

Ah  pity  the  wretches  that  lived  in  those  days, 

(Ye  modern  admirers  of  novels  and  plays) 

When  nothing  was  suffered  but  musty,  dull  rules, 

And  nonsense  from  Mather  and  stuff  from  the  schools ! 

No  story,  like  Rachel's,  could  tempt  them  to  sigh, 
Susanna  and  Judith  employed  the  bright  eye  — 
No  fine  spun  adventures  tormented  the  breast, 
Like  our  modern  Clarissa,  Tom  Jones,  and  the  rest. 

Those  tyrants  had  chosen  the  books  for  your  shelves, 
(And,  trust  me,  no  other  than  writ  by  themselves, 
For  always  by  this  may  a  bigot  be  known, 
He  speaks  well  of  nothing  but  what  is  his  own.) 

From  indwelling  evil  these  souls  to  release, 
The  Quakers  arrived  with  their  kingdom  of  peace  — 
But  some  were  transported  and  some  bore  the  lash, 
And  four  they  hanged  fairly,  for  preaching  up  trash. 

The  lands  of  New-England  (of  which  we  now  treat) 

Were  famous,  ere  that,  for  producing  of  wheat ; 

But  the  soil  (or  tradition  says  strangely  amiss) 

Has  been  Destered  with  pumpkins  from  that  day  to  this. 


274  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Thus,  feuds  and  vexations  distracted  their  reign, 
(And  perhaps  a  few  vestiges  still  may  remain) 
But  time  has  presented  an  offspring  as  bold, 
Less  free  to  believe,  and  more  wise  than  the  old. 

Their  phantoms,  their  wizzards,  their  witches  are  fled, 
Matthew  Paris's*  story  with  horror  is  read  — 
His  daughters,  and  all  the  enchantments  they  bore  — 
And  the  demon,  that  pinched  them,  is  heard  of  no  more. 

Their  taste  for  the  fine  arts  is  strangely  increased, 
And  Latin's  no  longer  a  mark  of  the  beast : 
Mathematics,  at  present,  a  farmer  may  know, 
Without  being  hanged  for  connections  below. 

Proud,  rough,  Independent,  undaunted  and  free, 
And  patient  of  hardships,  their  task  is  the  sea, 
Their  country  too  barren  their  wish  to  attain, 
They  make  up  the  loss  by  exploring  the  main. 

Wherever  bright  Phoebus  awakens  the  gales 
I  see  the  bold  Yankees  expanding  their  sails, 
Throughout  the  wide  ocean  pursuing  their  schemes, 
And  chacing  the  whales  on  its  uttermost  streams. 

No  climate,  for  them,  is  too  cold  or  too  warm, 
They  reef  the  broad  canvass,  and  fight  with  the  storm ; 
In  war  with  the  foremost  their  standards  display, 
Or  glut  the  loud  cannon  with  death,  for  the  fray. 

No  valour  in  fable  their  valour  exceeds, 
Their  spirits  are  fitted  for  desperate  deeds ; 
No  rivals  have  they  in  our  annals  of  fame, 
Or  if  they  are  rivalled,  'tis  York  has  the  claim. 

*  See  Neale's  History  of  New  England. — Freneau's  note. 


1790]  SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  HISTORY  275 

Inspired  at  the  sound,  while  the  name  she  repeats, 

Bold  Fancy  conveys  me  to  Hudson's  retreats  — 

Ah,  sweet  recollection  of  juvenile  dreams 

In  the  groves,  and  the  forests  that  skirted  his  streams ! 

How  often,  with  rapture,  those  streams  were  surveyed, 
When,  sick  of  the  city,  I  flew  to  the  shade  — 
How  often  the  bard,  and  the  peasant  shall  mourn 
Ere   those  groves  shall  revive,    or  those  shades  shall 
return ! 

Not  a  hill,  but  some  fortress  disfigures  it  round  ! 
And  ramparts  are  raised  where  the  cottage  was  found ! 
The  plains  and  the  vallies  with  ruin  are  spread, 
With  graves  in  abundance,  and  bones  of  the  dead. 

The  first  that  attempted  to  enter  the  streight 
(In  anno  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  eight) 
Was  Hudson  (the  same  that  we  mentioned  before, 
Who  was  lost  in  the  gulph  that  he  went  to  explore.) 

For  a  sum  that  they  paid  him  (we  know  not  how  much) 
This  captain  transferred  all  his  right  to  the  Dutch ; 
For  the  time  has  been  here,  (to  the  world  be  it  known,) 
When  all  a  man  sailed  by,  or  saw,  was  his  own. 

The  Dutch  on  their  purchase  sat  quietly  down, 
And  fixed  on  an  island  to  lay  out  a  town ; 
They  modelled  their  streets  from  the  horns  of  a  ram, 
And  the  name  that  best  pleased  them  was,  New  Am- 
sterdam. 

They  purchased  large  tracts  from  the  Indians  for  beads, 

And  sadly  tormented  some  runaway  Swedes, 

Who  (none  knows  for  what)  from  their  country    had 

flown, 
To  live  here  in  peace,  undisturbed  and  alone. 


2/6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

New  Belgia,  the  Dutch  called  their  province,  be  sure, 
But  names  never  yet  made  possession  secure, 
For  Charley  (the  second  that  honoured  the  name) 
Sent  over  a  squadron,  asserting  his  claim : 

(Had  his  sword  and  his  title  been  equally  slender, 
In  vain  had  they  summoned  Mynheer  to  surrender) 
The  soil  they  demanded,  or  threatened  their  worst, 
Insisting  that  Cabot  had  looked  at  it  first. 

The  want  of  a  squadron  to  fall  on  their  rear 
Made  the  argument  perfectly  plain  to  Mynheer  — 
Force  ended  the  contest  —  the  right  was  a  sham, 
And  the  Dutch  were  sent  packing  to  hot  Surinam. 

'Twas  hard  to  be  thus  of  their  labours  deprived, 
But  the  age  of  Republics  had  not  yet  arrived  — 
Fate  saw —  though  no  wizzard  could  tell  them  as  much — 
That  the  crown,  in  due  time,  was  to  fare  like  the  Dutch. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  BALLOONS1 

"  Perdomita  tellus,  tumida  cesserunt  freta, 
"  Inferno,  nostros  regna  sensere  impetus  ; 
"  Immune  ccelum  est,  degnus  Alcidcz  labor, 
"  In  alia  mundi  spatia  sublimes  feremur." 

— Senec.  Here.  Fur  ens. 

Assist  me,  ye  muses,  (whose  harps  are  in  tune) 
To  tell  of  the  flight  of  the  gallant  balloon ! 

1  Freeman's  Journal,  December  22,  1784.  The  year  1782,  in  which 
Cavallo  made  his  memorable  experiments,  may  be  taken  as  the  initial  date  in 
the  history  of  aerial  navigation.  In  October,  1753,  Rozier  ventured  upon  the 
first  balloon  ascension,  though  he  ventured  only  fifty  feet  from  the  ground. 
On  November  2ist  of  the  same  year,  with  the  Marquis  d'Arlandes,  he  made 
the  first  aerial  expedition,  ascending  from  the  castle  la  Muette  in  the  presence 
of  a  vast  multitude  and  remaining  in  the  air  twenty-five  minutes.  Text  fol- 
lows the  edition  of  1786  which  bears  the  date  "1785." 


1790]  THE  PROGRESS  OF  BALLOONS  277 

As  high  as  my  subject  permit  me  to  soar 

To  heights  unattempted,  unthought  of  before, 

Ye  grave  learned  Doctors,  whose  trade  is  to  sigh, 

Who  labour  to  chalk  out  a  road  to  the  sky, 

Improve  on  your  plans  —  or  I'll  venture  to  say, 

A  chymist,  of  Paris,  will  show  us  the  way. 

The  earth  on  its  surface  has  all  been  survey'd, 

The  sea  has  been  travell'd  —  and  deep  in  the  shade 

The  kingdom  of  Pluto  has  heard  us  at  work, 

When  we  dig  for  his  metals  wherever  they  lurk. 

But  who  would  have  thought  that  invention  could  rise 

To  find  out  a  method  to  soar  to  the  skies, 

And  pierce  the  bright  regions,  which  ages  assign'd 

To  spirits  unbodied,  and  flights  of  the  mind. 

Let  the  gods  of  Olympus  their  revels  prepare  — 

By  the  aid  of  some  pounds  of  inflammable  air 

We'll  visit  them  soon  —  and  forsake  this  dull  ball 

With  coat,  shoes  and  stockings,  fat  carcase  and  all  ! 

How  France  is  distinguished  in  Louis's  reign! 

What  cannot  her  genius  and  courage  attain  ? 

Thro'out  the  wide  world  have  her  arms  found  the  way, 

And  art  to  the  stars  is  extending  her  sway. 

At  sea  let  the  British  their  neighbours  defy  — 

The  French  shall  have  frigates  to  traverse  the  sky, 

In  this  navigation  more  fortunate  prove, 

And  cruise  at  their  ease  in  the  climates  above. 

If  the  English  should  venture  to  sea  with  their  fleet, 

A  host  of  balloons  in  a  trice  they  shall  meet. 

The  French  from  the  zenith  their  wings  shall  display, 

And  souse  on  these  sea-dogs  and  bear  them  away. 

Ye  sages,  who  travel  on  mighty  designs, 
To  measure  meridians  and  parallel  lines — 
The  task  being  tedious  —  take  heed,  if  you  please  — 
Construct  a  balloon  —  and  you'll  do  it  with  ease. 


278  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

And  ye  who  the  heav'n's  broad  concave  survey, 

And,  aided  by  glasses,  its  secrets  betray, 

Who  gaze,  the  night  through,  at  the  wonderful  scene, 

Yet  still  are  complaining  of  vapours  between, 

Ah,  seize  the  conveyance  and  fearlesly  rise 

To  peep  at  the  lanthorns  that  light  up  the  skies, 

And  floating  above,  on  our  ocean  of  air, 

Inform  us,  by  letter,  what  people  are  there. 

In  Saturn,  advise  us  if  snow  ever  melts, 

And  what  are  the  uses  of  Jupiter's  belts; 

(Mars  being  willing)  pray  send  us  word,  greeting, 

If  his  people  are  fonder  of  fighting  than  eating. 

That  Venus  has  horns  we've  no  reason  to  doubt, 

(I  forget  what  they  call  him  who  first  found  it  out) 

And  you'll  find,  I'm  afraid,  if  you  venture  too  near, 

That  the  spirits  of  cuckolds  inhabit  her  sphere. 

Our  folks  of  good  morals  it  wofully  grieves, 

That  Mercury's  people  are  villains  and  thieves, 

You'll  see  how  it  is  —  but  I'll  venture  to  shew 

For  a  dozen  among  them,  twelve  dozens  below. 

From  long  observation  one  proof  may  be  had 

That  the  men  in  the  moon  are  incurably  mad ; 

However,  compare  us,  and  if  they  exceed 

They  must  be  surprizingly  crazy  indeed. 

But  now,  to  have  done  with  our  planets  and  moons  — 
Come,  grant  me  a  patent  for  making  balloons  — 
For  I  find  that  the  time  is  approaching  —  the  day 
When  horses  shall  fail,  and  the  horsemen  decay. 
Post  riders,  at  present  (call'd  Centaurs  of  old) 
Who  brave  all  the  seasons,  hot  weather  and  cold, 
In  future  shall  leave  their  dull  poneys  behind 
And  travel,  like  ghosts,  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 
The  stagemen,  whose  gallopers  scarce  have  the  power 
Through  the  dirt  to  convey  you  ten  miles  in  an  hour,. 


1790]  THE  PROGRESS  OF  BALLOONS  2/9 

When  advanc'd  to  balloons  shall  so  furiously  drive 

You'll  hardly  know  whether  you're  dead  or  alive. 

The  man  who  at  Boston  sets  out  with  the  sun, 

If  the  wind  should  be  fair,  may  be  with  us  at  one, 

At  Gunpowder  Ferry  drink  whiskey  at  three 

And  at  six  be  at  Edentown,  ready  for  tea. 

(The  machine  shall  be  order'd,  we  hardly  need  say, 

To  travel  in  darkness  as  well  as  by  day) 

At  Charleston  by  ten  he  for  sleep  shall  prepare, 

And  by  twelve  the  next  day  be  the  devil  knows  where1. 

When  the  ladies  grow  sick  of  the  city  in  June, 

What  a  jaunt  they  shall  have  in  the  flying  balloon ! 

Whole  mornings  shall  see  them  at  toilets  preparing, 

And  forty  miles  high  be  their  afternoon's  airing. 

Yet  more  with  its  fitness  for  commerce  I'm  struck ; 
What  loads  of  tobacco  shall  fly  from  Kentuck, 
What  packs  of  best  beaver  —  bar-iron  and  pig, 
What  budgets  of  leather  from  Conocoheague ! 
If  Britain  should  ever  disturb  us  again, 
(As  they  threaten  to  do  in  the  next  George's  reign) 
No  doubt  they  will  play  us  a  set  of  new  tunes, 
And  pepper  us  well  from  their  fighting  balloons. 
To  market  the  farmers  shall  shortly  repair 
With  their  hogs  and  potatoes,  wholesale,  thro'  the  air, 
Skim  over  the  water  as  light  as  a  feather, 
Themselves  and  their  turkies  conversing  together. 

Such  wonders  as  these  from  balloons  shall  arise  — 
And  the  giants  of  old,  that  assaulted  the  skies 
With  their  Ossa  on  Pelion,  shall  freely  confess 
That  all  they  attempted  was  nothing  to  this. 

1  Freneau's  wild  dream  has  been  realized,  but  not  in  the  way  which  he 
indicated. 


280  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

ON   THE   EMIGRATION   TO   AMERICA1 

And  Peopling  the  Western  Country 

To  western  woods,  and  lonely  plains, 
Palemon  from  the  crowd  departs, 
Where  Nature's  wildest  genius  reigns, 
To  tame  the  soil,  and  plant  the  arts  — 
What  wonders  there  shall  freedom  show, 
What  mighty  states  successive  grow ! 

From  Europe's  proud,  despotic  shores 
Hither  the  stranger  takes  his  way, 
And  in  our  new  found  world  explores 
A  happier  soil,  a  milder  sway, 
Where  no  proud  despot  holds  him  down, 
No  slaves  insult  him  with  a  crown. 

What  charming  scenes  attract  the  eye, 
On  wild  Ohio's  savage  stream ! 
There  Nature  reigns,  whose  works  outvie 
The  boldest  pattern  art  can  frame ; 
There  ages  past  have  rolled  away, 
And  forests  bloomed  but  to  decay. 

From  these  fair  plains,  these  rural  seats, 
So  long  concealed,  so  lately  known, 
The  unsocial  Indian  far  retreats, 
To  make  some  other  clime  his  own, 
When  other  streams,  less  pleasing,  flow, 
And  darker  forests  round  him  grow. 

1  First  published  in  Bailey's  Pocket  Almanac  for  1785,  and  reprinted 
almost  without  change  in  the  later  editions  of  Freneau.  Text  from  the  edition 
of  1809. 


1790]  ON  THE  EMIGRATION  TO  AMERICA  281 

Great  Sire*  of  floods!   whose  varied  wave 

Through  climes  and  countries  takes  its  way, 

To  whom  creating  Nature  gave 

Ten  thousand  streams  to  swell  thy  sway ! 

No  longer  shall  they  useless  prove, 

Nor  idly  through  the  forests  rove ; 

Nor  longer  shall  your  princely  flood 
From  distant  lakes  be  swelled  in  vain, 
Nor  longer  through  a  darksome  wood 
Advance,  unnoticed,  to  the  main, 
Far  other  ends,  the  heavens  decree  — 
And  commerce  plans  new  freights  for  thee. 

While  virtue  warms  the  generous  breast, 
There  heaven-born  freedom  shall  reside, 
Nor  shall  the  voice  of  war  molest, 
Nor  Europe's  all-aspiring  pride  — 
There  Reason  shall  new  laws  devise, 
And  order  from  confusion  rise. 

Forsaking  kings  and  regal  state, 
With  all  their  pomp  and  fancied  bliss,1 
The  traveller  owns,  convinced  though  late, 
No  realm  so  free,  so  blest  as  this  — 
The  east  is  half  to  slaves  consigned, 
Where  kings  and  priests  enchain  the  mind. 2 

O  come  the  time,  and  haste  the  day, 
When  man  shall  man  no  longer  crush, 
When  Reason  shall  enforce  her  sway, 
Nor  these  fair  regions  raise  our  blush, 
Where  still  the  African  complains, 
And  mourns  his  yet  unbroken  chains. 

*  Mississippi. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  (A  debt  that  reason  deems  amiss). — Ed.  ij86. 

8  And  half  to  slavery  more  refin'd. — Ib. 


282  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Far  brighter  scenes  a  future  age, 
The  muse  predicts,  these  States  will  hail, 
Whose  genius  may  the  world  engage, 
Whose  deeds  may  over  death  prevail, 
And  happier  systems  bring  to  view, 
Than  all  the  eastern  sages  knew. 
[1784.] 


THE  SEASONS  MORALIZED  l 

They  who  to  warmer  regions  run, 
May  bless  the  favour  of  the  sun, 
But  seek  in  vain  what  charms  us  here, 
Life's  picture,  varying  with  the  year. 

Spring,  and  her  wanton  train  advance 
Like  Youth  to  lead  the  festive  dance, 
All,  all  her  scenes  are  mirth  and  play, 
And  blushing  blossoms  own  her  sway. 

The  Summer  next  (those  blossoms  blown) 
Brings  on  the  fruits  that  spring  had  sown, 
Thus  men  advance,  impelled  by  time, 
And  Nature  triumphs  in  her  prime. 

Then  Autumn  crowns  the  beauteous  year, 
The  groves  a  sicklier  aspect  wear; 
And  mournful  she  (the  lot  of  all) 
Matures  her  fruits,  to  make  them  fall. 

Clad  in  the  vestments  of  a  tomb, 
Old  age  is  only.  Winter's  gloom  — 
Winter,  alas !   shall  spring  restore, 
But  youth  returns  to  man  no  more. 

1  First  published  in  Bailey's  Pocket  Almanac  for  1785.    The  editioa  of 
1809  is  used. 


1790]  DEATH  OF  COLONEL  LAURENS  283 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  COLONEL  LAURENS1 

Since  on  her  plains  this  generous  chief  expired, 
Whom  sages  honoured,  and  whom  France  admired ; 2 
Does  Fame  no  statues  to  his  memory  raise, 
Nor  swells  one  column  to  record  his  praise 
Where  her  palmetto  shades  the  adjacent  deeps, 
Affection  sighs,  and  Carolina  weeps ! 

Thou,  who  shalt  stray  where  death  this  chief  confines, 
Revere  the  patriot,  subject  of  these  lines : 
Not  from  the  dust  the  muse  transcribes  his  name, 
And  more  than  marble  shall  declare  his  fame 
Where  scenes  more  glorious  his  great  soul  engage, 
Confest  thrice  worthy  in  that  closing  page 
When  conquering  Time  to  dark  oblivion  calls, 
The  marble  totters,  and  the  column  falls. 

LAURENS  !   thy  tomb  while  kindred  hands  adorn, 
Let  northern  muses,  too,  inscribe  your  urn.  — 
Of  all,  whose  names  on  death's  black  list  appear, 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  October  17,    1787,  introduced  as 
follows  : 

"  Mr.  BAILEY, 

THE  subsequent  lines  were  written  two  or  three  years  after  the  event  that 
occasioned  them,  but  have  never  been  printed.  If  you  think  them 
in  any  degree  worthy  of  the  memory  of  the  patriotic  young  officer  they 
attempt  to  celebrate  (and  whose  death  has  been  so  deeply  regretted 
throughout  America)  I  must  request  you  to  insert  them  in  your  Journal. 

A.  B." 

The  1788  edition  prints  the  poem  with  this  title  :  "  To  the  Memory  of  the 
brave,  accomplished  and  patriotic  Col.  JOHN  LAURENS,  Who  in  the  27th 
year  of  his  age,  was  killed  in  an  engagement  with  a  detachment  of  the  British 
from  Charleston,  near  the  river  Cambahee,  in  South  Carolina,  August  1782." 
The  text  follows  the  edition  of  1809. 

2  In  1780  Laurens  was  sent  by  Congress  on  a  mission  to  France  for  a  loan 
and  supplies,  in  which  he  was  successful. 


284  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

No  chief,  that  perished,  claimed  more  grief  sincere, 

Not  one,  Columbia,  that  thy  bosom  bore, 

More  tears  commanded,  or  deserved  them  more ! 

Grief  at  his  tomb  shall  heave  the  unwearied  sigh, 

And  honour  lift  the  mantle  to  her  eye : 

Fame  through  the  world  his  patriot  name  shall  spread, 

By  heroes  envied  and  by  monarchs  read : 

Just,  generous,  brave — to  each  true  heart  allied : 

The  Briton's  terror,  and  his  country's  pride ; 

For  him  the  tears  of  war-worn  soldiers  ran, 

The  friend  of  freedom,  and  the  friend  of  man. 

Then  what  is  death,  compared  with  such  a  tomb, 
Where  honour  fades  not,  and  fair  virtues  bloom ; 
When  silent  grief  on  every  face  appears, 
The  tender  tribute  of  a  nation's  tears; 
Ah !   what  is  death,  when  deeds  like  his,  thus  claim 
The  brave  man's  homage,  and  immortal  fame! 


ON  THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  THINGS 

"  The  constant  lapse  of  rolling  years 
Awakes  our  hopes,  provokes  our  fears 
Of  something  yet  unknown  ; 
We  saw  the  last  year  pass  away, 
But  who,  that  lives  can  safely  say, 
The  next  shall  be  his  own?  " 


1  This  appeared  first  as  the  regular  New  Year's  sheet  of  the  Freeman. 's 
Journal,  January  i,  1785.  Its  original  title  was,  "  New  Year's  Verses, 
addressed  to  the  Customers  of  the  Freeman's  Journal  by  the  Lad  who  carries  it." 
Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


1790]  ON  THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  THINGS  285 

So  hundreds  talk — and  thousands  more 
Descant  their  moral  doctrines  o'er; 
And  when  the  preaching's  done, 
Each  goes  his  various,  wonted  way, 
To  labour  some,  and  some  to  play  — 
So  goes  the  folly  on. 

How  swift  the  vagrant  seasons  fly ; 

They're  hardly  born  before  they  die, 

Yet  in  their  wild  career, 

Like  atoms  round  the  rapid  wheel, 

We  seem  the  same,  though  changing  still, 

Mere  reptiles  of  a  year. 

Some  haste  to  seek  a  wealthy  bride, 
Some,  rhymes  to  make  on  one  that  died ; 
And  millions  curse  the  day, 
When  first  in  Hymen's  silken  bands 
The  parson  joined  mistaken  hands, 
And  bade  the  bride  obey. 

While  sad  Amelia  vents  her  sighs, 

In  epitaphs  and  elegies, 

For  her  departed  dear, 

Who  would  suppose  the  muffled  bell, 

And  mourning  gowns,  were  meant  to  tell, 

Her  grief  will  last — a  year? 

In  folly's  path  how  many  meet  — 

What  hosts  will  live  to  lie  and  cheat  — 

How  many  empty  pates 

May,  in  this  wise,  eventful  year, 

In  native  dignity  appear 

To  manage  Rising  States! 


286  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

How  vain  to  sigh!  — the  wheel  must  on 
And  straws  are  to  the  whirlpool  drawn, 
With  ships  of  gallant  mien  — 
What  has  been  once,  may  time  restore ; 
What  now  exists,  has  been  before  — 
Years  only  change  the  scene. 

In  endless  circles  all  things  move ; 

Below,  about,  far  off,  above, 

This  motion  all  attain  — 

If  Folly's  self  should  flit  away, 

She  would  return  some  New  year's  day, 

With  millions  in  her  train. 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  are  each  a  sphere, 

The  earth  the  same,  (or  very  near)^ 

Sir  Isaac  has  defined  — 

In  circles  each  coin  is  cast, 

And  hence  our  cash  departs  so  fast, 

Cash — that  no  charm  can  bind. 

From  you  to  us — from  us  it  rolls 
To  comfort  other  cloudy  souls :  — 
If  again  we  make  it  square,* 
Perhaps  the  uneasy  guest  will  stay 
To  cheer  us  in  some  wintry  day, 
And  smooth  the  brow  of  care. 

*  The  old  Continental. — Freneatfs  note. 


1790]  PEWTER-PLATTER  ALLEY  287 


PEWTER-PLATTER  ALLEY 

In  Philadelphia 
(As  it  appeared  in  January,  1784) 

From  Christ-Church  graves,  across  the  way, 
A  dismal,  horrid  place  is  found, 
Where  rushing  winds  exert  their  sway, 
And  Greenland  winter  chills  the  ground : 
No  blossoms  there  are  seen  to  bloom, 
No  sun  pervades  the  dreary  gloom ! 

The  people  of  that  gloomy  place 
In  penance  for  some  ancient  crime 
Are  held  in  a  too  narrow  space, 
Like  those  beyond  the  bounds  of  time, 
Who  darkened  still,  perceive  no  day, 
While  seasons  waste,  and  moons  decay. 

Cold  as  the  shade  that  wraps  them  round, 

This  icy  region  prompts  our  fear; 

And  he  who  treads  this  frozen  ground 

Shall  curse  the  chance  that  brought  him  here 

The  slippery  mass  predicts  his  fate, 

A  broken  arm,  a  wounded  pate. 

When  August  sheds  his  sultry  beam, 
May  Celia  never  find  this  place, 
Nor  see,  upon  the  clouded  stream, 
The  fading  summer  in  her  face ; 
And  may  she  ne'er  discover  there 
The  grey  that  mingles  with  her  hair. 

1  Freeman: 's  Journal,  February  23,  1795. 


288  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

The  watchman  sad,  whose  drowsy  call 
Proclaims  the  hour  forever  fled, 
Avoids  this  path  to  Pluto's  hall; 
For  who  would  wish  to  wake  the  dead !  — 
Still  let  them  sleep — it  is  no  crime  — 
They  pay  no  tax  to  know  the  time. 

No  coaches  here,  in  glittering  pride, 

Convey  their  freight  to  take  the  air, 

No  gods  nor  heroes  here  reside, 

Nor  powdered  beau,  nor  lady  fair  — 

All,  all  to  warmer  regions  flee, 

And  leave  the  glooms  to  Towne  *  and  me. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  REPUBLICAN 

PATRIOT  AND  STATESMAN, 

GENERAL  JOSEPH  REED 

Soon  to  the  grave  l  descends  each  honoured  name 
That  raised  their  country  to  this  blaze 2  of  fame : 
Sages,  that  planned,  and  chiefs  that  led  the  way 
To  Freedom's  temple,  all  too  soon  decay, 

*  BENJAMIN  TOWNE,  then  Printer  of  the  EVENING  POST. — Freneau's  note. 

1  First  published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  March  9,  1785,  with  the  fol- 
lowing introduction  : 

"On  Saturday  morning  last  [March  5]  departed  this  life  in  the  forty- 
third  year  of  his  age,  GENERAL  JOSEPH  REED,  Esq.,  formerly  President  of  this 
State  ;  and  on  Sunday  his  remains  were  interred  in  the  Presbyterian  burying 
ground  in  Arch  Street.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  his  excellency  the  Presi- 
dent and  the  Superior  Executive  Council,  the  Honourable  the  Speaker  and  the 
General  Assembly,  the  Militia  Officers  and  a  greater  number  of  citizens  than 
we've  ever  seen  here  on  any  similar  occasion."  Text  follows  the  edition  of  1809. 

Reed  was  one  of  the  leading  figures  of  the  Revolutionary  era.  As  dele- 
gate to  the  Continental  Congress,  aide  and  secretary  to  Washington,  Adjutant 
General,  volunteer  soldier,  and  Governor  of  Pennsylvania,  he  was  an  active  and 
able  man,  and  his  early  death  was  much  regretted. 


1790]  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  GENERAL  REED  289 

Alike  submit  to  one  impartial3  doom, 
Their  glories  closing  in  perpetual  gloom, 
Like  the  pale4  splendours  of  the  evening,  fade, 
While  night  advances,  to  complete  the  shade. 

REED,  'tis  for  thee  we  shed  the  unpurchased  tear, 
Bend  o'er  thy  tomb,  and  plant  our  laurels  there: 
Your  acts,  your  life,5  the  noblest  pile  transcend, 
And  Virtue,  patriot  Virtue,  mourns  her  friend, 
Gone  to  those  realms,  where  worth  may  claim  regard, 
And  gone  where  virtue  meets  her  best  reward. 

No  single  art  engaged  his  vigorous6  mind, 
In  every  scene  his  active  genius  shined : 
Nature  in  him,  in  honour  to  our  age, 
At  once  composed  the  soldier  and  the  sage  — 
Firm  to  his  purpose,  vigilant,  and  bold, 
Detesting  traitors,  and  despising  gold, 
He  scorned  all  bribes  from  Britain's  hostile  throne 
For  all  his  country's  wrongs  he  held7  his  own. 

REED,  rest  in  peace:  for  time's  impartial  page 
Shall  raise  the  blush  on8  this  ungrateful  age: 
Long  in  these  climes  thy  name  shall  flourish  fair, 
The  statesman's  pattern,  and  the  poet's  care; 
Long  in  these  climes9  thy  memory  shall  remain, 
And  still  new  tributes  from  new  ages  gain, 
Fair  to  the  eye  that  injured  honour  rise  — 
Nor  traitors  triumph  while  the  patriot  dies. 

The  following  are  the  variations  in  the  1786  edition  : 

1  Swift  to  the  dust. 

2  These  heights.  6  Manly. 

3  Unalter'd.  7  Were  thrice. 

4  Dim.  8  Blast  the  wrongs  of. 

5  Thy  own  brave  deeds.  9  On  these  plains, 


290  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

A  RENEGADO  EPISTLE1 

To  the  Independent  Americans 

We  Tories,  who  lately  were  frightened  away, 
When  you  marched  into  York  all  in  battle  array, 
Dear  Whigs,  in  our  exile  have  somewhat  to  say. 

From  the  clime  of  New  Scotland  we  wish  you  to  know 
We  still  are  in  being — mere  spectres  of  woe, 
Our  dignity  high,  but  our  spirits  are  low. 

Great  people  we  are,  and  are  called  the  king's  friends ; 
But  on  friendships  like  these  what  advantage  attends? 
We  may  stay  and  be  starved 2  when  we've  answered  his 
ends ! 

The  Indians  themselves,  whom  no  treaties  can  bind, 
We  have  reason  to  think  are  perversely  inclined  — 
And  where  we  have  friends  is  not  easy  to  find. 

From  the  day  we  arrived  on  this  desolate  shore 
We  still  have  been  wishing  to  see  you  once  more, 
And  your  freedom  enjoy,  now  the  danger  is  o'er. 

Although  we  be-rebelled  you  up  hill  and  down, 
It  was  all  for  your  good — and  to  honour  a  crown 
Whose  splendours  have  spoiled  better  eyes  than  our  own. 

That  traitors  we  were,  is  no  more  than  our  due, 
And  so  may  remain  for  a  century  through, 
Unless  we  return,  and  be  tutored  by  you. 

1  Text   from  the   edition  of    1809.      First  published   in   the   Freeman's 
Journal,  March  30,  1785,  under  the  title,  "A  New  York  Tory's  Epistle." 

2  "We  may  starve  and  be  damn'd." — Ed.  1786. 


1790]  A  RENEGADO  EPISTLE  291 

Although  with  the  dregs  of  the  world  we  are  classed, 

We  hope  your  resentment  will  soften  at  last, 

Now  your  toils  are  repaid,  and  our  triumphs  are  past. 

When  a  matter  is  done,  'tis  a  folly  to  fret  — 

But  your  market-day  mornings  we  cannot  forget, 

With  your  coaches  to  lend,  and  your  horses  to  let. 

Your  dinners  of  beef,  and  your  breakfasts  of  toast! 
But  we  have  no  longer  such  blessings  to  boast, 
No  cattle  to  steal,  and  no  turkies  to  roast. 

Such  enjoyments  as  these,  we  must  tell  you  with  pain, 
"Pis  odds  we  shall  only  be  wishing  in  vain 
Unless  we  return,  and  be  brothers  again. 

We  burnt  up  your  mills  and  your  meetings,  'tis  true, 
And  many  bold  fellows  we  crippled  and  slew  — 
(Aye!  we  were  the  boys  that  had  something  to  do!) 

Old  Huddy1  we  hung  on  the  Neversink  shore  — 
But,  Sirs,  had  we  hung  up  a  thousand  men  more, 
They  had  all  been  avenged  in  the  torments  we  bore, 

When  Asgill  to  Jersey  you  foolishly  fetched, 

And  each  of  us  feared  that  his  neck  would  be  stretched, 

When  you  were  be-rebelled,  and  we  were  be-wretched. 

In  the  book  of  destruction  it  seems  to  be  written 
The  Tories  must  still  be  dependent  on  Britain  — 
The  worst  of  dependence  that  ever  was  hit  on. 

Now  their  work  is  concluded — that  pitiful  jobb  — 
They  send  over  convicts  to  strengthen  our  mob  — 
And  so  we  do  nothing  but  snivel  and  sob. 

1  See  note  to  poem  "  On  Gen.  Robertson's  Proclamation,"  Vol.  II,  p.  162. 


292  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

The  worst  of  all  countries  has  fallen  to  our  share, 
Where  winter  and  famine  provoke  our  despair, 
And  fogs  are  for  ever  obscuring  the  air. 

Although  there  be  nothing  but  sea  dogs  to  feed  on, 
Our  friend  Jemmy  Rivington  made  it  an  Eden  — 
But,  alas!   he  had  nothing  but  lies  to  proceed  on. 

Deceived  we  were  all  by  his  damnable  schemes  — 
When  he  coloured  it  over  with  gardens  and  streams, 
And  grottoes  and  groves,  and  the  rest  of  his  dreams. 

Our  heads  were  so  turned  by  that  conjuror's  spell, 
We  swallowed  the  lies  he  was  ordered  to  tell  — 
But  his  "  happy  retreats  "  were  the  visions  of  hell. 

We  feel  so  enraged  we  could  rip  up  his  weazon, 
When  we  think  of  the  soil  he  described  with  its  trees  on, 
And  the  plenty  that  reigned,  and  the  charms  of  each 
season. 

Like  a  parson  that  tells  of  the  joys  of  the  blest 
To  a  man  to  be  hanged — he  himself  thought  it  best 
To  remain  where  he  was,  in  his  haven  of  rest. 

Since  he  helped  us  away  by  the  means  of  his  types, 
His  precepts  should  only  have  lighted  our  pipes, 
His  example  was  rather  to  honour  your  stripes. 

Now,  if  we  return,  as  we're  bone  of  your  bone, 
We'll  renounce  all  allegiance  to  George  and  his  throne 
And  be  the  best  subjects  that  ever  were  known. 

In  a  ship,  you  have  seen  (where  the  duty  is  hard) 
The  cook  and  the  scullion  may  claim  some  regard, 
Though  it  takes  a  good  fellow  to  brace  the  main  yard. 


1790]  THE  AMERICAN  SIBERIA  293 

Howe'er  you  despise  us,  because  you  are  free, 
The  world's  at  a  loss  for  such  people  as  we, 
Who  can  pillage  on  land,  and  can  plunder  at  sea. 

So  long  for  our  rations  they  keep  us  in  waiting  — 
The  Lords  and  the  Commons,  perhaps,  are  debating 
If  Tories  can  live  without  drinking  or  eating. 

So  we  think  it  is  better  to  see  you,  by  far  — 

And  have  hinted  our  meaning  to  governor  Parr* — 

The  worst  that  can  happen  is — feathers  and  tar. 

Nova-Scotia,  Feb.  1784.. 


THE  AMERICAN  SIBERIA1 

When  Jove  from  darkness  smote  the  sun, 
And  Nature  earth  from  chaos  won, 
One  part  she  left  a  barren  waste 
By  stormy  seas  and  fogs  embraced. 

Jove  saw  her  vile  neglect,  and  cried, 
11  What  madness  did  your  fancy  guide  — 
Why  have  you  left  so  large  a  space 
With  winter  brooding  o'er  its  face? 

No  trees  of  stately  growth  ascend, 
Eternal  fogs  their  wings  expand  — 
My  favorite — man  —  I  placed  not  there, 
But  spirits  of  a  darker  sphere. 

Then  Governor  of  Nova-Scotia. — Freneau's  note. 
Text  follows  the  edition  of  1809. 


294  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

If  Nature's  self  neglects  her  trade 
What  strange  confusion  will  be  made : 
Such  climes  as  these  I  doomed  to  fall 
On  Saturn's  cold  unsocial  ball: 

But  such  a  blemish,  here,  to  see  — 
How  can  it  else  but  anger  me? 
Where  chilling  winds  forever  freeze, 
What  fool  will  fix  on  lands  like  these?  " 

Nature,  abashed,  thus  made  reply : 
11  When  earth  I  formed,  I  don't  deny, 
Some  parts  I  portioned  out  for  pain, 
Hard  storms,  dull  skies,  and  —  little  gain. 

Mankind  are  formed  with  different  souls : 
Some  will  be  suited  near  the  poles, 
Some  pleased  beneath  the  scorching  line, 
And  some,  New  Scotland,  will  be  thine. 

Yet,  in  due  time,  my  plastic  hand 

Shall  mould  it  o'er,  if  you  command ; 

By  you  I  act  —  if  you  stand  still 

The  world  comes  tumbling  down  the  hill!  " 

Untouched  —  (said  Jove) — remain  the  place! 
In  days  to  come  I'll  form  a  race, 
Born  to  betray  their  country's  cause, 
And  aid  an  alien  monarch's  laws. 

When  traitors  to  their  country  die, 
To  lands,  like  this,  their  phantoms  fly  ; 
But  when  the  brave  by  death  decay 
The  mind  explores  a  different  way. 


1790]  EPISTLE  TO  SYLVIUS  295 

Then,  Nature,  hold  your  aiding  hand  — 
Let  fogs  and  tempests  chill  the  land ; 
While  this  degenerate  work  of  thine 
To  knaves  and  knapsacks  I  resign. 


EPISTLE  TO  SYLVIUS1 

On  the  Folly  of  Writing  Poetry 

Of  all  the  fools  that  haunt  our  coast 
The  scribbling  tribe  I  pity  most: 
Their's  is  a  standing  scene  of  woes, 
And  their's  no  prospect  of  repose. 

Then,  Sylvius,  why  this  eager  claim 
To  light  your  torch  at  Clio's  flame? 
To  few  she  shews  sincere  regard, 
And  none,  from  her,  should  hope  reward. 

A  garret  high,  dark  dismal  room, 
Is  still  the  pensive  poet's  doom : 
Hopes  raised  to  heaven  must  be  their  lot, 
Yet  bear  the  curse,  to  be  forgot. 

Hourly  they  deal  with  Grecian  Jove, 
And  draw  their  bills  on  banks  above : 
Yet  stand  abashed,  with  all  their  fire, 
When  brought  to  face  some  country  'squire. 

1  On  Nov.  24,  1785,  Freneau  sailed  from  Middletown  Point  as  Master  of 
the  sloop  Monmouih  bound  for  southern  ports.  This  lyric,  first  published  in 
the  edition  of  1788,  seems  to  have  been  his  valedictory  to  the  muse  for  a 
season.  His  conflict  with  Oswald  and  other  critics  had  much  embittered  him.  The 
text  is  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


296  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

To  mend  the  world,  is  still  their  aim : 
The  world,  alas !   remains  the  same, 
And  so  must  stand  to  every  age, 
Proof  to  the  morals  of  the  page ! 

The  knave  that  keeps  a  tippling  inn, 
The  red-nosed  boy  that  deals  out  gin, 
If  aided  by  some  paltry  skill 
May  both  be  statesmen  when  they  will. 

The  man  that  mends  a  beggar's  shoes, 
The  quack  that  heals  your  negro's  bruise, 
The  wretch  that  turns  a  cutler's  stone, 
Have  wages  they  can  call  their  own : 

The  head,  that  plods  in  trade's  domains, 
Gets  something  to  reward  its  pains ; 
But  Wit —  that  does  the  world  beguile, 
Takes  for  its  pay  —  an  empty  smile! 

Yet  each  presumes  his  works  will  rise, 
And  gain  a  name  that  never  dies ; 
From  earth,  and  cold  oblivion  freed, 
Immortal,  in  the  poets'  creed ! 

Can  Reason  in  that  bosom  reign 
Which  fondly  feeds  a  hope  so  vain, 
When  every  age  that  passes  by 
Beholds  a  crowd  of  poets  die ! 

Poor  Sappho's  fate  shall  Milton  know  — 
His  scenes  of  grief  and  tales  of  woe 
No  honours,  that  all  Europe  gave, 
No  merit  —  shall  from  ruin  save. 


1 79°]  EPISTLE  TO  SYLVIUS  297 

To  all  that  write  and  all  that  read 
Fate  shall,  with  hasty  step,  succeed ! 
Even  Shakespeare's  page,  his  mirth,  his  tears 
May  sink  beneath  this  weight  of  years. 

Old  Spenser's  doom  shall,  Pope,  be  thine 
The  music  of  each  moving  line 
Scarce  bribes  an  age  or  two  to  stay, 
Admire  your  strain  —  then  flit  away. 

The  people  of  old  Chaucer's  times 
Were  once  in  raptures  with  his  rhymes, 
But  Time  —  that  over  verse  prevails, 
To  other  ears  tells  other  tales. 

Why  then  so  sad,  dear  rhyming  friends  — 
One  common  fate  on  both  attends, 
The  bards  that  sooth  the  statesman's  ear, 
And  him  —  who  finds  no  audience  there. 

Mere  structures  formed  of  common  earth, 
Not  they  from  heaven  derive  their  birth, 
Or  why  through  life,  like  vagrants,  pass 
To  mingle  with  the  mouldering  mass?  — 

Of  all  the  souls,  from  Jove  that  came 
To  animate  this  mortal  frame, 
Of  all  the  myriads,  on  the  wing, 
How  few  can  taste  the  Muse's  spring ! 

Sejanus,  of  mercantile  skill, 
Without  whose  aid  the  world  stands  still, 
And  by  whose  wonder-working  play 
The  sun  goes  round  —  (his  flatterers  say) 


298  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Sejanus  has  in  house  declared 

"  These  States,  as  yet,  can  boast  no  bard, 

And  all  the  sing-song  of  our  clime 

Is  merely  nonsense,  fringed  with  rhyme." 

With  such  a  bold,  conceited  air 
When  such  assume  the  critic's  chair, 
Low  in  the  dust  is  genius  laid, 
The  muses  with  the  man  in  trade. 

Then,  Sylvius,  come  —  let  you  and  I 
On  Neptune's  aid,  once  more  rely : 
Perhaps  the  muse  may  still  impart 
Her  balm  to  ease  the  aching  heart. 

Though  cold  might  chill  and  storms  dismay, 
Yet  Zoilus  will  be  far  away : 
With  us  at  least,  depart  and  share 
No  garret  —  but  resentment  there. 


THE  DEPARTURE1 

1785 

From  Hudson's  cold,  congealing  streams 
As  winter  comes,  I  take  my  way 
Where  other  suns  prompt  other  dreams, 
And  shades,  less  willing  to  decay, 
Beget  new  raptures  in  the  heart, 
Bid  spleen's  dejective  crew  depart, 
And  wake  the  sprightly  lay. 

1  This  poem  was  first  published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  April  18,  1787, 
with  a  note  "  Written  at  leaving  Sandy  Hook  on  a  voyage  to  the  West  Indies." 
It  is  dated  Nov.  26,  1785  ;  it  was,  therefore,  written  at  sea.  It  was  published 
in  the  1788  edition,  which  the  text  follows,  and  omitted  from  the  1809  edition. 


1790]  THE  DEPARTURE  299 

Good-natur'd  Neptune,  now  so  mild, 
Like  rage  asleep,  or  madness  chain'd, 
By  dreams  amus'd  or  love  beguil'd, 
Sleep  on  'till  we  our  port  have  gain'd. 
The  gentle  breeze  that  curls  the  deep, 
Shall  paint  a  finer  dream  on  sleep !  — 
Ye  nymphs,  that  haunt  his  grottoes  low, 
Where  sea  green  trees  on  coral  grow, 

No  tumults  make 

Lest  he  should  wake, 
And  thus  the  passing  shade  betray 
The  sails  that  o'er  his  waters  stray. 

Sunk  is  the  sun  from  yonder  hill, 

The  noisy  day  is  past; 

The  breeze  decays,  and  all  is  still, 

As  all  shall  be  at  last ; 

The  murmuring  on  the  distant  shore, 

The  dying  wave  is  all  I  hear, 

The  yellow  fields  now  disappear, 

No  painted  butterflies  are  near, 

And  laughing  folly  plagues  no  more. 

The  woods  that  deck  yon'  fading  waste, 
That  every  wanton  gale  embrac'd, 
Ere  summer  yet  made  haste  to  fly ; 
How  smit  with  frost  the  pride  of  June! 
How  lost  to  me !   how  very  soon 
The  fairy  prospects  die ! 
Condemn'd  to  bend  to  winter's  stroke, 
Low  in  the  dust  the  embowering  oak 
Has  bid  the  fading  leaf  descend, 
Their  short  liv'd  verdure  at  an  end ; 


300  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

How  desolate  the  forests  seem, 

Beneath  whose  shade 

The  enamour' d  maid 
Was  once  so  fond  to  dream. 

What  now  is  left  of  all  that  won 

The  eye  of  mirth  while  summer  stay'd  — 

The  birds  that  sported  in  the  sun, 

The  sport  is  past,  the  song  is  done ; 

And  nature's  naked  forms  declare, 

The  rifled  groves,  the  vallies  bare, 

Persuasively,  tho'  silent,  tell, 

That  at  the  best  they  were  but  drest 

Sad  mourners  for  the  funeral  bell ! 

Now  while  I  spread  the  venturous  sail 
To  catch  the  breeze  from  yonder  hill, 
Say,  what  does  all  this  folly  mean? 
Why  grieve  to  pass  the  wat'ry  scene? 
Is  fortitude  to  heaven  confm'd? — 
No  —  planted  also  in  the  mind, 
She  smooths  the  ocean  when  she  will. 

But  life  is  pain  —  what  ills  must  try, 
What  malice  dark  and  calumny, 
Indifference,  with  her  careless  eye, 
And  slander,  with  her  tale  begun ; 
Bold  ignorance,  with  forward  air, 
And  cowardice,  that  has  no  share 
In  honours  gain'd,  or  trophies  won. 

To  these  succeed,  (and  these  are  few 
Of  nature's  dark,  unseemly  crew) 
Unsocial  pride,  and  cold  disgust, 
Servility,  that  licks  the  dust; 
Those  harpies  that  disgrace  the  mind ; 


1790]  A  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS  3<DI 

Unknown  to  haunt  the  human  breast 
When  pleasure  her  first  garden  dress'd  — 
But  vanish'd  is  the  shade  so  gay, 
And  lost  in  gloom  the  summer  day 
That  charm'd  the  soul  to  rest. 

What  season  shall  restore  that  scene 
When  all  was  calm  and  all  serene, 
And  happiness  no  empty  sound, 
The  golden  age,  that  pleas'd  so  well?  — 
The  Mind  that  made  it  shall  not  tell 
To  those  on  life's  uncertain  road ; 
Where  lost  in  folly's  idle  round, 
And  seeking  what  shall  ne'er  be  found 
We  press  to  one  abode. 


A  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS1 

Old  Eighty-Five  discharg'd  and  gone, 

Another  year  comes  hastening  on 

To  quit  us  in  its  turn  : 

With  outspread  wings  and  running  glass 

Thus  Time's  deluding  seasons  pass, 

And  leave  mankind  to  mourn. 

But  strains  like  this  add  grief  to  grief ;  — 

We  are  the  lads  that  give  relief 

With  sprightly  wit  and  merry  lay  : 

Our  various  page  to  all  imparts 

Amusement  fit  for  social  hearts, 

And  drives  the  monster,  spleen,  away. 

1  Freneau  arrived  in  Charleston  Dec.  8,  and  remained  there  until  Jan.  23, 
when  he  cleared  for  Sunbury.  On  Jan.  ist,  he  wrote  the  above  verses  for 
the  carriers  of  the  Charleston  Columbian  Herald.  They  were  republished 
in  the  editions  of  1788  and  1795,  which  later  edition  the  text  follows. 


302  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Abroad  our  leaves  of  knowledge  fly, 
And  twice  a  week  they  live  and  die ; 
Short  seasons  of  repose ! 
Fair  to  your  view  our  toils  display 
The  monarch's  aim,  what  patriots  say, 
Or  sons  of  art  disclose  : 

Whate'er  the  barque  of  commerce  brings 
From  sister  States,  or  foreign  kings, 
No  atom  we  conceal: 
All  Europe's  prints  we  hourly  drain, 
All  Asia's  news  our  leaves  contain, 
And  round  our  world  we  deal. 

If  falsehoods  sometimes  prompt  your  fears, 
And  horrid  news  from  proud  Algiers, 
That  gives  our  tars  such  pain ; 
Remember  all  must  have  their  share, 
And  all  the  world  was  made  for  care, 
The  monarch  and  the  swain. 

If  British  isles  (that  once  were  free, 

In  Indian  seas,  to  you  and  me) 

All  entrance  still  restrain, 

Why  let  them  starve  with  all  their  host 

When  British  pride  gives  up  the  ghost, 

And  courts  our  aid  in  vain. 

We  fondly  hope  some  future  year 
Will  all  our  clouded  prospects  clear, 
And  commerce  stretch  her  wings ; 
New  tracks  of  trade  new  wealth  disclose, 
While  round  the  globe  our  standard  goes 
In  spite  of  growling  kings. 


1790]  LITERARY  IMPORTATION  303 

Materials  thus  together  drawn 
To  tell  you  how  the  world  goes  on 
May  surely  claim  regard ; 
One  simple  word  we  mean  to  say, 
This  is  our  jovial  New  Year's  day, 
And  now,  our  toils  reward. 


LITERARY  IMPORTATION1 

However  we  wrangled  with  Britain  awhile 

We  think  of  her  now  in  a  different  stile, 

And  many  fine  things  we  receive  from  her  isle ; 

Among  all  the  rest, 

Some  demon  possessed 

Our  dealers  in  knowledge  and  sellers  of  sense 
To  have  a  good  bishop  imported  from  thence. 

The  words  of  Sam  Chandler*  were  thought  to  be  vain, 

When  he  argued  so  often  and  proved  it  so  plain 

"  That  Satan  must  flourish  till  bishops  should  reign:  " 

Though  he  went  to  the  wall 

With  his  project  and  all, 
Another  bold  Sammy  f,  in  bishop's  array, 
Has  got  something  more  than  his  pains  for  his  pay. 

It  seems  we  had  spirit  to  humble  a  throne, 
Have  genius  for  science  inferior  to  none, 

*Who  laboured  for  the  establishment  of  an  American  Episcopacy,  pre- 
viously to  the  revolutionary  war." — Freneau's  note. 

f  Bishop  Samuel  Seabury,  of  Connecticut. — Ib. 

1  First  published,  as  far  as  can  be  learned,  in  the  1788  edition,  and  dated 
Charleston,  S.  C.,  1786.      The  text  is  taken  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


304  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

But  hardly  encourage  a  plant  of  our  own : 

If  a  college  be  planned, 

Tis  all  at  a  stand 

'Till  to  Europe  we  send  at  a  shameful  expense, 
To  send  us  a  book-worm  to  teach  us  some  sense. 

Can  we  never  be  thought  to  have  learning  or  grace 
Unless  it  be  brought  from  that  horrible1  place 
Where  tyranny  reigns  with  her  impudent  face ; 

And  popes  and  pretenders, 

And  sly  faith-defenders 
Have  ever  been  hostile  to  reason  and  wit, 
Enslaving  a  world  that  shall  conquer  them  yet. 

'Tis  a  folly  to  fret  at  the  picture  I  draw : 

And  I  say  what  was  said  by  a  Doctor  Magraw ;  $ 

"  If  they  give  us  their  Bishops,  they'll  give  us  their  law." 

How  that  will  agree 

With  such  people  as  we, 

Let  us  leave  to  the  learned  to  reflect  on  awhile, 
And  say  what  they  think  in  a  handsomer  stile. 

\  A  noted  practitioner  in  physic,  formerly  of  N.  York. — Frenearfs  note, 
Ed.  1788. 

1  "  Damnable  " — Ed.  1788. 


1790]  THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  COMPLAINT  305 


THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  COMPLAINT1 

In  Carolina 

Arriving  from  Britain  with  cargo  so  nice 
Once  more  have  I  touched  at  these  regions  of  rice ! 
Dear  Ashley,  with  pleasure  thy  stream  I  review : 
But  how  changed  are  these  plains  that  we  wished  to 
subdue. 

If  through  the  wild  woods  he  extended  his  reign, 
And  death  and  the  hangman  were  both  in  his  train, 
Cornwallis  no  longer  disturbs  your  repose, 
His  lordship  is  dead  or  at  least  in  a  doze. 

By  Sullivan's  island  how  quiet  we  pass ; 
Fort  Johnson  no  longer  salutes  us,  alas !  — 
The  season  has  been  you  did  nothing  but  mourn, 
But  now  you  will  laugh  at  a  Briton's  return ! 

Instead  of  gay  soldiers  that  walked  the  parade, 
Here  is  nothing  but  draymen  and  people  in  trade ; 
Instead  of  our  navy  that  thundered  around, 
Here  is  nothing  but  ships  without  guns  to  be  found. 

Instead  of  Lord  Rawdon  and  Nesbit  Balfour, 
Whose  names  and  whose  notions  you  cannot  endure, 
But  whom  in  their  glory  you  could  not  forget 
When  puffed  by  the  froth  of  the  Royal  Gazette : 

Instead  of  those  tyrants,  who  homewards  have  flown, 
This  country  is  ruled  by  a  race  of  its  own, 
Whom  once  we  could  laugh  at —  but  now  we  must  say 
Seem  rising  to  be  in  a  handsomer  way. 

1This  first  appeared  in  the  1788  edition.  The  date  of  composition  is  indi- 
cated by  the  last  line.  The  British  evacuated  the  city  in  1782.  The  edition  of 
1809  has  been  followed. 


306  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

To  us  and  our  island  eternally  foes, 
How  tedious  you  are  in  forgetting  your  woes, 
Your  plundered  plantations  you  still  will  remember, 
Although  we  have  left  you  —  three  years  last  December ! 


THE  WILD  HONEY  SUCKLE1 

Fair  flower,  that  dost  so  comely  grow, 
Hid  in  this  silent,  dull  retreat, 
Untouched  thy  honied  blossoms  blow, 
Unseen  thy  little  branches  greet: 

No  roving  foot  shall  crush  thee  here, 

No  busy  hand  provoke  a  tear. 

By  Nature's  self  in  white  arrayed, 
She  bade  thee  shun  the  vulgar  eye, 
And  planted  here  the  guardian  shade, 
And  sent  soft  waters  murmuring  by ; 

Thus  quietly  thy  summer  goes, 

Thy  days  declining  to  repose. 

Smit  with  those  charms,  that  must  decay, 

I  grieve  to  see  your  future  doom ; 

They  died  —  nor  were  those  flowers  more  gay, 

The  flowers  that  did  in  Eden  bloom ; 

Unpitying  frosts,  and  Autumn's  power 
Shall  leave  no  vestige  of  this  flower. 

1  Freneau  doubtless  wrote  this  poem  in  Charleston,  S.  C.,  in  July,  1786. 
It  appeared  firstjin  the  Freeman' 's  Journal,  August  2,  1786,  and  was  republished 
in  the  edition  of  1788,  and  in  the  later  editions,  almost  without  change.  The 
poet  probably  refers  to  the  Rhododendron  Viscosum,  or  as  some  call  it  the 
Azalia  mscosun  since  it  is  the  only  flower  popularly  known  as  the  wild  honey- 
suckle that  is  both  white  and  fragrant.  According  to  Chapman's  Southern 
Flora,  it  flowers  in  the  latitude  of  Charleston  in  July  and  August.  The  text 
is  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


1790]  UNITARIAN  THEOLOGY  307 

From  morning  suns  and  evening  dews 
At  first  thy  little  being  came : 
If  nothing  once,  you  nothing  lose, 
For  when  you  die  you  are  the  same ; 

The  space  between,  is  but  an  hour, 

The  frail  duration  of  a  flower. 


ON  A  BOOK  CALLED  UNITARIAN  THEOLOGY 1 

In  this  choice  work,  with  wisdom  penned,  we  find 
The  noblest  system  to  reform  mankind, 
Bold  truths  confirmed,  that  bigots  have  denied, 
By  most  perverted,  and  which  some  deride. 

Here,  truths  divine  in  easy  language  flow, 
Truths  long  concealed,  that  now  all  climes  shall  know 
Here,  like  the  blaze  of  our  material  sun, 
Enlightened  Reason  proves,  that  God  is  One  — 
As  that,  concentered  in  itself,  a  sphere, 
Illumes  all  Nature  with  its  radiance  here, 
Bids  towards  itself  all  trees  and  plants  aspire, 
Awakes  the  winds,  impels  the  seeds  of  fire, 
And  still  subservient  to  the  Almighty  plan, 
Warms  into  life  the  changeful  race  of  man ; 
So  —  like  that  sun  —  in  heaven's  bright  realms  we  trace 
One  Power  of  Love,  that  fills  unbounded  space, 
Existing  always  by  no  borrowed  aid, 
Before  all  worlds  —  eternal,  and  not  made  — 
To  That  indebted,  stars  and  comets  burn, 

1  This  was  published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  Oct.  4,  1786,  under  the  title 
"On  the  Honourable  Emanuel  Swedenborg's  Universal  Theology."  A  column 
advertisement  of  the  book  appeared  in  the  Journal  Oct.  25.  The  poem  was 
reprinted  in  the  1788  collection  and  in  the  later  edition  of  1809,  which  the  text 
follows. 


308  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Owe  their  swift  movements,  and  to  That  return ! 
Prime  source  of  wisdom,  all-contriving  mind, 
First  spring  of  Reason,  that  this  globe  designed; 
Parent  of  order,  whose  unwearied  hand 
Upholds  the  fabric  that  his  wisdom  planned, 
And,  its  due  course  assigned  to  every  sphere, 
Revolves  the  seasons,  and  sustains  the  year !  — 

Pure  light  of  Truth !   where'er  thy  splendours  shine, 
Thou  art  the  image  of  the  power  divine ; 
Nought  else,  in  life,  that  full  resemblance  bears, 
No  sun,  that  lights  us  through  our  circling  years, 
No  stars,  that  through  yon'  charming  azure  stray, 
No  moon,  that  glads  us  with  her  evening  ray, 
No  seas,  that  o'er  their  gloomy  caverns  flow, 
No  forms  beyond  us,  and  no  shapes  below ! 

Then  slight  —  ah  slight  not,  this  instructive  page, 
For  the  mean  follies  of  a  dreaming  age : 
Here  to  the  truth,  by  Reason's  aid  aspire, 
Nor  some  dull  preacher  of  romance  admire ; 
See  One,  Sole  God,  in  these  convincing  lines, 
Beneath  whose  view  perpetual  day-light  shines ; 
At  whose  command  all  worlds  their  circuits  run, 
And  night,  retiring,  dies  before  the  sun ! 

Here,  Man  no  more  disgraced  by  Time  appears, 
Lost  in  dull  slumbers  through  ten  thousand  years; 
Plunged  in  that  gulph,  whose  dark  unfathomed  wave 
Men  of  all  ages  to  perdition  gave ; 
An  empty  dream,  or  still  more  empty  shade, 
The  substance  vanished,  and  the  form  decayed :  — 

Here  Reason  proves,  that  when  this  life  decays, 
Instant,  new  life  in  the  warm  bosom  plays, 
As  that  expiring,  still  its  course  repairs 
Through  endless  ages,  and  unceasing  years. 


1790]  TO  ZOILUS  309 

Where  parted  souls  with  kindred  spirits  meet, 
Wrapt  to  the  bloom  of  beauty  all  complete ; 
In  that  celestial,  vast,  unclouded  sphere, 
Nought  there  exists  but  has  its  image  here ! 
All  there  is  Mind!  —That  Intellectual  Flame, 
From  whose  vast  stores  all  human  genius  came, 
In  which  all  Nature  forms  on  Reason's  plan  — 
Flows  to  this  abject  world,  and  beams  on  Man! 


TO  ZOILUS1 

[A  Severe  Critic] 

Six  sheets  compos'd,  struck  off,  and  dry 

The  work  may  please  the  world  (thought  I)  — 

If  some  impeird  by  spleen  or  spite, 

Refuse  to  read,  then  let  them  write : 

I  too,  with  them,  shall  have  my  turn, 

And  give  advice  —  to  tear  or  burn. 

Now  from  the  binder's,  hurried  home, 
In  neat  array  my  leaves  are  come : 
Alas,  alas!  is  this  my  all? 
The  volume  is  so  light  and  small, 
That,  aim  to  save  it  as  I  can, 
'Twill  fly  before  Myrtilla's  fan. 

1  This  was  first  published  in  the  Freeman 's  Journal,  Oct  n,  1786,  though 
it  undoubtedly  was  written  before  the  poet  left  Philadelphia.  It  was  repub- 
lished  in  the  1788  edition  under  the  title  "  The  Pamphleteer  and  the  Critic." 
The  text  follows  the  1795  edition. 


310  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Why  did  I  no  precautions  use? 

To  curb  these  frolics  of  the  Muse  ? 

Ah !   why  did  I  invoke  the  nine 

To  aid  these  humble  toils  of  mine  — 

That  now  forebode  through  every  page 

The  witling's  sneer,  the  critic's  rage. 

Did  I,  for  this,  so  often  rise 

Before  the  sun  illum'd  the  skies, 

And  near  my  Hudson's  mountain  stream 

Invoke  the  Muses'  morning  dream, 

And  scorn  the  winds  that  blew  so  cool ! 

I  did  — and  I  was  more  the  fool. 

Yet  slender  tho'  the  book,  and  small, 
And  harmless,  take  it  all  in  all, 
I  see  a  monstrous  wight  appear, 
A  quill  suspended  from  his  ear ; 
Its  fate  depends  on  his  decree, 
And  what  he  says  must  sacred  be ! 

A  brute  of  such  terrific  mien 
At  wild  Sanduski  ne'er  was  seen, 
And  in  the  dark  Kentuckey  groves 
No  beast,  like  this,  for  plunder  roves, 
Nor  dwells  in  Britain's  lowering  clime 
A  reptile,  so  severe  on  rhyme. 

The  monster  comes,  severe  and  slow, 

His  eyes  with  arrowy  lightnings  glow, 

Takes  up  the  book,  surveys  it  o'er, 

Exclaims,  "  damn'd  stuff!  "  —  but  says  no  more: 

The  book  is  damn'd  by  his  decree, 

And  what  he  says  must  gospel  be ! 


1790]  TO  ZOILUS  311 

But  was  there  nothing  to  his  taste?  — 
Was  all  my  work  a  barren  waste  — 
Was  not  one  bright  idea  sown, 
And  not  one  image  of  my  own?  — 
Its  doom  was  just,  if  this  be  true : 
But  Zoilus  shall  be  sweated  too. 

Give  me  a  cane  of  mighty  length, 
A  staff  proportion'd  to  my  strength, 
Like  that,  by  whose  destructive  aid 
The  man  of  Gath  his  conquests  made ; 
Like  that,  which  once  on  Etna's  shore 
The  shepherd  of  the  mountain  bore : 

For  wit  traduc'd  at  such  a  rate 
To  other  worlds  I'll  send  him,  straight, 
Where  all  the  past  shall  nothing  seem, 
Or  just  be  imag'd,  like  a  dream; 
Where  new  vexations  are  design'd, 
No  dull  quietus  for  the  mind ! 

Arm'd  with  a  staff  of  such  a  size 
Who  would  not  smite  this  man  of  lies: 
Here,  scribbler,  help  me !   seize  that  pen 
With  which  he  blasts  all  rhyming  men : 
His  goose-quill  must  not  with  him  go 
To  persecute  the  bards  below. — 

How  vast  a  change  an  hour  may  bring ! 
How  abject  lies  this  snarling  thing! 
No  longer  wit  to  him  shall  bow, 
To  him  the  world  is  nothing  now ; 
And  all  he  writ,  and  all  he  read 
Is,  with  himself,  in  silence  laid ! 


312  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Dead  tho'  he  be  —  (not  sent  to  rest) 
No  keen  remorse  torments  my  breast: 
Yet,  something  in  me  seems  to  tell 
I  might  have  let  him  live,  as  well ;  — 
'Twas  his  to  snarl,  and  growl,  and  grin, 
And  life  had,  else,  a  burthen  been. 


ON  THE  LEGISLATURE  OF  GREAT-BRITAIN 
PROHIBITING  THE  SALE,  IN  LONDON,  OF 

Doctor  David  Ramsay's  History  of  the  Revolutionary  war  in 
South  Carolina1 

Some  bold  bully  Dawson,  expert  in  abusing, 
Having  passed  all  his  life  in  the  practice  of  bruising ; 
At  last,  when  he  thinks  to  reform  and  repent, 
And  wishes  his  days  had  been  soberly  spent, 
Though  a  course  of  contrition  in  earnest  begins, 
He  scarcely  can  bear  to  be  told  of  his  sins. 

So  the  British,  worn  out  with  their  wars  in  the  west 
(Where  burning  and  murder  their  prowess  confessed) 
When,  at  last,  they  agreed  'twas  in  vain  to  contend 
(For  the  days  of  their  thieving  were  come  to  an  end) 
They  hired  some  historians  to  scribble  and  flatter, 
And  foolishly  thought  they  could  hush  up  the  matter. 

But  Ramsay 2  arose,  and  with  Truth  on  his  side, 
Has  told  to  the  world  what  they  laboured  to  hide ; 
With  his  pen  of  dissection,  and  pointed  with  steel, 
If  they  ne'er  before  felt  he  has  taught  them  to  feel, 

1  Freemaris  Journal,  Oct.  n,  dated  Philadelphia,  Oct.  9.     The  text  fol- 
lows the  edition  of  1809. 

2  David   Ramsay's  "History  of  the  Revolution  in  South  Carolina,"    was 
published  at  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  in  1785. 


1790]         DEATH  SONG  OF  A  CHEROKEE  INDIAN  313 

Themselves  and  their  projects  has  truly  defined, 
And  dragged  them  to  blush  at  the  bar  of  mankind. 

As  the  author,  his  friends,  and  the  world  might  expect, 
They  find  that  the  work  has  a  damning  effect  — 
In  reply  to  his  Facts  they  abuse  him  and  rail, 
And  prompted  by  malice,  prohibit  the  sale. 

But,  we  trust,  their  chastisement  is  only  begun ; 
Thirteen  are  the  States  —  and  he  writes  but  of  one; 
Ere  the  twelve  that  are  silent  their  story  have  told, 
The  king  will  run  mad,  and  the  book  will  be  sold. 


THE  DEATH  SONG  OF  A  CHEROKEE  INDIAN1 

The  sun  sets  in  night,  and  the  stars  shun  the  day, 
But  glory  remains  when  their  lights  fade  away. 
Begin,  ye  tormentors:   your  threats  are  in  vain 
For  the  son  of  Alknomock  can  never  complain. 

1  The  first  trace  I  can  find  of  this  poem  is  in  the  initial  number  of  Matthew 
Carey's  American  Museum,  Jan.  I,  1787,  where  it  is  placed  among  the  selected 
poetry  and  assigned  to  P.  Freneau.  This  testimony  of  Carey's  as  to  its  gen- 
uineness carries  with  it  considerable  weight.  Knapp,  who  in  1829  reviewed  the 
poem  as  Freneau's,  doubtless  had  before  him  a  copy  of  the  Museum.  The 
poem,  however,  is  not  included  in  any  of  the  poet's  collections  and  I  can  find 
no  earlier  newspaper  appearance,  although  my  search  has  not  been  exhaustive. 
The  authenticity  of  a  poem  suspected  to  be  Freneau's  may  always  be  gravely 
doubted  if  it  is  not  found  to  be  included  in  his  collected  works,  for  he  hoarded 
his  poetic  product,  especially  in  his  earlier  period,  with  miserly  care. 

The  poem  appeared  in  1806  among  the  poems  of  Mrs.  John  Hunter  with 
the  title  "  The  Death  Song,  written  for  and  adapted  to,  an  original  Indian 
air."  Several  of  Mrs.  Hunter's  best  poems  had  been  long  in  circulation  before 
she  was  induced  to  collect  them.  In  1822  Maria  Edgeworth  introduced  the 
poem  into  her  book  "  Rosamond,"  ascribing  it  to  her.  She  added  the  following 
note  :  "  The  idea  of  this  ballad  was  suggested  several  years  ago  by  hearing  a 
gentleman  who  resided  many  years  among  the  tribe  called  the  Cherokees,  sing 
a  wild  air,  which  he  assured  me  was  customary  for  these  people  to  chant  with 
a  barbarous  jargon  implying  contempt  for  their  enemies  in  the  moments  of 
torture  and  death.  I  have  endeavored  to  give  something  of  the  characteristic 
spirit  and  sentiment  of  those  brave  savages." 


3 14  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Remember  the  woods,  where  in  ambush  he  lay, 
And  the  scalps  which  he  bore  from  your  nation  away  ! 
Why  do  ye  delay?  —  'till  I  shrink  from  my  pain? 
Know  the  son  of  Alknomock  can  never  complain. 

Remember  the  arrows  he  shot  from  his  bow 
Remember  your  chiefs  by  his  hatchet  laid  low 
The  flame  rises  high,  you  exult  in  my  pain? 
Know  the  son  of  Alknomock  will  never  complain. 

I  go  to  the  land  where  my  father  is  gone : 
His  ghost  shall  rejoice  in  the  fame  of  his  son 
Death  comes  like  a  friend,  he  relieves  me  from  pain 
And  thy  son,  O  Alknomock,  has  scorned  to  complain. 


STANZAS 

Written  at  the  foot  of  Monte  Souffriere,  near  the  Town  of  Basseterre, 

Guadaloupe l 

These  Indian  isles,  so  green  and  gay 

In  summer  seas  by  nature  placed  — 

Art  hardly  told  us  where  they  lay, 

'Till  tyranny  their  charms  defaced : 

Ambition  here  her  efforts  made, 

And  avarice  rifled  every  shade. 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal  &i  Jan.  31,  1787,  with  the  introduc- 
tion "  The  following  verses,  wrote  by  Mr.  Freneau  are  subjoined  to  a  short  and 
accurate  account  of  the  West  Indies  in  the  printer's  Pocket  Almanac  for  the 
present  year."  The  title  of  the  poem  suffered  many  variations  in  later  editions. 
In  the  1788  edition,  where  it  was  reprinted  from  the  Journal,  it  was  entitled 
"  Stanzas  written  In  a  blank  leaf  of  Burke's  History  of  the  West  India 
Islands,"  and  it  was  signed  "  Pennsylvania,  1786."  In  the  1795  edition  it  was 
entitled  "  Caribbeana,"  and  in  the  edition  of  1809,  the  text  of  which  I  have 
followed,  it  received  the  title  above  given.  The  poem  was  carefully  revised 
for  the  edition  of  1795. 


1790]  STANZAS  315 

Their  genius  wept,  his  sons  to  see 

By  foreign  arms  untimely  fall, 

And  some  to  distant  climates  flee, 

Where  later  ruin  met  them  all: 
He  saw  his  sylvan  offspring  bleed, 
That  envious  natures  might  succeed. 

The  Chief,  who  first  o'er  untried  waves 
To  these  fair  islands  found  his  way, 
Departing,  left  a  race  of  slaves, 
Cortez,  your  mandate  to  obey, 

And  these  again,  if  fame  says  true, 

To  extirpate  the  vulgar  crew. 

No  more  to  Indian  coasts  confined, 
The  Patron,  thus,  indulged  his  grief; 
And  to  regret  his  heart  resigned, 
To  see  some  proud  European  chief, 
Pursue  the  harmless  Indian  race, 
Torn  by  his  dogs  in  every  chace.1 

Ah,  what  a  change !   the  ambient  deep 

No  longer  hears  the  lover's  sigh ; 

But  wretches  meet,  to  wail  and  weep 

The  loss  of  their  dear  liberty : 

Unfeeling  hearts  possess  these  isles, 
Man  frowns  —  and  only  nature  smiles. 

Proud  of  the  vast  extended  shores 
The  haughty  Spaniard  calls  his  own, 

1  "  While  he  to  tears  his  heart  resign'd 
With  pain  he  saw  the  falling  leaf  ; 

'  And  thus  (he  cry'd)  our  reign  must  end, 
We,  like  the  leaves,  must  now  descend.'  " 

Ed.  1788. 


316  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

His  selfish  heart  restrains  his  stores, 
To  other  climes  but  scarcely  known : l 
His  Cuba  lies  a  wilderness, 
Where  slavery  digs  what  slaves  possess. 

Jamaica's  sweet,  romantic  vales 
In  vain  with  golden  harvests  teem ; 
Her  endless  spring,  her  fragrant  gales 
More  than  Elysian  magic  seem: 2 
Yet  what  the  soil  profusely  gave 
Is  there  denied  the  toiling  slave. 

Fantastic  joy  and  fond  belief 
Through  life  support  the  galling  chain ; 
Hope's  airy  prospects  banish  griefs, 
And  bring  his  native  lands  again : 
His  native  groves  a  heaven  display, 
The  funeral  is  the  jocund  day. 

For  man  oppressed  and  made  so  base, 

In  vain  from  Jove  fair  virtue  fell ; 

Distress  be-glooms  the  toiling  race, 

They  have  no  motive  to  excel : 
In  death  alone  their  miseries  end, 
The  tyrant's  dread  —  is  their  best  friend. 

How  great  their  praise  let  truth  declare, 
Who  touched  with  honour's  sacred  flame, 
Bade  freedom  to  some  coasts  repair 
To  urge  the  slave's  neglected  claim; 
And  scorning  interest's  swinish  plan, 
Gave  to  mankind  the  rights  of  man. 

1  "  No  other  world  may  share  those  stores 

To  other  worlds  so  little  known."     Ed.  1788. 

2  "  Did  more  to  me  than  magic  seem."     Ib. 


1790]         ON  THE  CREW  OF  A  CERTAIN  VESSEL  317 

Ascending  there,  may  freedom's  sun 

In  all  his  force  serenely  clear, 

A  long,  unclouded  circuit  run, 

Till  little  tyrants  disappear; 

And  a  new  race,  not  bought  or  sold, 
Rise  from  the  ashes  of  the  old. 


ON  THE  CREW  OF  A  CERTAIN  VESSEL1 

Several  of  whom  happened  to  be  of  similar  names  to  Celebrated  Foreign 

Clergymen 

In  life's  unsettled,  odd  career 
What  changes  every  day  appear 

To  please  or  plague  the  eye : 
A  goodly  brotherhood  of  priests 
Are  here  transformed  to  swearing  beasts 

Who  heaven  and  hell  defy. 

Here  Bonner,  bruised  with  many  a  knock, 
Has  changed  his  surplice  for  a  frock; 

Old  Erskine  swabs  the  decks, 
And  Watts,  who  once  such  pleasure  took 
In  writing  Hymns  —  here,  turned  a  cook, 

Sinners  no  longer  vex. 

Here  Burnet,  Tillotson,  and  Blair, 
With  Jemmy  Hervey,  curse  and  swear, 

Here  Cudworth  mixes  grog; 
Pearson  the  crew  to  dinner  hails, 
A  graceless  Sherlock  trims  the  sails, 

And  Bunyan  heaves  the  log. 

xThe  index  to  the  edition  of  1795  instead  of  "vessel"  gives  "ship  of 
war."    The  text  follows  the  edition  of  1809. 


POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE  BERMUDA  ISLANDS1 

"  Bermuda,  walled  with  rocks,  who  does  not  know, 
That  happy  island,  where  huge  lemons  grow,"  &c. 

Waller's  Battle  of  the  Summer  Islands. 

These  islands  fair  with  many  a  grove  are  crowned, 
With  cedars  tall,  gay  hills,  and  verdant  vales, 
But  dangerous  rocks  on  every  side  is  found, 
Fatal  to  him  who  unsuspecting  sails. 


The  gay  Palmetto  shades  the  adjacent  wave : 
Blue,  ocean  water  near  the  lime-tree  breaks !  — 
I  leave  the  scene!  —  this  stormy  quarter  leave, 
And  rove  awhile  by  Harrington's  sweet  lake. 

In  every  vale  fair  woodland  nymphs  are  seen 
In  bloom  of  youth,  to  mourn  some  absent  love, 
Who,  wandering  far  on  Neptune's  rude  domain, 
Heaves  the  fond  sigh  at  every  new  remove. 

From  hill  to  hill  I  see  Amanda  stray, 

Searching,  with  anxious  view,  the  encircling  main, 

To  espy  the  sail,  so  long,  so  far  away, 

Rise  from  the  waves,  and  bless  her  sight  again. 

1  During  several  weeks  in  1778  Freneau  resided  in  Bermuda.  While 
there  he  seems  to  have  been  greatly  impressed  by  an  instance  of  inconstancy. 
He  has  in  several  prose  sketches,  notably  in  "  Light  Summer  Reading,"  1788, 
and  in  the  following  series  of  poems,  composed  at  different  times,  described  the 
incident.  There  is  a  tradition  that  Freneau  spent  several  weeks  in  the  family 
of  the  Governor  of  Bermuda  and  that  it  was  the  daughter  of  this  official  who 
was  the  unfortunate  Amanda.  Some  traditions  have  mentioned  Freneau  him- 
self as  the  lover.  The  text  is  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


1790]  FLORIO  TO  AMANDA  319 

Now,  on  some  rock,  with  loose,  dishevelled  hair, 
Near  dashing  waves,  the  sorrowing  beauty  stands, 
Hoping  that  each  approaching  barque  may  bear 
Homeward  the  wandering  youth  from  foreign  lands. 

Oh !   may  no  gales  such  faithful  loves  destroy, 
No  hidden  rock  to  Hymen  fatal  prove : 
And  thou,  fond  swain,  thy  nicest  art  employ 
Once  more  on  these  sweet  isles  to  meet  your  love. 

When  verging  to  the  height  of  thirty-two, 
And  east  or  west  you  guide  the  dashy  prow ; 
Then  fear  by  night  the  dangers  of  this  shore, 
Nature's  wild  garden,  placed  in  sixty-four.* 
Here  many  a  merchant  his  lost  freight  bemoans, 
And  many  a  gallant  ship  has  laid  her  bones. 


FLORIO  TO  AMANDA1 

Lamp  of  the  pilot's  hope!   the  wanderer's  dream, 
Far  glimmering  o'er  the  wave,  we  saw  thy  beam : 
Forced  from  your  aid  by  cold  December's  gale 
As  near  your  isle  we  reefed  the  wearied  sail : 
From  bar  to  bar,  from  cape  to  cape  I  roam, 
From  you  still  absent,  still  too  far  from  home.  — 
What  shall  repay  me  for  these  nights  of  pain, 
And  weeks  of  absence  on  this  restless  main, 

*  Lat.  32  deg.  20  min.  N. — Long.  63.40  W. — and  about  780  miles  East  of 
the  coast  of  South  Carolina. — Freneau's  note. 

1  On  Jan.  20,  1789,  Freneau  was  at  Castle  Ireland,  Bermuda,  where  eleven 
years  before  he  had  passed  five  delightful  weeks  in  the  family  of  the  English 
Governor.  The  above  lines  were  written  on  the  tempestuous  return  voyage, 
doubtless  inspired  by  her  who  soon  afterward  became  his  wife.  The  text  fol- 
lows the  1809  version. 


320  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Where  every  dream  recalls  that  charming  shade, 
Where  once,  Amanda,  once  with  you  I  strayed, 
And  fondly  talked,  and  counted  every  tree, 
And  minutes,  ages,  when  removed  from  thee. 

What  sad  mistake  this  wandering  fancy  drew 
To  quit  my  natives  shores,  the  woods,  and  You, 
When  safely  anchored  on  that  winding  stream, 
Where  you  were  all  my  care,  and  all  my  theme : 
There,  pensive,  loitering,  still  from  day  to  day, 
The  pilot  wondered  at  such  strange  delay, 
Musing,  beheld  the  northern  winds  prevail, 
Nor  once  surmised  that  Love  detained  the  sail. 

Blest  be  the  man,  who,  fear  beneath  him  cast, 
From  his  firm  decks  first  reared  the  tapering  mast; 
And  catching  life  and  motion  from  the  breeze, 
Stretched  his  broad  canvas  o'er  a  waste  of  seas; 
And  taught  some  swain,  whom  absence  doomed  to  mourn 
His  distant  fair  one  —  taught  a  quick  return : 
He,  homeward  borne  by  favouring  gales,  might  find 
Remembrance  welcome  to  his  anxious  mind, 
And  grateful  vows,  and  generous  thanks  might  pay 
To  Him,  who  filled  the  sail,  and  smoothed  the  way. 

To  me,  indeed  !   the  heavens  less  favouring  prove : 
Each  day,  returning,  finds  a  new  remove  — 
Sorrowing,  I  spread  the  sail,  while  slowly  creeps 
The  weary  vessel  o'er  a  length  of  deeps ; 
Her  northern  course  no  favouring  breeze  befriends, 
Hail,  storm,  and  lightning,  on  her  path  attends : 
Here,  wintry  suns  their  shrouded  light  restrain, 
Stars  dimly  glow,  and  boding  birds  complain; 
Here,  boisterous  gales  the  rapid  Gulph  controul, 
Tremendous  breakers  near  our  Argo  roll ; 
Here  cloudy,  sullen  Hatteras,  restless,  raves 
Scorns  all  repose,  and  swells  his  weight  of  waves : 


1790]  PHILANDER:  OR  THE  EMIGRANT  321 

Here,  drowned  so  late,  sad  cause  of  many  a  tear, 
Amyntor  floats  upon  his  watery  bier; 
By  bursting  seas  to  horrid  distance  tossed, 
Thou,  Palinurus,  in  these  depths  wert  lost, 
When,  torn  by  waves,  and  conquered  by  the  blast, 
Art  strove  in  vain,  and  ruin  seized  each  mast. 

Now,  while  the  winds  their  wonted  aid  deny, 
For  other  ports,  from  day  to  day,  we  try 
Strive,  all  we  can,  to  gain  the  unwilling  shore, 
Dream  still  of  you  —  the  faithful  chart  explore; 
See  other  groves,  in  happier  climates  placed 
Untouched  their  bloom,  and  not  one  flower  defaced. 

Did  Nature,  there,  a  heaven  of  pleasure  shew, 
Could  they  be  welcome,  if  not  shared  with  you?  — 
Lost  are  my  toils  —  my  longing  hopes  are  vain: 
Yet,  'midst  these  ills,  permit  me  to  complain, 
And  half  regret,  that,  finding  fortune  fail, 
I  left  your  cottage  —  to  direct  the  sail : 
Unmoved,  amidst  this  elemental  fray, 
Let  me,  once  more,  the  muses'  art  essay, 
Once  more  —  amidst  these  scenes  of  Nature's  strife, 
Catch  at  her  forms  and  mould  them  into  life ; 
By  Fancy's  aid,  to  unseen  coasts  repair, 
And  fondly  dwell  on  absent  beauty  there. 


PHILANDER:  OR  THE  EMIGRANT1 

While  lost  so  long  to  his  Arcadian  shade, 
Careless  of  fortune  and  of  fame  he  stray'd, 
Philander  to  a  barbarous  region  came 
And  found  a  partner  in  a  colder  shade, 
Fair  as  Amanda;   and  perhaps  might  claim 

1  The  text  follows  the  edition  of  1795. 


322  POEMS  OF   PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

With  her  the  impassion'd  soul,    and  friendship's  holy 

flame; 

For  sprightly  loves  upon  her  bosom  play'd, 
And  youth  was  in  her  blush,  and  every  shepherd  said 
She  was  a  modest  and  accomplish'd  dame. 

What  have  I  done,  (the  wandering  shepherd  cry'd) 
Thus  to  be  banish'd  from  a  face  so  fair, 
(For  now  the  frosts  had  spoil'd  the  daisies'  pride, 
And  he  once  more  for  roving  did  prepare) 
Ah,  what  have  I  to  do  with  swelling  seas 
Who  once  could  pipe  upon  the  hollow  reed?  — 
I  take  no  joy  in  such  rude  scenes  as  these, 
Nor  look  with  pleasure  on  the  vagrant  weed 
That  gulphy  streams  from  rugged  caverns  bore, 
Which  floats  thro'  every  clime,  and  never  finds  a  shore ! 
But  other  fields  and  other  flowers  were  mine, 
'Till  wild  disorder  drove  me  from  the  plain. 
And  the  black  dogs  of  war  were  seen  to  join, 
Howl  o'er  the  soil,  and  dispossess  the  swain: 
Why  must  I  leave  these  climes  of  frost  and  snow?  — 
Were  it  not  better  in  these  glooms  to  stay, 
And,  while  on  high  the  autumnal  tempests  blow, 
Let  others  o'er  the  wild  seas  take  their  way, 
And  I  with  my  Livinia's  tresses  play?  — 
Ah,  no,  no,  no!   the  imperious  wave  demands 
That  I  must  leave  these  shores,  and  lose  these  lands 
And  southward  to  the  high  equator  stray : 
But  Fancy  now  has  lost  her  vernal  hue ; 
See  Nature  in  her  wintry  garb  array'd  — 
And  where  is  that  fine  dream  which  once  she  drew 
While  yet  by  Cambria's  stream  she  fondly  play'd! 

Lavinia  heard  his  long  complaint,  and  said, 
Wouldst  thou,  for  me,  detain  the  expecting  sail — ? 
Go,  wanderer,  go  —  the  trees  have  lost  their  shade, 


1790]  PHILANDER:  OR  THE  EMIGRANT  323 

And  my  gay  flowers  are  blasted  by  the  gale, 

And  the  bright  stream  is  chill'd  that  wandered  thro'  the 

vale: 

Ah,  why,  Philander,  do  you  sigh,  so  sad! 
Why  all  this  change  in  such  a  jovial  lad? 
Smooth  seas  shall  be  your  guard,  and,  free  from  harms, 
Restore  you,  safely,  to  Lavinia's  arms ! 
Or  should  the  eastern  tempest  rend  your  sail, 
Trust  me,  dear  shepherd,  should  the  seas  prevail, 
And  you  be  laid  in  Neptune's  cradle  low, 
The  winds  will  bring  me  back  the  woeful  tale 
When  I  must  to  the  long  shore  weeping  go, 
And  while  I  see  the  ruffian  surge  aspire, 
Some  consolation  will  it  be  to  know 
No  pain  or  anguish  can  afflict  the  head 
The  limbs  or  stomach,  when  the  heart  is  dead. 

Thus  long  discoursing,  on  the  bank  they  stood, 
The  heavy  burthen'd  barque  at  anchor  lay, 
While  the  broad  topsails,  from  the  yards  unfurl'd, 
Shook  in  the  wind,  and  summon'd  him  away ; 
Brisk  blew  the  gales,  and  curl'd  the  yielding  flood, 
Nor  had  he  one  excuse  to  urge  his  stay  — 
Be  chang'd  (he  said)  ye  winds  that  blow  so  fair; 
Why  do  not  tempests  harrow  up  the  deep, 
And  all  but  the  moist  south  in  quiet  sleep ! 

To  the  bleak  shore  the  parting  lovers  came, 
And  while  Philander  did  his  sighs  renew, 
So  near  the  deep  they  bade  their  last  farewell 
That  the  rough  surge,  to  quench  the  mutual  flame 
Burst  in  and  broke  the  embrace,  and  o'er  Lavinia  flew ; 
While  a  dark  cloud  hung  lowering  o'er  the  main, 
From  whence  the  attendants  many  an  omen  drew, 
And  said  Philander  would  not  come  again ! 


324  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Now  to  their  various  heights  the  sails  ascend, 
And  southward  from  the  land  their  course  they  bore. 
Lavinia  mourn'd  the  lover  and  the  friend, 
And  stood  awhile  upon  the  sandy  shore, 
'Till  interposing  seas  the  hull  conceal'd, 
And  distant  sails  could  only  greet  her  view, 
Like  a  faint  cloud  that  brush'd  the  watery  field, 
And  swell'd  by  whistling  winds,  impetuous,  flew : 
Then  to  a  neighbouring  hill  the  nymph  withdrew, 
And  the  dear  object  from  that  height  survey'd, 
'Till  all  was  lost  and  mingled  with  the  main, 
And  night  descended,  with  her  gloomy  shade, 
And  kindled  in  the  heavens  her  starry  train. 

Safe  to  the  south  the  ocean-wading  keel 
In  one  short  month  its  rapid  course  achiev'd, 
And  the  cold  star,  that  marks  the  Arctic  pole, 
Was  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep  receiv'd : 
And  now  the  weary  barque  at  anchor  rode 
Where  Oronoko  pours  his  sultry  wave, 
Moist  Surinam,  by  torrents  overflow'd, 
And  Amazonia  vends  the  fainting  slave;  — 
Philander,  there,  not  fated  to  return, 
Perceiv'd  destruction  in  his  bosom  burn, 
And  the  warm  flood  of  life  too  fiercely,  glow  : 
The  vertic  sun  a  deadly  fever  gave, 
And  the  moist  soil  bestow'd  his  bones  a  grave, 
Deep  in  the  waste,  where  oceans  overflow, 
And  Oronoko's  streams  the  forests  lave. 

Oft'  to  the  winding  shore  Lavinia  came 
Where  fond  Philander  bade  his  last  adieu, 
(And  that  steep  hill  which  gave  her  the  last  view) 
Till  seven  long  years  had  round  their  orbits  ran, 


1790]  THE  FAIR  SOLITARY  325 

Yet  no  Philander  came,  or  none  she  knew; 
Alas  (she  cry'd)  for  every  nymph  but  me 
Each  sea-bleach'd  sail  some  welcome  wanderer  brings, 
And  all  but  I  get  tidings  of  their  friends ; 
Sad  Mariamne  drowns  herself  in  woe 
If  one  poor  month  Amyntor  quits  her  arms, 
And  says,  "  from  Ashley's  stream  he  comes  too  slow," — 
And  bodes  the  heavy  storm,  and  midnight  harms : 
What  would  she  say,  if  doom'd  to  wait,  like  me, 
And  mourn  long  years,  and  no  Philander  see ! 


THE  FAIR  SOLITARY1 

No  more  these  groves  a  glad  remembrance  claim 
Where  grief  consumes  a  half  deluded  dame, 
Whom  to  these  isles  a  modern  Theseus  bore, 
And  basely  left,  frail  virtue  to  deplore ;  — 

In  foreign  climes  detained  from  all  she  loved, 
By  friends  neglected,  long  by  Fortune  proved, 
While  sad  and  solemn  passed  the  unwelcome  day 
What  charms  had  life  for  her,  to  tempt  her  stay? 

Deceived  in  all;   for  meanness  could  deceive, 
Expecting  still,  and  still  condemned  to  grieve, 
She  scarcely  saw  —  to  different  hearts  allied 
That  her  dear  Florio  ne'er  pursued  a  bride ! 
Are  griefs,  like  thine,  to  Florio's  bosom  known?  — 
Must  these,  alas!   be  ceaseless  in  your  own? 

1  Published  in  the  1795  edition  under  the  title  "The  Mourning  Nun. 
Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


326  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Life  is  a  dream !  —  its  varying  shades  I  see  ; 
But  this  cold  wanderer  hardly  dreams  of  thee  — 
The  bloom  of  health,  which  bade  all  hearts  adore, 
To  your  pale  cheek  what  physic  shall  restore? 
Vain  are  those  drugs  that  art  and  love  prepares, 
No  art  redeems  the  waste  of  sighs  and  tears ! 


AMANDA  IN  A  CONSUMPTION1 

Smit  by  the  glance  of  your  bright  eyes 
When  I,  Amanda,  fondly  gaze, 
Strange  feelings  in  my  bosom  rise 
And  passion  all  my  reason  sways  : 
Worlds  I  would  banish  from  my  view, 
And  quit  the  gods  —  to  talk  with  you. 

The  smile  that  decks  your  fading  cheek, 
To  me  a  heavy  heart  declares  ; 
When  you  are  silent  I  would  speak 
But  cowardice  alarms  my  fears  : 
All  must  be  sense  that  you  do  prize, 
All  that  I  say  —  be  grave  and  wise. 

When  wandering  in  the  evening  shade 

I  shared  her  pain,  and  calmed  her  grief, 

A  thousand  tender  things  I  said, 

But  all  I  said  gave  no  relief  : 

When  from  her  hair  I  dried  the  dew, 

She  sighed,  and  said  —  I  am  not  for  you! 


Freeman'  s  Journal  printed  this  poem  on  Feb.  7,  1787,  with  the  date 
of  composition  Jan.  26,  1787.  The  lady's  name  in  this  original  version  was 
Cynthia.  The  poem  was  reprinted  in  the  1788  collection  as  a  part  of  the  story 
"  Light  Summer  Reading."  The  half  mad  poet,  who  is  infatuated  with  the 
lovely  Marcia,  writes  the  verses  and  inscribes  them  "  To  Marcia."  It  seems  to 
have  been  a  favorite  with  the  poet.  He  republished  it  in  the  National  Gazette 
in  1792  under  the  title  "  Marcella  in  a  Consumption."  Text  from  the  edition 
of  1809. 


1790]  AMANDA  IN  A  CONSUMPTION  327 

When  drooping,  dull,  and  almost  dead 
With  fevers  brought  from  sultry  climes, 
She  would  not  wrap  my  fainting  head ; 
But  recommended  me  some  rhymes 
On  patience  and  on  fortitude, 
And  other  things —  less  understood. 

When,  aiming  to  engage  her  heart 
With  verses  from  the  muses'  stock ; 
She  sighed,  regardless  of  the  art, 
And  counted  seconds  by  the  clock ; 
"  And  thus,  (she  said)  "  will  verse  decay, 
"  And  thus  the  muse  will  pass  away !  " 

When  languishing  upon  her  bed 
In  willow  shades,  remote  from  towns, 
We  came ;   and  while  Priscilla  read 
Of  chrystal  skies  and  golden  crowns : 
She  bade  us  at  a  distance  stand, 
And  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand. 

So,  drooping  hangs  the  fading  rose, 
When  summer  sends  the  beating  shower: 
So,  to  the  grave  Amanda  goes, 
Her  whole  duration  —  but  an  hour! 
Who  shall  controul  the  sad  decree, 
Or  what,  fair  girl,  recover  thee? 

Such  yirtue  in  that  spirit  dwells  — 
Such  fortitude  amidst  such  pain !  — 
And,  now,  with  pride  my  bosom  swells, 
To  think  I  have  not  lived  in  vain. 
For,  slighting  all  the  sages  knew, 
I  learn  philosophy  from  you. 


328  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


ELEGIAC  LINES1 

With  life  enamoured,  but  in  death  resigned, 
To  seats  congenial  flew  the  unspotted  mind : 
Attending  spirits  hailed  her  to  that  shore 
Where  this  world's  winter  chills  the  soul  no  more. 
Learn  hence,  to  live  resigned ;  —  and  when  you  die 
No  fears  will  seize  you,  when  that  hour  is  nigh. 

Transferred  to  heaven,  Amanda  has  no  share 
In  the  dull  business  of  this  world  of  care. 
Her  blaze  of  beauty,  even  in  death  admired, 
A  moment  kindled,  but  as  soon  expired. 
Sweet  as  the  favourite  offspring  of  the  May 
Serenely  mild,  not  criminally  gay : 

Adorned  with  all  that  nature  could  impart 

To  please  the  fancy  and  to  gain  the  heart ; 

Heaven  ne'er  above  more  innocence  possessed, 

Nor  earth  the  form  of  a  diviner  guest : 

A  mind  all  virtue !  —  flames  descended  here 

From  some  bright  seraph  of  some  nobler  sphere ; 

Yet,  not  her  virtues,  opening  into  bloom, 

Nor  all  her  sweetness  saved  her  from  the  tomb, 

From  prospects  darkened,  and  the  purpose  crossed, 

Misfortune's  winter,  — and  a  lover  lost; 

Nor  such  resemblance  to  the  forms  above, 

The  heart  of  goodness,  and  the  soul  of  love! 

1  In  the  1788  edition  this  appeared  as  two  poems.  The  opening  six  lines 
had  the  title  "  Epitaph  "  and  the  remainder  was  entitled  "  Lines  on  the  Death 
of  a  Lady."  In  the  1809  edition,  the  text  of  which  is  followed  here,  the  poem 
was  placed  in  the  group  of  Amanda  poems. 


1790]  .THE   INSOLVENT'S  RELEASE  329 

Ye  thoughtless  fair!  —  her  early  death  bemoan, 
Sense,  virtue,  beauty,  to  oblivion  gone.  l 


THE  INSOLVENT'S  RELEASE2 

(By  H.  Salem) 

Not  from  those  dismal  dreary  coasts  I  come 

Where  wizzard  Faustus  chews  his  brimstone  rolls, 

Nor  have  I  been  to  wrangle  with  the  men 

Of  that  sad  country,  where,  for  want  of  rum, 

Dead  putrid  water  from  the  stagnant  fen 

Is  drank,  unmingled,  by  departed  souls : 

Nor  from  that  dog-house  do  I  bring  you  news, 

Where  Macedonian  Philip*  mends  old  shoes, 

But  from  that  dreadful  place  arrived, 

Where  men  in  debt  at  cribbage  play, 

And  I  most  cunningly  contrived 

To  fatten  on  two  groats  a  day  — 

Full  on  my  back  now  turned  the  key, 

The  'squire  himself  is  not  so  free. 

When  to  these  rugged  walls,  a  fathom  thick, 
I  came,  directed  by  the  sheriff's  stick, 

*  See  Lucian's  Dialogues  ;  to  the  following  effect : 
"  Great  scholars  have  in  Lucian  read, 
When  Philip,  king  of  Greece,  was  dead 
His  soul  and  body  did  divide, 
And  each  part  took,  a  different  side  ; 
One  rose  a  star,  the  other  fell 
Below  —  and  mended  shoes  in  hell." — Freneau's  note. 

1 "  And  while  you  mourn  your  fate,  think  on  your  own." — Ed.  iy88. 

2  The  version  in  the  Freeman 's  Journal  is  dated  Philadelphia,  April  10, 
1787.  The  title  in  the  1788  version  is  "  The  Insolvent's  Release  and  Miseries 
of  a  Country  Jail."  The  "  H.  Salem  "  was  first  added  in  the  edition  of  1809, 
the  text  of  which  I  have  followed. 


330  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Alas,  said  I,  what  can  they  mean  to  do! 

I  am  not  conscious  of  one  roguish  trick! 

I  am  no  thief —  I  took  no  Christian's  life, 

Nor  have  I  meddled  with  the  parson's  wife, 

(Which  would  have  been  a  dreadful  thing  you  know) 

Then,  by  these  gloomy  walls,  this  iron  gate 

Appointed  by  the  wisdom  of  your  state 

To  shut  in  little  rogues,  and  keep  out  great ; 

Tell  me,  ye  pretty  lads,  that  deal  in  law, 

Ye  men  of  mighty  wigs,  ye  judges,  say  — 

Say!   by  the  jailor's  speckled  face 

That  never  beamed  one  blush  of  grace ; 

How  long  must  I 

In  prison  lie 
For  just  nine  guineas  —  that  I  cannot  pay! 

Return,  ye  happy  times,  when  all  were  free, 

No  jails  on  land,  no  nets  at  sea; 

When  mountain  beasts  unfettered  ran, 

And  man  refused  to  shut  up  man, 

As  men  of  modern  d^ys  have  shut  up  me !  — 

This  is  the  dreary  dark  abode 

Of  poverty  and  solitude ; 
Such  was  the  gloomy  cell  where  Bunyan  lay 
While  his  dear  pilgrim  helped  the  time  away  — 
Such  was  the  place  where  Wakefield's  vicar  drew 
Grave  morals  from  the  imprisoned  crew, 
And  found  both  time  to  preach  and  pray. 
In  bed  of  straw  and  broken  chair 
What  consolation  could  be  found ! 
No  gay  companions  ventured  there 
To  push  the  ruddy  liquor  round ! 

From  jug  of  stone 

I  drank,  alone, 
A  beverage,  neither  clear  nor  strong 


1790]  MAY  TO  APRIL  33 

No  table  laid, 

No  village  maid 

Came  there  to  cheer  me  with  her  song ; 
My  days  were  dull,  my  nights  were  long! 

My  evening  dreams, 

My  morning  schemes 
Were  how  to  break  that  cruel  chain, 
And,  Jenny,  be  with  you  again. 


MAY  TO  APRIL1 

Without  your  showers,  I  breed  no  flowers, 
Each  field  a  barren  waste  appears ; 

If  you  don't  weep,  my  blossoms  sleep, 
They  take  such  pleasures  in  your  tears. 

As  your  decay  made  room  for  May, 
So  I  must  part  with  all  that's  mine : 

My  balmy  breeze,  my  blooming  trees 
To  torrid  suns  their  sweets  resign ! 

O'er  April  dead,  my  shades  I  spread: 
To  her  I  owe  my  dress  so  gay  — 

Of  daughters  three,  it  falls  on  me 
To  close  our  triumphs  on  one  day : 

Thus,  to  repose,  all  Nature  goes ; 

Month  after  month  must  find  its  doom : 
Time  on  the  wing,  May  ends  the  Spring, 

And  Summer  dances  on  her  tomb ! 

1  First  published  in  the  Freeman 's  Journal  where  it  was  signed  Philadel- 
phia, April  16,  1787.     Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


332  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


TO  AN  AUTHOR1 

Your  leaves  bound  up  compact  and  fair, 

In  neat  array  at  length  prepare, 

To  pass  their  hour  on  learning's  stage,2 

To  meet  the  surly  critic's  rage ; 

The  statesman's  slight,  the  smatterer's3  sneer  — 

Were  these,  indeed,  your  only4  fear, 

You  might  be  tranquil  and  resigned : 

What  most  should  touch  your  fluttering  mind ; 5 

Is  that,  few  critics  6  will  be  found 

To  sift7  your  works,  and  deal  the  wound. 

Thus,  when  one  fleeting  year  is  past 
On  some  bye-shelf  your  book  is  cast  — 8 
Another  comes,  with  something  new,9 
And  drives  you  fairly  out  of  view : 
With  some  to  praise,  but  more  to  blame, 
The  mind10  returns  to  —  whence  it  came; 

1  First  published  in  the  1788  edition.      It  doubtless  records  the  poet's 
mood  a  year  or  two  after  his  first  book,  the  1786  collection,  was  given  to  the 
public.     Its  original  title  was  "An  Author's  Soliloquy."     In  1795   the  title 
was  changed  to  "  An  Author  on  Authorship."     Text  from  the  1809  edition. 

2  ' '  Time's  broad  stage. "—  Ed.  1788.  s  ' '  Pedants.  "—Ib. 
*The  poem  in  the  1788  version  is  wholly  in  the  first  person. 

6  "  What  most  torments  my  boding  mind." — Ed.  1788. 

6  "  No  critic."— Ib.  7  "  Read."— Ib. 

8  "  With  dead  men's  works  my  book  is  class'd." — Ib. 

9  This  line  and  the  following  not  in  the  original  version. 

10  "Soul."— Ib. 


1790]  TO  AN  AUTHOR  333 

And  some  alive,  who  scarce  could  read l 
Will  publish  satires  on  the  dead. 

Thrice  happy  Dry  den  *,  who  could  meet 
Some  rival  bard  in  every  street ! 
When  all  were  bent  on  writing  well 
It  was  some  credit  to  excel:  — 2 

Thrice  happy  Dryden,  who  could  find 
A  Milbourne  for  his  sport  designed  — 
And  Pope,  who  saw  the  harmless  rage 
Of  Dennis  bursting  o'er  his  page 
Might  justly  spurn  the  critic's  aim, 
Who  only  helped  to  swell  his  fame. 

On  these  bleak  climes  by  Fortune  thrown, 
Where  rigid  Reason  reigns  alone, 
Where  lovely  Fancy  has  no  sway, 
Nor  magic  forms  about  us3  play  — 
Nor  nature  takes  her  summer  hue 
Tell  me,  what  has  the  muse  to  do?  — 

An  age  employed  in  edging  steel 
Can  no  poetic  raptures  feel ; 
No  solitude's  attracting  power,4 

*  See  Johnson's  lives  of  the  English  Poets. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  ' '  And  I  must  wear  the  marks  of  time 

Who  hardly  flourish'd  in  my  prime." — Ed.  1788. 

2  In  the  1788  version  two  lines  follow  : 

"  While  those  condemn 'd  to  stand  alone 
Can  only  by  themselves  be  known." — Ib. 

8  "Around  her."— Id. 

4   "  No  fabled  Love's  enchanting  power, 
Nor  tale  of  Flora's  painted  bower, 
Nor  woodland  haunt,  or  murmuring  grove, 
Can  their  prosaic  bosoms  move." — Ib. 


334  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

No  leisure  of  the  noon  day  hour, 
No  shaded  stream,  no  quiet  grove 
Can  this  fantastic  century  move ; 

The  muse  of  love  in  no  request  — 
Go  —  try  your  fortune  l  with  the  rest, 
One  of  the  nine  you  should  engage,2 
To  meet  the  follies  of  the  age: — 

On  one,  we  fear,  your  choice  must  fall  — 
The  least  engaging  of  them  all  — 3 
Her  visage  stern  —  an  angry  style  — 
A  clouded  brow  —  malicious  smile  — 
A  mind  on  murdered  victims  placed  — 
She,  only  she,  can  please  the  taste ! 

1  "  I'll  try  my  fortune." — Ib. 

2  "  Which  of  the  Nine  shall  I  engage 

To  suit  the  humour  of  the  age." — Ib. 

3  Followed  by  : 

"  So  late  she  does  her  wreathes  prepare 
I  hardly  think  them  worth  my  care." — Ib. 


1790]  TO  MISFORTUNE  335 


TO  MISFORTUNE1 

Dire  Goddess  of  the  haggard  brow, 
Misfortune !   at  that  shrine  I  bow 
Where  forms  uncouth  pourtray  thee  still, 
A  leaky  ship,  a  doctor's  bill : 

A  poet  damn'd,  a  beggar's  prayer, 

The  critic's  growl,  the  pedant's  sneer, 

The  urgent  dun,  the  law  severe, 

A  smoky  house,  rejected  love, 

And  friends  that  all  but  friendly  prove. 

Foe  to  the  pride  of  scheming  man 
Whose  frown  controuls  the  wisest  plan, 
To  your  decree  we  still  submit 
Our  views  of  gain,  our  works  of  wit. 

Untaught  by  you  the  feeble  mind 
A  dull  repose,  indeed,  might  find : 
But  life,  unvext  by  such  controul, 
Can  breed  no  vigour  in  the  soul. 

The  calm  that  smooths  the  summer  seas 
May  suit  the  man  of  sloth  and  ease : 
But  skies  that  fret  and  storms  that  rave 
Are  the  best  schools  to  make  us  brave. 

Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  July  18,  1787  ;  dated  "  Philadel- 
phia, July  16."  Republished  in  the  1788  and  1795  editions,  the  latter  of 
which  I  have  followed. 


33^  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

On  Heckla's  heights  who  hopes  to  see 
The  blooming  grove,  the  orange  tree 
Awhile  on  hope  may  fondly  lean 
'Till  sad  experience  blots  the  scene. 

If  Nature  acts  on  Reason's  plan, 
And  Reason  be  the  guide  of  man  ; 
Why  should  he  paint  fine  prospects  there, 
Then  sigh,  to  find  them  disappear? 

For  ruin'd  states  or  trade  perplext 
'Tis  almost  folly  to  be  vext: 
The  world  at  last  will  have  its  way 
And  we  its  torrent  must  obey. 

On  other  shores  a  happier  guest 
The  mind  must  fix  her  haven  of  rest, 
Where  better  men  and  better  climes 
Shall  soothe  the  cares  of  future  times. 


TO  CRACOVIUS  PUTRIDUS1 

The  Sailor,  toss'd  on  stormy  seas, 
Implores  his  patron-god  for  ease 
When  Luna  hides  her  paler  blaze, 
And  stars,  obscurely,  dart  their  rays: 

For  ease  the  Yankee,  fierce  in  war, 
His  stores  of  vengeance  points  afar: 
For  ease,  the  toiling  Dutchman  sighs, 
Which  gold,  nor  gems,  nor  purple  buys! 

1  Published  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  Sept.  5,  1787.  In  the  1788  edition 
it  was  entitled  "  Horace,  Lib.  II,  Ode  16,  Imitated  and  addressed  to  Governor 
Parr.  Otium  divos  rogat  in  patenti,  &c."  The  poem  seems  to  have  been 
occasioned  by  the  return  of  General  Arnold  to  Nova  Scotia  from  England. 
Text  from  the  edition  of  1795. 


1790]  TO  CRACOVIUS  PUTRIDUS  337 

No  treasur'd  hoards,  from  India  trade, 
No  doctor's,  or  the  lawyer's  aid 
Can  ease  the  tumults  of  the  mind, 
Or  cares  to  gilded  roofs  assign'd. 

The  end  of  life  he,  best,  completes 
Whose  board  is  spread  with  frugal  treats, 
Whose  sleep  no  fears,  no  thirst  of  gain, 
Beneath  his  homely  shed,  restrain. 

Why,  then,  with  wasting  cares  engage, 
Weak  reptiles  of  so  frail  an  age  — 
Why,  thus,  to  far-off  climates  run, 
And  lands  beneath  another  sun? 

For,  though  to  China's  coasts  we  roam, 
Ourselves  we  ne'er  can  leave  at  home : 
Care,  swift  as  deer  —  as  tempests  strong, 
Ascends  the  prow,  and  sails  along. 

The  mind  that  keeps  an  even  state, 
And  all  the  future  leaves  to  fate, 
In  every  ill  shall  pleasure  share, 
As  every  pleasure  has  it's  care. 

Fate  early  seal'd  Montgomery's  doom, 
In  youth  brave  Laurens  found  a  tomb ; 
While  Arnold  spends  in  peace  and  pride 
The  years,  that  heaven  to  them  denied. 

A  host  of  votes  are  at  your  call ; 
A  seat,  perhaps,  in  Congress-Hall ; * 
And  vestments,  soak'd  in  Stygian  dye, 
Where'er  you  go,  alarm  the  eye : 

1 "  An  hundred  slaves  before  you  fall, 

A  coach  and  six  attends  your  call." — Ed.  1788. 


338  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

On  me,  a  poor  and  small  domain, 
With  something  of  a  poet's  vein 
The  muse  bestow'd —  and  share  of  pride 
To  spurn  a  scoundrel  from  my  side. 


SLENDER'S  JOURNEY*1 

Sit  mihi  fas  audita  loqui. — Virg. 

I.     PRELIMINARY  REFLECTIONS 

Tormented  with  landlords  and  pester'd  with  care, 
This  life,  I  protest,  is  a  tedious  affair; 
And,  since  I  have  got  a  few  dollars  to  spare, 
I'll  e'en  take  a  jaunt,  for  the  sake  of  fresh  air. 

Since  the  day  I  return'd  to  this  king-hating  shore 
Where  George  and  his  cronies  are  masters  no  more, 

*Mr.  Robert  Slender,  of  Philadelphia  (Stocking  Weaver).  Freneau's 
note. 

1  First  published  in  pamphlet  form  by  Bailey,  April,  1787,  under  the  title, 
"  A  Journey  from  Philadelphia  to  New- York  by  way  of  Burlington  and  South- 
Amboy.  By  Robert  Slender,  Stocking  Weaver."  The  advertisement  in  the 
Freeman' s  Journal  of  April  25  declares  that  "  Some  truth  in  the  occasion  and 
a  good  deal  of  fancy  in  the  colouring  mark  the  character  of  the  above  perform- 
ance. The  style  is  smooth  and  easy  and  the  pleasurable  air  that  is  diffused  over 
the  whole  piece  will  certainly  render  the  whole  poem  acceptable  to  such  as 
choose  to  read  it."  The  poem  was  republished  in  the  editions  of  1788  and 
1795,  the  text  of  the  latter  of  which  I  have  used.  It  was  again  republished 
in  a  twenty-four  page  pamphlet  by  Thomas  Neversink,  Philadelphia,  Dec.  2O, 
1809,  under  the  title  "  A  Laughable  Poem  ;  or  Robert  Slender's  Journey  from 
Philadelphia  to  New  York."  The  earlier  versions,  of  which  the  1788  text  was 
a  reprint,  had  the  poem  divided  into  four  cantos.  In  the  1795  edition  the  sub- 
division into  sections  was  made.  Freneau  thoroughly  revised  the  poem  for 
the  1795  edition,  making  very  many  changes,  all  for  the  better.  He  cut  out 
nearly  all  of  the  indelicate  allusions  and  expressions  of  the  earlier  edition, 
including  the  coarse  but  highly  picturesque  dialogue  between  the  skipper  and 
the  captain,  and  it  has  seemed  best  to  me  not  to  resurrect  them.  The  1809 
edition  was  reprinted  with  little  change  from  the  1795  version. 


1 79°]  SLENDER'S  JOURNEY  339 

And  others  are  plac'd  at  the  helm  of  affairs, 
Relieving-  the  weight  of  his  majesty's  cares; 
For  many  long  weeks,  it  has  still  been  my  doom 
To  sit  like  a  mopus,  confin'd  to  my  loom,* 
Whose  damnable  clatter  so  addles  my  brain, 
That,  say  what  they  will,  I  am  forc'd  to  complain. 

Our  citizens  think,  when  they  sit  themselves  down 
In  the  gardens  that  grow  in  the  skirts  of  the  town, 
They  think  they  have  got  in  some  rural  retreat, 
Where  the  nymphs  of  the  groves,  and  the  singing  birds 

meet 

When  only  a  fence  shuts  them  out  from  the  street; 
With  the  smoke  of  the  city  be-clouding  their  eyes 
They  sit  in  their  boxes,  and  look  very  wise, 
Take  a  sip  of  bad  punch,  or  a  glass  of  sour  wine ; 
Conceiting  their  pleasures  are  equal  to  mine, 
Who  rove  where  I  will,  and  wherever  I  roam, 
In  spite  of  new  faces,  am  always  at  home. 

Poor  Richard,  the  reel-man,  had  nothing  to  say ; 
He  knew  very  well  I  would  have  my  own  way ;  — 
When  I  said,  "  My  dear  Richard,  I'm  sick  of  the  town, 
"  And  Dutchmen  that  worry  me,  upstairs  and  down, 
"  A  book  of  bad  debts,  and  a  score  of  bad  smells, 
11  The  yelping  of  dogs,  and  the  chiming  of  bells; 
"  I  am  sick  of  the  house,  and  the  sight  of  small  beer, 
"  And  the  loom  may  be  going,  tho'  I  am  not  here; 
"  I  therefore  shall  leave  you,  and  that,  to  be  plain, 
11  'Till  I  feel  in  a  humour  to  see  you  again."  — 
Poor  Richard  said  nothing  to  all  that  I  spoke, 
But  kindled  his  pipe,  and  redoubled  his  smoke. 

*  The  stocking-loom  was  invented  by  a  young  man  who  paid  his  addresses 
to  A  handsome  stocking-knitter,  and  being  rejected,  in  revenge  contrived  this 
curious  machine,  which,  it  is  said,  consists  of  no  less  than  six  thousand  differ- 
ent pieces.  Freneau's  note,  1788  edition. 


340  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Yet  it  would  have  been  nothing  but  friendship  in  him 
To  have  said, — "  Robert  Slender,  'tis  only  a  whim:  — 
A  trip  to  the  Schuylkill,  that  nothing  would  cost, 
Might  answer  your  ends,  and  no  time  would  be  lost; 
But  if  you  are  thinking  to  make  a  long  stay, 
Consider,  good  Robert,  what  people  will  say : 
His  rent  running  on,  and  his  loom  standing  still  — 
The  man  will  be  ruin'd! — he  must,  if  he  will  — ! 
If  tradesmen  will  always  be  flaunting  about, 
They  may  live  to  repent  it  —  before  the  year's  out!  " 

II.     Characters  of  the  TRAVELLERS 

WILLIAM  SNIP,  Merchant  Taylor 

As  I  never  could  relish  to  travel  alone, 
I  look'd  round  about,  but  could  hit  upon  none 
Whom  Satan  was  tempting  to  leave  their  own  houses 
And  ramble  to  York  with  their  daughters  and  spouses ; 
At  last,  by  repeating  my  trouble  and  care, 
And  preaching  a  month  on  the  sweets  of  fresh  air, 
And  the  curse  and  the  plague  of  remaining  in  town, 
Where  the  heat  was  sufficient  to  melt  a  man  down, 
I  got  a  few  friends  to  consent  to  the  trip ; 
And  the  first  I  shall  mention  was  honest  Will.  Snip, 
Philadelphia  the  famous  had  own'd  to  his  birth, 
The  gravest  of  towns  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ; 
Where  saints  of  all  orders  their  freedom  may  claim, 
And  poets,  and  painters,  and  girls  of  the  game : 
To  him  all  its  streets  and  its  alleys  were  known, 
But  his  travels  had  never  exceeded  the  town :  — 
A  salesman  by  trade  (and  a  dabster  was  he 
To  make  a  silk  knee-band  set  snug  to  the  knee) 
With  his  wife  (and  he  says  I  may  mention  her  name) 
Susanna  Snipinda  —  so  charming  a  dame, 


1790]  SLENDER'S  JOURNEY  341 

The  sun  had  with  pleasure  look'd  down  on  her  head, 
So  freckled  was  she,  and  her  tresses  so  red. 

To  wait  on  the  will  of  so  handsome  a  lady 
A  youngster  was  order'd  to  hold  himself  ready, 
A  sly  looking  lad  that  was  'prentice  to  Snip, 
And  long  had  been  learning  to  cabbage  and  clip  ;  - 
When  Snip  was  in  sight,  he  was  mild  as  a  lamb; 
When  absent,  old  Satan  could  hardly  rule  Sam. 

III.     O'KEEF,   a  Swaggering  Captain 

The  next  I  describe  is  bold  captain  O'Keef, 
A  killer  of  men,  and  a  lover  of  beef: 
With  the  heroes  of  old  he  had  put  in  his  claim, 
And  catch'd  at  their  mantles,  &nd  rose  into  fame: 
To  the  sound  of  a  fife  and  the  tune  of  no  song 
With  his  Andra  Ferrara*  he  paddled  along: 
From  his  manners  so  rough,  and  his  dealing  in  ruin, 
He  was  known  thro'  the  town  by  the  name  of  Sir  Bruin  ; 
He  was,  among  women,  a  man  of  great  parts., 
A  captain  of  foot,  and  a  master  of  arts  : 
He  had,  a  sweet  creature  put  under  his  care, 
(Whose  style  of  address  was,  my  dear,  and  my  dear) 
A  Milliner's  girl,  with  a  bundle  of  lace, 
Whom  Cynthia  f  he  call'd,  for  the  sake  of  her  face, 
At  a  ball  or  a  frolic  how  glib  his  tongue  ran, 
He  was,  I  may  say,  an  unparallell'd  man, 
Very  apt  to  harangue  on  the  hosts  he  has  slain 
Of  people  —  perhaps  that  may  meet  him  again: 
Yet  so  kind  to  the  sex  of  the  feminine  make, 


*A  large  kind  of  sword,  in  use  among  the  Italians.  —  Frenearfs  note, 
edition. 

f  Cynthia  is  also  a  poetical  name  for  the  Moon.  —  Freneau^s  note,  1788 
edition. 


342  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

By  his  words,  he  would  venture  to  die  for  their  sake, 
Whence  some  have  suspected,  that  some  he  ador'd 
Have  more  than  made  up  for  the  wastes  of  his  sword. 

IV.     TOUPPEE :   a  French  Hair  Dresser 

The  third  in  succession  was  Monsieur  Touppee, 
A  barber  from  Paris,  of  royal  degree, 
(For  oft  when  he  takes  up  his  razor,  to  strap  it, 
He  tells  his  descent  from  the  house  of  Hugh  Capet*) 
Tho'  soft  in  the  head,  his  discourses  were  long, 
Now  counting  his  honours,  and  now  his  Targent. 
This  barber,  tho'  meaning  for  pleasure  to  stray, 
Yet  had  some  pomatum  to  sell  by  the  way, 
Perfumes,  and  fine  powders,  and  essence  of  myrrh, 
A  bundle  of  brooms,  and  a  firkin  of  beer:  - 
His  merits  are  great  (he  would  have  us  suppose  ) 
For  Louis  (it  seems)  he  has  had  by  the  nose, 
Has  bid  him,  when  drooping,  to  hold  up  his  chin, 
And  handled  a  tongs  —  at  the  head  of  the  Queen. 

V.      BOB  :   a  Ballad  Singer 

A  singer  of  ballads  was  next  in  our  train, 
Who  long  had  been  dealing  in  ballads  in  vain ; 
He  sometimes  would  sing  in  a  musical  tone, 
And  sometimes  would  scribble  a  song  of  his  own : 
Yet  never  was  seen  with  his  brethren  to  mix  — 
And  laugh'd  at  your  poets  in  coaches  and  six; 
Who  sing,  like  the  birds,  when  the  weather  is  fine ; 
Whose  verses  the  ladies  pronounce  "  so  divine;  " 
Who  ride  with  Augustus,  wherever  he  goes, 

*A  popular  French  nobleman,  who,  A.  D.  987,  usurped  the  crown  of 
France,  and  was  the  first  of  a  new  race  of  monarchs. — Freneau's  note,  1788 
edition. 


1790]  SLENDER'S  JOURNEY  343 

And,  meeting  old  Homer,  would  turn  up  the  nose  - 
As  to  those,  like  himself,  that  were  held  to  the  ground, 
He  knew  it  was  folly  to  feed  them  with  sound  — 
He  knew  it  was  nonsense  to  crown  them  with  bays, 
And  was  too  much  their  friend  to  insult  them  with  praise. 

For  a  dozen  long  years  he  had  liv'd  by  the  mob : 
On  the  word  of  a  weaver,  I  pitied  poor  Bob! l 
He  had  sung  for  the  great  and  had  rhym'd  for  the  small, 
But  scarcely  a  shilling  had  got  by  them  all  — 
So  bad  was  his  luck,  and  so  poor  was  the  trade, 
And  the  Muses,  he  thought,  were  so  sneakingly  paid, 
That  if  times  didn't  alter,  and  that  very  soon, 
He  said  and  he  swore,  he  must  sing  his  last  tune. 

Some  devil  had  put  it,  somehow,  in  his  head 
If  he  took  a  short  journey  his  fortune  was  made : 
Some  devil  had  told  him  (but  whether  in  dreams 
Or  waking,  I  know  not)  some  devil,  it  seems, 
Had  made  him  believe  that  the  nymphs  and  the  swains 
Were  fairly  at  war  with  their  old  fashion'd  strains, 
That  the  tunes  which  the  kirk  or  the  curates  had  made 
(And  which  always  had  ruin'd  the  balladman's  trade) 
Were  wholly  disus'd,  and  that  now  was  the  time 
For  singers  of  catches  and  dealers  in  rhyme 
To  step  from  their  stalls,  where  they  long  were  disgrac'd, 
Reform  the  old  music,  and  fix  a  new  taste. 

VI.     O'BLUSTER:   a  Seaman 

A  mate  of  a  schooner,  bespatter'd  with  tar, 
Who  had  lately  come  in  from  Savanna-la-Mar,* 

*  A  seaport  town  in  the  S.  W.  quarter  of  Jamaica. — Freneau's  note,  1788 
edition. 

1  The  1:788  version  here  adds  this  couplet  : 

"  The  Babes  in  the  wood  vtzs  his  favourite  song, 
Or  Barbara  Allan,  or  Johnny  Armstrong.'1'' 


344  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

For,  the  sake  of  an  airing  had  stept  from  his  deck 
And  ventur'd  a  jaunt,  at  the  risque  of  his  neck, 
His  name  and  his  nation  no  soul  could  mistake. — 
He  was  Bryan  O'Bluster,  and  much  of  a  rake; 
From  morning  till  night  he  was  still  on  the  move, 
Was  always  in  taverns,  or  always  in  love : 
His  life  was  sustain'd  by  the  virtues  of  grog, 
And  many  long  miles  he  had  sail'd  by  the  log. — 
Of  battles  and  storms  he  had  known  a  full  share, 
And  his  face,  it  was  plain,  was  the  worse  for  the  wear; 
To  see  a  mean  fellow,  lord  how  it  would  fret  him ; 
And  he  hated  a  puppy,  wherever  he  met  him  — 
He  was  ready  to  bleed  for  the  good  of  each  State, 
But  since  they  had  left  the  poor  seamen  to  fate ; 
Themselves  in  the  dumps,  and  their  fair  ones  in  tears, 
And  many  brave  fellows  detain'd  in  Algiers !  — 
Had  spirit  sufficient  to  make  themselves  free, 
But  not  to  resent  their  affronts  on  the  sea ! 
As  this  was  the  case — he  must  bid  us  good  night, 
And  sail  with  a  flag  that  would  do  itself  right. 

At  cursing  and  swearing  he  play'd  a  good  hand, 
But  never  was  easy  a  minute  on  land ; 
If  the  wind  was  a-head,  or  his  Kitty  untrue, 
Why,  patience  was  all  the  relief  that  he  knew:  — 
In  the  midst  of  misfortune  he  still  was  serene, 
And  Kitty,  he  said,  was  a  feeble  machine : 
His  heart  was  too  hard  for  a  lady  to  sigh, 
Yet  I  guess'd  him  a  rogue  by  the  leer  in  his  eye : 

11  The  world  (he  would  say)  is  a  whimsical  dance  — 
And  reason  had  taught  him  to  leave  it  to  chance. 
In  chace  of  dame  Fortune  his  prime  he  had  pass'd, 
And  now  was  beginning  to  fail  very  fast, 
But  thought  it  was  folly  his  heart  to  perplex, 
As  Fortune  was  just  like  the  rest  of  her  sex ;  — 


1790]  SLENDER'S  JOURNEY  345 

Designing,  and  fickle,  and  taken  with  show, 
Now  fond  of  a  monkey,  and  now  of  a  beau:  - 
Yet,  still,  as  the  goddess  was  made  up  of  whim, 
He  meant  to  pursue  'till  she  smil'd  upon  him." 
And  tho'  he  was  always  deceiv'd  in  the  chace, 
He  smooth'd  up  his  whiskers,  and  wore  a  bold  face. 

On  horseback  he  first  had  attempted  to  go, 
But  the  horse  was  no  fool,  and  had  give  him  a  throw; 
He  fell  in  a  pond,  and  with  not  a  dry  rag  on 
The  horse  brought  him  back  to  the  sign  of  the  waggon, 
Where  three  times  he  call'd  for  a  dram  of  their  best, 
And  three  times  the  virtues  of  brandy  confess'd ; 
Then  took  some  tobacco,  and  soberly  said, 
"  De'il  take  such  a  vessel;   she's  all  by  the  head, 
Broach'd  to  on  a  sudden,  and  then,  d'ye  see, 
Myself  and  the  saddle  went  over  the  lee." 

His  head  was  so  full  of  his  ragged  command 
He  could  scarcely  believe  he  was  yet  on  dry  land ; 
He  would  rise  in  his  sleep ;   call  the  watch  up  at  four, 
Ask  the  man  at  the  helm  how  the  Eddystone  bore ; 
Then,  rubbing  his  eyes,  bawl  out,  "  By  my  soul, 
"  We  are  bearing  right  down  on  the  Hatteras  shoal; 
"  The  devil  may  trust  to  such  pilots  as  you : 
"We    are    close    on    the    breakers  —  the    breakers  — 
halloo!" 

VII.      EzEKIEL:   a  Rhode-Island  Lawyer 

The  sixth,  and  the  last,  that  attended  our  journey, 
Was  a  man  of  the  law,  a  Rhode-Island  attorney, 
As  cunning  as  Satan  to  argue  or  plead, 
To  break  an  entailment,  or  get  himself  fee'd 
They  call'd  him  Ezekiel — I  cannot  tell  what  — 
Perhaps  I  forget  it — perhaps  I  do  not  — 


346  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU    '  [1781 

He  had  once  been  a  parson,  and  studied  at  Yale,* 

But  took  to  the  law,  when  his  preaching  grew  stale; 

In  his  system  of  thinking,  not  well  understood, 

I  wander' d  about,  like  a  man  in  a  wood ; 

From  morning  'till  night  he  was  nothing  but  whim, 

Not  a  man  in  the  town  held  opinions,  like  him : 

In  regard  to  the  vulgar,  he  argued  that  Law 

Was  better  than  preaching,  to  keep  them  in  awe : 

That  the  dread  of  a  gallows  had  greater  effect, 

And  a  post  or  a  pillory  claim'd  more  respect 

From  a  knave — and  would  sooner  contribute  to  mend, 

Than  all  the  grave  precepts  that  ever  were  penn'd. 

VIII.      The  Chapter  of  DEBATES 

Having  pitch'd  on  our  party,  there  rose  a  dispute 
On  the  mode  of  conveyance  —  in  waggon  or  boat? 
For  my  part,  said  Snip,  I  was  always  afraid 
Of  sailors,  and  sloops  and  the  shallopman's  trade, 
And  the  reason  thereof  I  will  candidly  tell, 
My  grandmother,  Mopsy,  was  drown'd  in  a  well ; 

I  therefore  intreat  you,  and  fervently  pray 

We  may  go  with  the  waggons  the  Burlington  way." 
"  Hold,  master,"  the  sailor  replied  in  a  fret, 

II  The  devil's  not  ready  to  bait  for  you  yet: 
Even  this  way,  you  know,  there  is  water  to  pass, 
And  twenty  long  miles  we  should  sail  with  an  ass;  — 
But,  gentlemen  all,  will  you  take  my  advice? 
Here's  Albertson's  f  sloop;   she's  so  new  and  so  nice, 
Her  bottom  so  sleek,  and  her  rigging  so  trim, 

Not  Bailey  f  or  Hydef  can  be  mentioned  with  him; 

*  Yale  College  in  New-Haven. — Freneads  note,  1788  edition. 
f  Commanders  of  Philadelphia  and  New- York  packets. — Id. 


1790]  SLENDER'S  JOURNEY  347 

In  her  cabbin  and  steerage  is  plenty  of  room, 

And  how  clever' she  looks  with  her  flying  jib-boom, 

A  topsail  aloft,  that  will  stand  by  the  wind, 

And  a  yard  rigg'd  athwart,  for  a  squaresail  design'd. 

"  Odds  fish!    I  would  sooner  some  little  delay 
Than  go,  like  a  booby,  the  fresh-water  way 
Where  your  cream-colour'd  captains  ne'er  swear  a  bad 

word, 

And  sail  without  compass  or  quadrant  on  board, 
Catch  catfish  and  sturgeons,  but  never  a  whale, 
Nor  balance  a  mizen,  to  fight  with  the  gale : 
But  Albertson  goes  by  the  route  of  Cape  May, 
Salt-water,  and  sees  the  bold  porpusses  play : 
Where  the  shore  of  the  coast  the  proud  ocean  controuls 
He  travels,  nor  strikes  on  the  Barnegat  shoals." 

"  You  tar-smelling  monster!   (Snipinda  rejoin'd) 
Your  jargon  has  almost  distracted  my  mind. 
If  Snip  should  be  drownded,  and  lost  in  the  sea, 
You  never  once  think  what  a  loss  it  would  be ! 
I  should  then  be  a  widow,  dejected  and  sad 
And  where  would  I  find  such  another  sweet  lad ! 
And  Doctor  Sangrado  a  letter  has  wrote, 
And  how,  in  three  weeks  he  will  want  a  new  coat." — 

Snip's  heart,  at  her  answer,  seem'd  ready  to  break: 
"  Snipinda,"  said  he,  "  I  would  live  for  your  sake! 
If  I  should  be  drownded,  indeed,  it  is  true, 
It  would  be  a  bad  journey  for  Sam  and  for  you !  "  — 

For  fear  they  should  hear  him,  Sam  whisper'd,    "In 

troth 
I  would  give  my  new  hat  that  the  devil  had  both." 

"  If  Snip  should  be  drown'd,"  said  the  valiant  O'Keef, 
"  Poor  woman!   already  I  guess  at  her  grief  — 
However,  for  aught  that  a  stranger  can  see, 
There  are  dozens  as  brisk  at  the  needle  as  he, 


POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

And,  tho'  it  were  hard  that  the  sea-fish  should  tear  him, 
I'm  fully  convinc'd  that  his  brethren  can  spare  him : 

"  But  were  I  to  mention  the  very  best  way, 
And  the  quickest  to  boot  (for  they  go  in  a  day) 

I  would  sleep  over  night  at  the  sign  of  the  Queen,* 
(Where  the  wine  is  so  good,  and  the  beds  are  so  clean) 
Then  starting  by  day-break,  and  riding  in  state, 
Arriving  in  Bristol  —  we  breakfast  at  eight, 

Then  push  on  our  way,  with  a  rapid  career, 

With  nothing  to  hinder,  and  nothing  to  fear, 

Till  Trenton,  and  Princeton,  and  Brunswick  are  pass'd, 

And  safe  on  the  Hudson  they  drop  us  at  last." 

When  the  captain  had  finish'd,  the  Frenchman  arose, 
And  smoothing  his  whiskers,  and  squaring  his  toes, 
With  a  bend  of  his  back,  and  a  swing  of  his  head 
Thus  expressing  his  wish,  with  a  flourish,  he  said: 

II  Wherever  pomatums  are  most  in  demand 
That  route  has  my  vote,  be  it  water  or  land : 
Wherever  I  travel,  through  sun-shine  or  glooms, 
May  fortune  direct  me  to  powders  and  plumes !  — 
So,  gentlemen,  choose,  I  beseech  you,  that  road 
Where  ladies  prefer  to  be  dress'd  in  the  mode." 

"  Hold,  varlet,  be  still  "  —  said  the  Yankee  attorney, 
"  Are  you  to  decide  on  the  route  of  our  journey? 
These  run-about  fellows,  I  cannot  but  hate  'em, 
With  their  rings,  and  their  ruffles,  and  rolls  of  pomatum : 
But,  gentlemen,  (if  I  may  venture  to  speak 
In  the  stile  I  was  wont  when  I  dabbled  in  Greek, 
When  I  blew  on  my  trumpet,  and  call'd  up  my  pack, 
Who  thought  I  was  holy  because  I  was  black ; 
Or,  if  you  allow  me  a  moral  to  draw 
From    some    words   that   were    frequent    with    Doctor 
Magraw);  — 

*  Indian  Queen.  — Frenearfs  note,  1788  edition. 


1790]  BLENDER'S  JOURNEY  349 

"  We  all  have  in  view  to  arrive  at  one  town, 
"Yet  each  one  would  find  out  a  way  of  his  own; 
"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  we  cannot  agree 
11  To  march  all  together  to  Zion  "  —  said  he  — 
But,  since  I'm  convinc'd  that  it  cannot  be  so, 
(For  his  journey  resembles  our  journey  below) 
Like  the  sects  in  religion,  I  heartily  pray 
That  each,  as  he  pleases,  may  have  his  own  way, 
Let  Snip,  and  the  captain,  adventure  by  land, 
The  sailor  by  sea  —  he  can  reef,  steer,  and  hand; 
Let  the  Frenchman  set  out  in  a  gaudy  balloon, 
(He'll  either  be  there,  or  be  dead,  very  soon,) 
For  my  own  part,  I'm  fond  of  the  Burlington  boat, 
But  still,  if  you're  willing,  I'll  put  it  to  vote: 
The  hint  was  sufficient —  he  put  it  to  vote, 
And  fate  bade  us  go  with  the  Burlington  boat. 

IX.      The  Passage  to  BURLINGTON 

The  morning  was  fair,  and  the  wind  was  at  west, 
The  flood  coming  in,  and  the  ladies  were  drest; 
At  the  sign  of  the  Billet  we  all  were  to  meet, 
And  Snip  was  the  first  that  appear'd  in  the  street; 
He  strutted  along  with  a  mighty  brisk  air, 
While  Sam  and  Snipinda  walked  slow  in  the  rear. 

Dress'd,  booted,  and  button'd,  and  "  cutting  a  shine  " 
The  captain  came  next,  with  his  loaded  carbine ; 
Then  handed  on  board  the  milliner's  maid: 
The  barber  and  ballad-man  longer  delay'd 
For  one  had  his  ballads  to  sing  and  to  play, 
And  the  other  some  beards  to  take  off  by  the  way : 
At  last  they  arriv'd,  and  the  sailor  along, 
(But  he  was  besotted — his  dram  had  been  strong  — ) 


35°  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

The  lawyer,  Ezekiel,  was  last  to  appear, 
With  a  cane  in  his  hand  and  a  quill  at  his  ear. 

But,   just  as  we  all  were  prepar'd  to  embark, 
The  wind  came  a-head,  and  the  weather  look'd  dark: 
So,  whilst  they  were  busy  in  hoisting  the  sails 
And  trimming  close  aft'  to  encounter  the  gales, 
Our  seaman  advis'd  them  to  take  in  a  reef 
As  the  vessel  was  light  —  but  the  skipper  was  deaf: 
"  His  boat  was  his  own"  —  and  he  knew  to  a  hair 
The   "  worth  of  her  freight,"  and  the   "sail  she  could 
bear." 

Then  a  storm  coming  on,  we  stow'd  away  snug, 
Some  link'd  with  a  lady,  and  some  with  a  jug: 
Snipinda  and  Sam  were  inclining  to  sleep, 
And  the  lawyer  harangu'd  on  the  risques  of  the  deep. 
O' Bluster  was  busy  in  looking  for  squalls, 
And  Cynthia  discours'd  upon  dances  and  balls, 
And  while  the  poor  ballad-man  gave  us  a  song 
The  Frenchman  complain'd  that  his  stomach  felt  wrong. 

Arriving,  at  length  at  the  end  of  this  stage, 
We  quitted  our  cabbin  (or  rather  our  cage) 
To  the  sign  of  the  Anchor  we  then  were  directed, 
Where  captain  O'Keef  a  fine  turkey  dissected; 
And  Bryan  O' Bluster  made  love  to  egg-nog, 
And  pester'd  the  ladies  to  taste  of  his  grog : 
Without  it  (said  Bryan)  I  never  can  dine, 
'Tis  better,  by  far,  than  your  balderdash  wine, 
It  braces  the  nerves  and  it  strengthens  the  brain, 
A  world  —  and  no  grog  —  is  a  prison  of  pain, 
And  Man,  the  most  wretched  of  all  that  are  found 
To  creep  in  the  dust,  or  to  move  on  the  ground ! 
It  is,  of  all  physic,  the  best  I  have  seen 
To  keep  out  the  cold,  and  to  cut  up  the  spleen  — 


1790]  SLENDER'S  JOURNEY  351 

Here,  madam  —  miss  Cynthia  —  'tis  good  —  you'll  con- 
fess— 

Now  taste  —  and  you'll  wish  you  had  been  in  my  mess  — 
With  grog  I'm  as  great  as  a  king  on  his  throne ; 
The  worst  of  all  countries  is —  where  there  is  none, 
New  Holland,  New  Zealand  —  those  islands  accurs'd  — 
Here's  health  to  the  man  that  invented  it  first. 

X.     VEXATIONS  and  DISASTERS 

Coop'd  up  in  a  waggon,  the  curtains  let  down, 
At  three  in  the  morning  we  drove  out  of  town : 
A  morning  more  dark  I  ne'er  saw  in  my  life, 
And  the  fog  you  might  almost  have  cut  with  a  knife, 
It  was  a  fit  season  for  murders  and  rapes, 
For  drunken  adventures  and  narrow  escapes :  — 
So,  with  something  to  think  of,  but  little  to  say, 
The  driver  drove  on,  looking  out  for  the  way, 
'Till  we  came  to  the  brow  of  a  horrible  hill, 
Six  miles  on  our  road,  when  the  cattle  stood  still  — 
1  'Are  you   sure  you   have  took  the  right  road?" — 

queried  Snip ; 

"  I  am" — said  the  driver  —  and  crack'd  with  his  whip. 
Then  away  ran  the  horses,  but  took  the  wrong  road, 
And  away  went  the  waggon,  with  all  its  full  load ; 
Down,  deep  in  a  valley,  roll'd  over  and  over, 
Fell  the  flying-machine,  with  its  curtains  and  cover, 
Where  shatter'd  and  shiver'd — no  glimpse  yet  of  day, 
A  mass  of  destruction,  together  we  lay ! 

Then  howlings  were  heard,  that  would  frighten  a 

stone, 

And  screeching,  and  screaming,  and  many  a  groan, 
The  bruising  of  heads,  and  the  breaking  of  shins, 
Contrition  of  heart,  and  confession  of  sins. 


352  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

First  rose  from  his  ruins  tall  captain  O'Keef, 
And  call'd  to  Ezekiel,  and  begg'd  for  his  brief:  * 
A  writ  he  demanded,  as  soon  as  'twas  day, 
And  ask'd  his  advice,  if  a  suit  would  not  lay? 
Then  felt  for  his  sword,  but  chanc'd  on  a  cane, 
And  rush'd  at  the  stageman,  to  cleave  him  in  twain. 

As  fortune  would  have  it,  the  stageman  had  fled, 
And  Snip  the  whole  vengeance  receiv'd  on  his  head ; 
The  staff  had  been  whirl'd  with  so  deadly  a  sweep 
Poor  Will  in  a  moment  was  all  in  a  heap : 
There  was  room  to  surmise  that  his  senses  were  hurt, 
For,  in  spite  of  our  bruises,  he  made  us  some  sport: 
His  head,  he  conceited,  was  made  of  new  cheese; 
And  ask'd,  if  the  sexton  would  give  up  his  fees?  — 
Then,  rolling  away  on  the  side  of  the  hill, 
With  his  head  in  a  horse-pond,  he  lay  very  still : 
At  last  he  bawl'd  out — "  I'm  sick  at  my  heart! 
Come  hither,  companions,  and  see  me  depart! 
Snipinda,  Snipinda! — alas,  I  must  leave  her  — 
And  all,  for  the  sake  of  this  villainous  weaver, 
Who  never  would  give  me  a  moment  of  rest 
'Till  I  left  my  dear  shop-board,  and  thus  am  distrest ! 
But  a  time  will  arrive  (if  I  deem  not  amiss) 
When  Slender,  the  weaver,  will  suffer  for  this  — 
May  his  breeches,  be  always  too  big  for  his  wear, 
Or  so  narrow  and  scant  as  to  torture  his  rear; 
May  his  waistcoat  be  ever  too  long  or  too  short, 
And  the  skirts  of  his  tunic  not  both  of  a  sort ;  — 
And,  when  from  this  sorrowful  jaunt  you  return, 
Tell  Doctor  Sangrado  'tis  needless  to  mourn : 
Ah !   tell  him  I  firmly  believ'd  I  was  going 
Where  people  no  longer  are  wed-ding  and  wooing, 

*  A  Lawyer's  compend,  in  which  he  notes  down  the  heads  of  arguments  in 
Law-suits. — Frenearfs  note,  ijg^  edition. 


1790]  BLENDER'S  JOURNEY  353 

Where  white  linen  stockings  will  ever  be  clean, 
And  sky-men  are  clad  in  the  best  of  nankeen ; 
Where  with  old  Continental  our  debts  we  can  pay, 
And  a  suit  of  best  broad-cloth  will  last  but  a  day ; 
Where  with  pretty  brass  thimbles  the  streets  are  all  pav'd, 
And  a  remnant — if  not  a  whole  piece  —  shall  be  sav'd, 
Where  cloth  may  be  cabbag'd  —  and  that  without  fear  — 
And  journeymen  work  —  thirteen  months  to  the  year!  " 

Snipinda  was  mov'd  at  so  dismal  a  yell, 
And  groping  about  to  find  where  he  fell, 
Exclaim'd,  "  I  have  got  a  sad  bruise  on  one  hip, 
But  matters,  I  fear,  are  much  worse  with  poor  Snip." 

"Yes,    yes"  —  answer'd   Snip — "I'm   preparing  to 

go  — 
Be  speedy,  Snipinda,  my  pulse  is  so  low!  " 

Then  she  went  where  he  lay,  and  took  hold  of  his  head, 
And  whisper'd  the  captain,  "how  much  he  has  bled!  " 
( For  she  thought,  as  he  lay  with  his  nose  in  the  puddle, 
That  the  water  was  blood,   that  had  flow'd  from  his 
noddle.) 

11  Ah !  where  is  the  doctor,  to  give  him  a  pill; 
And  where  is  the  Lawyer,  to  write  his  last- will? 
Ezekiel !   Ezekiel !   attend  to  his  words ; 
If  I  am  his  widow,  I  must  have  my  thirds ! 
But  can  you"  —  and  here  she  reclin'd  on  his  breast  — 
"  And  can  you  resolve  to  forsake  me  distrest, 
Is  it  thus  you  would  quit  me,  my  joy  and  my  love, 
And  leave  me  alone  for  the  shop-boards  above : 
Is  it  thus  you  consign  me  to  trouble  and  woe?  — 
When  you  are  departed,  ah!   where  shall  I  go? 
I  shall  then  be  a  widow  —  forsaken  and  sad  — 
And  where  shall  I  find  such  another  sweet  lad? 
Who  then  will  afford  me  a  mint-water  dram, 
Gallant  me  to  meeting  —  and  who  will  flog  Sam?  " 


354  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

By  this  time  the  story  was  currently  spread, 
And  most  were  convinced  that  the  taylor  was  dead,  — 
11  The  taylor  is  dead  beyond  all  relief! 
The  taylor  is  dead,"  cry'd  captain  O'Keef : 
"  To  fetch  up  a  fashion,  or  trump  up  a  whim, 
Not  a  knight  of  the  thimble  was  equal  to  him  !  " 

"  The  taylor  is  dead"  —  (the  lawyer  exclaim'd) 
God  speed  him !  —  'tis  better  to  die  than  be  maim'd : 
If  life  is  a  race,  as  the  learned  pretend, 
God  help  him !   his  racing  is  soon  at  an  end  : 
His  anchor  is  cast,  and  his  canvas  is  furl'd ; 
A  creature  he  was,  so  attach'd  to  the  world, 
So  eager  for  money  —  (I  say  it  with  grief) 
He  never  consider' d  the   'fall  of  the  leaf.' 
He  is  come  (we  may  say)  to  the  end  of  his  tether 
Where  the  maid  and  her  master  shall  lay  down  together. — 
For  the  place  where  he's  gone  may  we  also  prepare, 
Where  the  Mind,  when  admitted,  shall  rest  from  her  care, 
And  fiddles — the  finest  that  ever  were  seen, 
Shall  play,  for  his  comfort,  a  brisk  Bonny  Jean. 

"  The  taylor  is  dead"  (said  the  company  round) 
"  The  taylor  is  dead  "  —  the  dark  forests  resound.  — 
1 '  He  is  dead  !  " — blubber' d  Sam,  with  a  counterfeit  sigh — 
When  the  sailor  bawl'd  out —  "  By  my  soul  it's  a  lie ! 
The  fellow  has  only  a  mind  for  some  fun, 
His  blood  is  not  cold,  and  his  race  is  not  run. 
His  head,  it  is  true,  may  have  had  a  small  shock : 
I'll  bind  it — 'twill  only  be  strapping  a  block: 
Here,  hand  me  a  neck-cloth,  a  napkin,  a  clout! 
Now  —  heave  up  his  noddle,  and  strap  it  about! 
Success  to  the  skull  that  can  bear  a  good  jirk  — 
They  only  have  damag'd  his  ginger-bread  work." 

The  matters  turn'd  out  as  he  said  and  he  swore, 
And  the  taylor  threw  open  his  peepers  once  more. 


1 79°]  BLENDER'S  JOURNEY  355 

XI.      CONCLUSION   of  the  Journey 

When  the  morning  appear'd,  it  is  horrid  to  tell 
What  mischiefs  the  must  of  our  crew  had  befel : 
A  bundle  lay  here,  and  a  budget  lay  there ; 
The  Frenchman  was  fretting  and  pulling  his  hair, 
The  horses  were  feeding  about  on  the  hill, 
And  Snip,  with  his  head  on  a  hassock  lay  still, 
The  driver  beseech'd  us  the  fault  to  excuse, 
The    night   had    been    dark  —  and  "he    lost   both    his 
shoes " — 

Then  he  rais'd  up  his  waggon,  rejoicing  to  find 
That,  by  leaving  the  top  and  the  curtains  behind, 
We  still  might  proceed  —  for  the  body  was  sound, 
And  the  wheels,  upon  searching,  uninjur'd  all  'round. 

But  dull  and  dishearten'd  we  travell'd  along, 
Our  waggon  dismantled,  our  harness  all  wrong: 
The  lawyer  was  vext  that  we  went  a  snail's  pace, 
And  Cynthia  was  sure  she  had  lost  half  her  lace ; 
While  Bryan  O'Bluster,  who  Snip  had  restor'd, 
Asserted,  that  Snip  was  the  Jonas  on  board, 
And  often  declar'd,  in  his  moments  of  glee, 
"  He  would  give  him  a  souse,  if  he  had  him  at  sea." 

At  length,  we  arriv'd,  with  the  marks  of  our  fall, 
And  halted  to  dine  at  the  town  of  Road-Hall: 
Honest  David  has  always  a  dish  of  the  best, 
But  Snipinda  declar'd  there  was  nothing  well  drest  — 
"  And  Snip  (she  exclaim'd)  I  would  ask  him  to  eat, 
But  I  know  that  he  never  could  relish  roast-meat : 
I  think  it  were  better  to  get  him  some  Tea, 
He  always  was  fond  of  slop  dinners,  like  me, 
But  then  he  could  never  endure  your  Bohea  — 
La!   madam,  is  this  the  best  tea  that  you  keep? 
By  the  tagte  and  the  smell,  you  have  purchas'd  it  cheap ! 


POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

No  Hyson  or  Congo  to  give  a  sick  stranger ! 
Poor  man!   I've  no  doubt  but  his  life  is  in  danger! 

"  No  doctor  like  Neptune  for  people  like  him, 
(Quoth  O'Bluster)  —  his  illness  is  merely  a  whim: 
If  I  had  him  at  sea,  with  the  rest  of  our  crew, 
He  should  dance  to  the  tune  of  a  bowl  of  Burgoo!  " 

"  From  all  that  appears  (said  captain  O'Keef ) 
I  judge  he  might  venture  to  taste  the  roast  beef, 
Nay  —  I  think  I  can  guess,  from  the  cast  of  his  eye, 
He  longs  to  have  hold  of  the  gooseberry  pye !  " 
"Why  captain  (she  cry'd)  would  you  kill  the  poor 

sinner? 
If  he  cannot  have  tea,  he  shall  go  without  dinner!  " 

At  length  to  the  Ferry  we  safely  arrive, 
Each  thanking  his  genius  he  still  was  alive: 
Poor  Cynthia  complain'd  of  abundance  of  harms, 
The  black  on  her  face  and  the  blue  on  her  arms: 
Snipinda  exclaim'd  that  she  wanted  a  patch, 
For  Snip,  in  his  ravings,  had  give  her  a  scratch : 
The  corpse  of  the  captain  was  merely  a  wreck, 
And  the  sailor  complain'd  of  a  kink  in  his  neck, 
He  had  a  contusion,  beside,  on  his  thigh ; 
And  the  ballad-man  talk'd  of  a  bruise  on  his  eye, 
Just  adding,  "  how  much  he  was  vext  at  the  heart 
That  no  one  regarded  the  song-singing  art : 
Yet  the  town  was  in  love  with  his  music  (he  said) 
But  never  consider'd  he  liv'd  by  the  trade ; 
That  affronts  and  neglect  were  forever  his  lot, 
And  the  lovers  of  music  respected  him  —  not ; 
He  had   sung  for  the   nymphs,   and   had  sung  for  the 

swains, 
But  they  were  unwilling  to  purchase  his  strains, 


1 79°]  BLENDER'S  JOURNEY  357 

When  he  put  up  his  ballads  and  call'd  for  his  pay, 
The  shepherds  slunk  off,  and  the  nymphs  ran  away." 

So,  we  said  what  we  could  to  encourage  poor  Bob, 
And  pitied  his  fortune,  —  to  live  by  the  mob : 
Advis'd  him  to  cobble,  cut  throats,  or  dig  ditches 
If  he  wish'd  to  advance  to  perferment  and  riches ; 
That  the  time  had  arriv'd,  when  a  sycophant  race 
Of  poets  are  only  promoted  to  place  — 
He  should  scorn  them  alike,  if  attach'd  to  a  crown, 
Singing  lies  to  a  court,  or  disguis'd  in  the  gown ; 
That  a  poet  of  genius  (all  history  shews) 
Ne'er  wanted  a  puppy,  to  bark  at  his  muse: 
And,  though  their  productions  were  never  once  read, 
Yet  Bavius  and  Mevius  must  also  be  fed. 

Then  the  skipper  came  in,  with  a  terrible  noise, 
Exclaiming,  "  The  wherry  is  ready,  my  boys: 
The  sails  are  unfurl'd,  and  the  clock  has  struck  eight; 
Away  to  the  wharf,  for  no  longer  I  wait!  " 

Now  all  were  embark'd,  and  the  boat  under  sail, 
With  a  dark  cloudy  sky  and  a  stiff  blowing  gale : 
In  plying  to  windward  we  delug'd  our  decks  — 
O' Bluster  discours'd  of  disasters  and  wrecks  — 
Snip  offer' d  the  skipper  five  dollars,  and  more, 
And  a  pair  of  new  trowsers,  to  run  us  on  shore ; 
11  And,  if  I  was  there  (said  the  faint-hearted  swain) 
No  money  should  tempt  me  to  travel  again ! 
I  had  rather,  by  far,  I  had  broken  both  legs, 
Been  rotting  in  prison,  or  pelted  with  eggs ! 
Now  comrades  and  captains,  I  bid  you  good  night, 
And  you,  Mr.  Slender,  our  journey  will  write ; 
A  journey  like  this  will  attention  attract, 
Related  in  metre,  and  known  to  be  fact." — 


358  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Snipinda  was  sorry  she  ever  left  home  — 
Ezekiel  confess'd  it  was  madness  to  roam ;  — 
Toupee  was  alarm'd  at  the  break  of  the  seas, 
And  you,  Robert  Slender,  were  not  at  your  ease ; 
Yet  couldn't  help  laughing  at  captain  O'Keef, 
Who  shunn'd  little  Cynthia,  and  cast  up  his  beef: 
"  And,  Bruin  (she  said)  1  am  sick  at  my  heart, 
Come  hither,  I  pray  you  —  and  see  me  depart: 
What  wretches  e'er  travell'd  so  rugged  a  route ; 
Alas!   I  am  sorry  that  e'er  we  set  out!  " 
And  Sam,  while  he  own'd  what  a  thief  he  had  been, 
O'Bluster  made  love  to  a  bottle  of  gin  — 
Bob's  ballads  and  poems  lay  scatter'd  and  torn 
Himself  in  the  dumps  and  his  visage  forlorn;  — 
Snip  lay  with  his  head  by  the  side  of  a  pot, 
In  doubt  if  his  soul  was  departing  or  not, 
Complaining,  and  spewing,  and  cursing  his  luck  — 
Then  look'd  at  Snipinda — and  call'd  her  his  duck. 

At  last  to  relieve  us,  when  thought  of  the  least, 
The  wind  came  about  to  the  south  of  southeast, 
The  barque  that  was  buried  in  billows  before 
Now  flew  like  a  gull  by  the  Long-Island  shore, 
And  gaining  the  port  where  we  wish'd  to  arrive, 
Was  safe  in  the  bason  —  precisely  at  five. 


1 79°]  THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA  359 


THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA1 

Hermit,  First  Mariner,  Second  Mariner,  Third  Mariner 
SCENE,  The  Island  of  Saba  * 

Hermit 

Though  many  years  on  these  tall  cliffs  residing 
I  recollect  not  such  a  dreadful  quarrel 
Between  the  seas  and  water-vexing  tempests 
As  now  torments  my  ears,  and  pains  my  eyes  - 
Clouds,  low  suspended,  seem  to  embrace  the  foam 
Of  yonder  angry  ocean  —  bursting  thunders, 
With  their  pale  sheets  of  lightning,  are  as  busy 
As  though  they  meant  to  cleave  this  mass  of  nature, 
Proving  at  once  the  world's  mortality  — 
But  am  I  safe  on  this  sea-girded  island, 
Or  can  these  shores,  thus  beaten,  bear  the  shock 
Of  such  a  bold  assault  —  ? 
When  universal  ruin  shall  approach, 
Will  the  grand  scene  be  more  astonishing 
When  thou,  sky-pointing  Saba, 
Shalt  tremble  on  thy  base  most  fearfully !  — 

*  One  of  the  windward  Islands  in  the  W.  Indies.  It  is  small,  and  appears 
like  an  immense  cone,  or  sugar  loaf,  rising  out  of  the  surrounding  ocean. — The 
inhabitants  are  of  Dutch  origin,  and  are  equally  strangers  to  the  luxury  and 
tyranny  of  the  Sugar  Islands. — Lat.  I7°3O/  N.  Lon.  63°  12'  W.—Freneau's 
note. 

1  This  poem  was  doubtless  a  product  of  Freneau's  earlier  Muse,  as  were 
also  the  poems  "  The  Indian  Burying  Ground,"  "  The  Indian  Student,"  "  The 
Man  of  Ninety,"  and  "Alcina's  Enchanted  Island"  which  follow.  They 
were,  however,  first  printed  in  the  edition  of  1788  and  there  is  no  other  hint  as 
to  their  date.  I  have  followed  in  all  cases  except  the  last  the  1809  text. 


360  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Night  comes!  — I'll  to  my  cavern  in  the  mountain, 
Far  from  the  torrent's  roar  and  bursting  billow ; 
That  cavern,  where  I  oft  have  found  repose 
Since  on  this  barren  isle,  a  shipwrecked  stranger, 
I  made  my  sole  escape — Ha!   what  are  these! 
A  barque  half  buried  in  the  spouting  surge 
Comes  rushing  towards  the  isle,  impelled  by  winds 
That  scorn  all  motives  of  compassion. 
Hark!   now  she  strikes  the  iron  pointed  reef 
Foundering;   the  horrid  surge  that  breaks  upon  her 
Has  sealed  their  doom,  and  hope  itself  forsakes  them 
Man  is  too  weak  to  combat  with  the  power 
Of  these  mad  elements,  that  conquer  all, 
Ending  the  day  light  of  our  misery !  — 
Yes,  yes  —  I'll  to  my  haunt,  for  scenes  like  these 
Pain  the  shocked  soul  and  damp  all  resolution ;  — 
Or,  shall  I  to  the  shore,  while  day  remains, 
And  search  among  the  shell-incrusted  coral, 
Lest  if  by  some  great  chance  or  miracle 
Some  wretch  survives  upon  the  ragged  rocks, 
Who  knowing  not  of  human  kind  residing 
On  this  sequestered,  unfrequented  isle, 
Tired  in  contending  with  the  angry  billows 
And  beaten  by  the  surge  the  whole  night  through 
For  want  of  such  relief,  may  die  ere  morning  — 

Perdition !   three  I  see  upon  the  rocks 
Clinging,  to  keep  off  death,  while  the  rude  billow 
Swells  o'er  their  heads,  insultingly  victorious : 
Now  from  the  reef  upborne  I  see  them  struggle, 
Heaven  grant,  successfully!  — they  labour  on, 
Now  headlong  to  the  shore,  now  back  they  go 
Despairing  to  the  main!  — now,  now  they  land 
Safe  in  that  calm  recess,  a  narrow  bay 


1 79°]  THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA  361 

To  them  the  heaven  from  impending  ruin  — 
So  what  are  you?  — 

First  Mariner 

If  thou  art  an  inhabitant  of  the  isle, 

Lend  your  kind  aid  to  three  half  perished  wretches 

Of  threescore  souls,  the  only  three  remaining  — 

And  if  thou  knowest  of  any  sheltered  spot 

Where  from  these  horrid  blasts  and  water  spouts 

We  may  retire  to  pass  the  long  dull  night : 

Or  if  thou  knowest  of  any  standing  pool 

Or  running  stream,  or  earth-supported  spring, 

O  tell  us!  and,  as  nothing  more  remains, 

Our  gratitude  must  be  thy  sole  reward. 

Hermit 

Among  the  hills,  on  their  declivities 

Full  many  a  sylvan  haunt  I  have  espied 

Ere  now,  in  wandering  when  the  heaven  was  bright ; 

But  springs  or  running  streams  abound  not  here 

The  skies  alone  supply  the  hollowed  rock 

From  whence  I  drain  my  annual  full  supply : 

Yet  to  my  cavern  you  shall  all  resort 

To  taste  a  hermit's  hospitality  — 

If  you  have  strength,  ascend  this  winding  path 

And  amongst  these  rugged  rocks,  still  following  me, 

We  soon  shall  reach  a  safe  retreat,  removed 

Alike  from  noisy  seas,  and  mountain  torrents. 

Second  Mariner 

Lo !  here  the  tall  palmettoe,  and  the  cedar, 

The  lime  tree,  and  sweet  scented  shrubs  abundant 

With  mingling  branches,  form  a  blest  abode ; 


362  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Here,  bleating  lambs  crowd  to  the  evening  fold 
And  goats  and  kids,  that  wander  o'er  the  hills, 
Vext  by  the  storm,  herd  to  the  social  hermit; 
In  neighbouring  groves  the  juicy  lemon  swells, 
The  golden  orange  charms  the  admiring  eye, 
And  the  rich  cocoa  yields  her  milky  stream. 

Hermit 

Here,  strangers,  here  repose  your  wearied  limbs 
While  some  dead  boughs  I  bring  from  yonder  thicket, 
To  wake  the  friendly  blaze.  —  To  drain  the  dams 
Of  these  impatient  kids,  be  next  my  care: 
The  cocoa's  milky  flesh,  dried  pulse  and  roots 
Shall  be  your  fare  to  night;   and  when  to-morrow 
Dispells  the  gloom,  and  this  tornado  ceases, 
We'll  search  along  the  shores,  and  find  where  lie 
The  bodies  of  your  dear  and  lost  companions, 
That  so  we  may  commit  them  to  the  dust, 
And  thus  obliterate  from  our  remembrance 
The  horrid  havock  that  this  storm  occasioned. 

Third  Mariner 

O  good  old  man,  how  do  I  honour  thee ! 

My  future  days,  my  services  are  ycur's; 

For  you,  will  I  be  earlier  than  the  sun 

To  bring  you  sticks  to  light  the  morning  fire ; 

For  you,  will  I  attempt  these  dangerous  cliffs 

And  climb  on  high  to  pluck  the  blushing  plum ; 

For  you  will  I  from  yonder  rocky  height 

Drain  chrystal  waters,  to  delight  your  taste : 

But  now  be  kind ;   I  wish  to  hear  you  tell 

What  chance  or  fortune  brought  you  to  these  shores : 

Whether  alone  on  these  rough  craggs  you  dwell 


1790]  THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA  363 

Where  wandering  mist  is  gathered  into  showers, 
Or  whether  town  or  village  decks  the  plain ; 
Or  is  there  sheltered  port,  where  swelling  sails 
Lodge  lofty  ships,  from  hurricanes  secure, 
Fenced  in  by  reefs,  or  locked  by  neighbouring  hills. 

Hermit 

No  town  or  village  owns  this  scanty  soil, 
Nor  round  its  coast  one  safe  recess  is  seen, 
Where  lofty  ship,  or  barque  of  meaner  freight 
Might  rest  secure,  untroubled  by  the  winds, 
Which  still  pursue  the  restless  surge  that  pours, 
And  spits  its  venom,  on  these  ragged  shores; 
Nor  in  these  woody  wilds,  till  you  were  wrecked, 
Except  myself,  did  Christian  man  reside, 
Wandering  from  Europe  to  these  Indian  isles 
So  late  discovered  on  the  world's  green  end.  — 
All  lies  as  Nature  formed  it,  rough  throughout, 
And  chance  has  planted  here  this  garden  wild, 
For  such  as  I,  who  wandering  from  the  world ; 
Cities,  and  men,  and  civilized  domains, 
The  farther  distant,  find  the  bliss  more  pure. 

Third  Mariner 

In  such  a  sad  retreat,  and  all  alone !  — 
To  hold  no  converse  but  with  senseless  trees, 
To  have  no  friendship  but  with  wandering  goats, 
And  worthless  reptiles  that  infest  the  ground  - 
Can  man  be  happy  in  so  dull  a  scene? 

Hermit 

To  the  steep  summit  of  this  slighted  isle 

I  often  climb  at  early  dawn  of  day, 

And  o'er  the  vast  expanse  I  throw  my  view, 


364  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Not  idly  thence  the  busy  scene  surveying  — 

Vast  fleets  I  sometimes  see,  each  kept  at  bay, 

Or  joining  both  in  angry  conversation, 

Their  object  avarice  half,  and  half  ambition  — 

What  is  it  all  to  me?  what  are  they  seeking 

That  can  give  more  than  a  sufficiency?  — 

That  object  I  have  here  which  they  pursue, 

Grasping  it,  miser-like,  in  my  embraces  — 

The  stream  distilling  from  the  shaded  cliff, 

And  fruits  mature  from  trees  by  Nature  planted, 

And  contemplation,  heaven-born  contemplation ! 

These  are  my  riches !   I  am  wealthier  far 

Than  Spain's  proud  fleets,  that  load  the  groaning  ocean — 

Wait  you  in  yonder  cave  —  I  will  return  — 

My  herd  of  goats  is  wandering  in  the  wild, 

And  I  must  house  them,  ere  the  close  of  day.      (Exit} 

First  Mariner 

Who  can  this  hermit  be  —  what  doth  he  here? 

In  such  a  dismal  cell  who  would  inhabit 

Thus  lonely,  who  has  crowds  and  cities  seen  — 

Is  he  some  savage  offspring  of  the  isle, 

The  mountain  goat  his  food,  his  god  the  sun ; 

Some  wretch  produced  from  mingled  heat  and  moisture. 

Full  brother  to  the  hungry  pelican ; 

His  friend,  some  monster  of  the  adjacent  wood ; 

His  wife,  some  sorceress,  red  haired  hag  from  hell; 

His  children,  serpents,  scorpions,  centipedes  — 

Third  Mariner 

It  was  but  now,  (he  spoke  before  he  thought)  he  told 

me, 
That  he  is  richer  than  the  fleets  of  Spain 


1790]  THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA  365 

That  burden  the  wide  bosom  of  the  ocean ; 
And  then  he  seemed  so  pleased  and  satisfied, 
Boasting  himself  the  happiest  of  mankind. 

Second  Mariner 

Where  should  this  wealth  be  hid  —  his  cave  shows  none : 

A  prayer  book  and  a  cross,  a  string  of  beads, 

A  bed  of  moss,  a  cap,  an  earthen  jug, 

And  some  few  goat  skins,  furnish  out  his  cave : 

But  still  this  humble  guise  of  poverty 

Vast  sums  of  splendid  riches  may  conceal : 

The  flooring  of  his  den  is  a  loose  sand  — 

Searching  a  fathom  deep  may  shew  strange  things, 

While  we,  so  long  pursuing,  hit  on  fortune. — 

Perhaps  this  hermit  is  some  bloody  pirate, 

Who  having  plundered  friends  and  foes,  alike, 

Has  brought  his  booty  here,  to  bury  it. 

First  Mariner 

Lo !   there  he  comes,  driving  his  goats  before  him : 
He  means  to  fence  them  from  the  tempest's  rage 
Under  the  shelter  of  those  tufted  cedars : 
It  does,  indeed,  appear  most  possible, 
That  in  this  cavern  rests  his  plundered  wealth : 
When  sleep  has  locked  his  senses  in  repose 
We'll  seize  him  on  his  couch,  and  binding  him, 
Cast  him  from  yonder  jutting  promontory 
That  hangs  a  hundred  fathoms  o'er  the  deep  — 
Thus,  shall  his  fate  prevent  discovery. 

Second  Mariner 

Your  project  pleases  me  —  it  is  most  wrong 
That  such  a  savage  should  enjoy  such  hoards 


366  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Of  useful  wealth,  he  has  not  heart  to  use :  — 
He  builds  no  ships,  employs  no  mariners; 
But,  like  a  miser,  hides  the  ill-gotten  store, 
And  had  he  died  before  we  wandered  hither 
His  gold  had  perished,  and  none  been  the  wiser. 

Third  Mariner 

While  you  observe  his  motions,  fellow  sufferers, 

Of  twisted  bark  I'll  make  a  sett  of  thongs 

Wherewith  to  bind  him  at  the  midnight  hour, 

Lest  waking,  he  should  struggle  to  be  free 

And  slip  our  hands  before  we  gain  the  summit 

From  whence  we  mean  to  plunge  his  tawny  carcase : — 

There,  there  he  comes — "Now,  hermit,  now  befriend 

us, 

"  For  cruel,  merciless  hunger  gnaws  our  vitals, 
"  And  every  mischief  that  can  man  dishearten 
"  Is  ripe  to  drive  us  into  desperation!  " 

Hermit 

Have  patience,  till  from  yonder  arched  grotto 

I  bring  my  bowls  of  milk,  and  seasoned  roots, 

And  fruits  I  plucked  before  the  day  was  high : 

Now,  friends,  enjoy  my  hospitality : 

All's  at  your  service,  wretched  shipwrecked  men; 

And  when  you've  satisfied  the  rage  of  hunger 

Repose  on  these  soft  skins ;  your  sea-beat  limbs 

Demand  the  aid  of  kind  refreshing  sleep : 

I'll  to  my  evening  prayers,  as  I  am  wont, 

And  early  dreams ;  —  for  travelling  o'er  the  hills, 

And  pelted  by  the  storm  the  whole  day  past, 

My  knees  grow  feeble,  and  I  wish  for  rest.        (Exit} 


I79°J  THE  HERMIT  OF  SABA  367 

Second  Mariner 

Yes,  yes  —  first  pray,  and  then  repose  in  peace, 
Hermit  of  Saba,  ne'er  to  wake  again ! 
Or  should  you  wake,  it  must  be  in  convulsions, 
Tossed  from  the  peak  of  yonder  precipice, 
Transfixt  on  pointed  rocks,  most  bloodily. 

Third  Mariner 

Now,  now's  the  time:   he  sleeps:   I  hear  him  snore  — 

This  hidden  gold  has  so  possessed  my  brain, 

That  I,  at  all  events,  must  handle  it: 

Yet  should  the  hermit  'wake  while  thus  engaged, 

Sad  mischief  might  ensue :   his  nervous  arm 

(  More  than  a  match  for  our  exhausted  vigour) 

Might  exercise  most  horrible  revenge ! 

Long  practising  among  these  rugged  mountains, 

Pursuing  goats,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock, 

And  cleaving  trees  to  feed  his  evening  fire, 

His  nerves  and  blood  are  all  activity : 

And  then  he  is  of  so  robust  a  fabrick 

That  we  should  be  mere  children  in  his  hands, 

Whirling  us  from  the  precipice  at  pleasure, 

(Thus  turning  on  ourselves  our  own  designs) 

Or  catching  up  some  fragment  of  a  rock 

Grind  into  atoms  our  pale,  quivering  limbs ; 

Taking  full  vengeance  on  ingratitude. 

First  Mariner 

Fast  bound  in  chains  of  sleep,  I  first  assail  him ; 
This  knotty  club  shall  give  the  unerring  blow ; 
You  follow  on,  and  boldly  second  me ! 
Thus  —  comrades —  thus !  —  that  stroke  has  crushed  his 
brain ! 


368  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

He  groans!   he  dies?  —  now  bear  him  to  the  summit 
Of  yon'  tall  cliff,  and  having  thence  dislodged  him, 
Uninterrupted  we  shall  dig  his  riches, 
Heirs  to  the  wealth  and  plenty  of  his  cave. 

Second  Mariner  (  conscience  struck  ) 

'Tis  done,  'tis  done  —  the  hermit  is  no  more:  — 
Say  nothing  of  this  deed,  ye  hills,  ye  trees, 
But  let  eternal  silence  brood  upon  it. 
O,  base,  base,  base !  !  —  why  was  I  made  a  man, 
And  not  some  prowling  monster  of  the  forest, 
The  worst  vile  work  of  Nature's  journeymen ! 
Ye  lunar  shadows!   no  resemblance  yield 
From  craggy  pointed  rock,  or  leafy  bush, 
That  may  remind  me  of  this  murdered  hermit. 

Third  Mariner 

Deep  have  I  fathomed  in  his  cave,  but  find 
No  glimpse  of  gold  —  we  surely  did  mistake  him: 
His  treasures  were  not  of  that  glittering  kind ; 
Dryed  fruits,  and  one  good  book;   his  goats,  his  kids, 
These  were,  indeed,  his  riches  — 
Now,  hermit,  now  I  feel  remorse  within  me : 
While  here  we  stay  thy  shadow  will  torment  us, 
From  every  haunted  rock,  or  bush,  projecting; 
And  when  from  hence  we  go,  that  too  shall  follow, 
Crying — Perdition  on  these  fiends  from  Europe, 
Whose  bloody  malice,  or  whose  thirst  for  gold, 
Fresh  from  the  slaughter-house  of  innocence 
Unpeoples  isles,  and  lays  the  world  in  ruin ! 


1790]  THE  INDIAN  BURYING  GROUND  369 


THE  INDIAN  BURYING  GROUND1 

In  spite  of  all  the  learned  have  said, 

I  still  my  old  opinion  keep ; 
The  posture,  that  we  give  the  dead, 

Points  out  the  soul's  eternal  sleep. 

Not  so  the  ancients  of  these  lands  — 
The  Indian,  when  from  life  released, 

Again  is  seated  with  his  friends, 

And  shares  again  the  joyous  feast. * 

His  imaged  birds,  and  painted  bowl, 
And  venison,  for  a  journey  dressed, 

Bespeak  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
Activity,  that  knows  no  rest. 

His  bow,  for  action  ready  bent, 
And  arrows,  with  a  head  of  stone, 

Can  only  mean  that  life  is  spent, 
And  not  the  old  ideas  gone. 

Thou,  stranger,  that  shalt  come  this  way, 
No  fraud  upon  the  dead  commit  — 

Observe  the  swelling  turf,  and  say 
They  do  not  lie,  but  here  they  sit. 

*  The  North  American  Indians  bury  their  dead  in  a  sitting  posture  ; 
decorating  the  corpse  with  wampum,  the  images  of  birds,  quadrupeds,  &c  : 
And  (if  that  of  a  warrior)  with  bows,  arrows,  tomhawks,  and  other  mili- 
tary weapons." — Freneau' 's  note. 

1  In  the  1788  edition  this  has  the  title  "Lines  Occasioned  by  a  Visit  to  an 
old  Indian  Burying  Ground." 


3/0  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Here  still  a  lofty  rock  remains, 

On  which  the  curious  eye  may  trace 

( Now  wasted,  half,  by  wearing  rains ) 
The  fancies  of  a  ruder  race. 

Here  still  an  aged  elm  aspires, 

Beneath  whose  far-projecting  shade 
And  which  the  shepherd  still  admires) 
The  children  of  the  forest  played ! 

There  oft  a  restless  Indian  queen 

(  Pale  Shebah,  with  her  braided  hair) 

And  many  a  barbarous  form  is  seen 
To  chide  the  man  that  lingers  there. 

By  midnight  moons,  o'er  moistening  dews; 

In  habit  for  the  chase  arrayed, 
The  hunter  still  the  deer  pursues, 

The  hunter  and  the  deer,  a  shade!1 

And  long  shall  timorous  fancy  see 
The  painted  chief,  and  pointed  spear, 

And  Reason's  self  shall  bow  the  knee 
To  shadows  and  delusions  here. 

1  Campbell  borrowed  this  line  for  his  poem  "  O'Connor's  Child."     Stanza 
IV  of  the  poem  begins  as  follows  : 

"  Bright  as  the  bow  that  spans  the  storm 

In  Erin's  yellow  vesture  clad, 
A  son  of  light  —  a  lovely  form 

He  comes  and  makes  her  glad  ; 
Now  on  the  grass-green  turf  he  sits, 
His  tassel'd  horn  beside  him  laid  ; 
Now  o'er  the  hills  in  chase  he  flits, 
The  hunter  and  the  deer  a  shade  ! " 


1790]  THE  INDIAN  STUDENT  371 

THE  INDIAN  STUDENT 

Or,  Force  of  Nature1 

From  Susquehanna's  farthest  springs 
Where  savage  tribes  pursue  their  game, 
(  His  blanket  tied  with  yellow  strings,) 
A  shepherd  of  the  forest  came. 

Not  long  before,  a  wandering  priest 
Expressed  his  wish,  with  visage  sad  — 
"  Ah,  why  (he  cried)  in  Satan's  waste, 
"  Ah,  why  detain  so  fine  a  lad? 

"  In  white-man's  land  there  stands  a  town 
"  Where  learning  may  be  purchased  low  — 
"  Exchange  his  blanket  for  a  gown, 
"  And  let  the  lad  to  college  go." — 

From  long  debate  the  council  rose, 
And  viewing  Shalum's  tricks  with  joy 
To  Cambridge  Hall,*  o'er  wastes  of  snows, 
They  sent  the  copper-coloured  boy. 

One  generous  chief  a  bow  supplied, 
This  gave  a  shaft,  and  that  a  skin ; 
The  feathers,  in  vermillion  dyed, 
Himself  did  from  a  turkey  win : 

*  Harvard  College,  at  Cambridge  in  Massachusetts. — Freneau's  note,  edi- 
tion 1788. 

1  The  1788  version  bore  under  the  title  the  motto  : 

"  Rura  mihi  et  rigui  placeant  in  vallibus  amnes  ; 
Flumina  amem,  sylvasque  inglorius" 

VIRG.  Geor^.  II.  V.  483. 


3/2  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Thus  dressed  so  gay,  he  took  his  way 
O'er  barren  hills,  alone,  alone ! 
His  guide  a  star,  he  wandered  far, 
His  pillow  every  night  a  stone. 

At  last  he  came,  with  foot  so  lame, 
Where  learned  men  talk  heathen  Greek, 
And  Hebrew  lore  is  gabbled  o'er, 
To  please  the  Muses,  —  twice  a  week. 

Awhile  he  writ,  awhile  he  read, 
Awhile  he  conned  their  grammar  rules  — 
( An  Indian  savage  so  well  bred 
Great  credit  promised  to  the  schools.) 

Some  thought  he  would  in  law  excel, 
Some  said  in  physic  he  would  shine; 
And  one  that  knew  him,  passing  well, 
Beheld,  in  him,  a  sound  Divine. 

But  those  of  more  discerning  eye 
Even  then  could  other  prospects  show, 
And  saw  him  lay  his  Virgil  by 
To  wander  with  his  dearer  bow. 

The  tedious  hours  of  study  spent, 
The  heavy-moulded  lecture  done, 
He  to  the  woods  a  hunting  went, 
Through  lonely  wastes  he  walked,  he  run. 

No  mystic  wonders  fired  his  mind ; 
He  sought  to  gain  no  learned  degree, 
But  only  sense  enough  to  find 
The  squirrel  in  the  hollow  tree. 


1790  THE  INDIAN  STUDENT  373 

The  shady  bank,  the  purling  stream, 
The  woody  wild  his  heart  possessed, 
The  dewy  lawn,  his  morning  dream 
In  fancy's  gayest  colours  dressed. 

"  And  why  (he  cried)  did  I  forsake 
"  My  native  wood  for  gloomy  walls; 
"  The  silver  stream,  the  limpid  lake 
"  For  musty  books  and  college  halls. 

"  A  little  could  my  wants  supply  — 

"  Can  wealth  and  honour  give  me  more ; 

"  Or,  will  the  sylvan  god  deny 

"  The  humble  treat  he  gave  before? 

11  Let  seraphs  gain  the  bright  abode, 
"  And  heaven's  sublimest  mansions  see  — 
11  I  only  bow  to  Nature's  God  — 
"  The  land  of  shades  will  do  for  me. 

"  These  dreadful  secrets  of  the  sky 
"  Alarm  my  soul  with  chilling  fear  — 
11  Do  planets  in  their  orbits  fly, 
"  And  is  the  earth,  indeed,  a  sphere? 

<  Let  planets  still  their  course  pursue, 

<  And  comets  to  the  centre  run  — 
"  In  Him  my  faithful  friend  I  view, 
11  The  image  of  my  God  —  the  Sun. 

«  Where  Nature's  ancient  forests  grow, 
11  And  mingled  laurel  never  fades, 
"  My  heart  is  fixed ;  —and  I  must  go 
"  To  die  among  my  native  shades." 


374  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [178 

He  spoke,  and  to  the  western  springs, 
( His  gown  discharged,  his  money  spent, 
His  blanket  tied  with  yellow  strings,) 
The  shepherd  of  the  forest  went.1 


THE  MAN  OF  NINETY 

"  To  yonder  boughs  that  spread  so  wide, 
Beneath  whose  shade  soft  waters  glide, 
Once  more  I  take  the  well  known  way ; 
With  feeble  step  and  tottering  knee 
I  sigh  to  reach  my  white-oak  tree, 
Where  rosy  health  was  wont  to  play. 

If  to  the  shades,  consuming  slow, 

The  shadow  of  myself,  I  go, 

When  I  am  gone,  wilt  thou  remain !  — 

From  dust  you  rose,  and  grew  like  me  ; 

I  man  became,  and  you  a  tree, 

Both  natives  of  one  grassy  plain. 

How  much  alike  ;   yet  not  the  same  !  — 
You  could  no  kind  protector  claim ; 
Alone  you  stood,  to  chance  resigned : 
When  winter  came,  with  blustering  sky, 
You  feared  its  blasts  —  and  so  did  I, 
And  for  warm  suns  in  secret  pined. 

1  The  1788  version  has  this  additional  stanza  : 
"  Returning  to  this  rural  reign 
The  Indians  welcom'd  him  with  joy  ; 
The  council  took  him  home  again, 
And  bless'd  the  copper-colour' d  boy." 


179°]  THE  MAN  OF  NINETY  375 

When  vernal  suns  began  to  glow 
You  felt  returning  vigour  flow ; 
Which  once  a  year  new  leaves  supplied ; 
Like  you,  fine  days  I  wished  to  see, 
And  May  was  a  sweet  month  to  me, 
But  when  November  came  —  I  sighed! 

If  through  your  bark  some  ruffian  arm 

A  mark  impressed,  you  took  the  alarm, 

And  tears  awhile  I  saw  descend ; 

Till  Nature's  kind  maternal  aid 

A  plaister  on  your  bruises  laid, 

And  bade  your  trickling  sorrows  end. 

Like  you,  I  feared  the  lightning's  stroke, 
Whose  flame  dissolves  the  strength  of  oak, 
And  ends  at  once  this  mortal  dream ;  — 
You  saw,  with  grief,  the  soil  decay 
That  from  your  roots  was  torn  away ; 
You  sighed  —  and  cursed  the  stream. 

With  borrowed  earth,  and  busy  spade, 
Around  your  roots  new  life  I  laid, 
While  joy  revived  in  every  vein ; 
(The  care  of  man  shall  life  impart)  — 
Though  Nature  owns  the  aid  of  art, 
No  art,  immortal,  makes  their  reign. 

How  much  alike  our  fortune  —  say  — 

Yet,  why  must  I  so  soon  decay 

When  thou  hast  scarcely  reached  thy  prime  — 

Erect  and  tall,  you  joyous  stand ; 

The  staff  of  age  has  found  my  hand, 

That  guides  me  to  the  grave  of  time. 


3/6  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Could  I,  fair  tree,  like  you,  resign, 
And  banish  all  those  fears  of  mine, 
Grey  hairs  would  be  no  cause  of  grief ; 
Your  blossoms  die,  but  you  remain, 
Your  fruit  lies  scattered  o'er  the  plain  — 
Learn  wisdom  from  the  falling  leaf. 

As  you  survive,  by  heaven's  decree, 
Let  withered  flowers  be  thrown  on  me 
Sad  compensation  for  my  doom, 
While  winter  greens  and  withering  pines 
And  cedars  dark,  and  barren  vines, 
Point  out  the  lonely  tomb. 

The  enlivening  sun,  that  burns  so  bright, 
Ne'er  had  a  noon  without  a  night, 
So  Life  and  Death  agree ; 
The  joys  of  man  by  years  are  broke"  — 
'Twas  thus  the  man  of  ninety  spoke, 
Then  rose,  and  left  his  tree. 


ALCINA'S  ENCHANTED  ISLAND1 

In  These  fair  fields  unfading  flowers  abound, 
Here  purple  roses  cloathe  the  enchanted  ground ; 
Here,  to  the  sun  expand  the  lillies  pale 
Fann'd  by  the  sweet  breath  of  the  western  gale : 

Here,  fearless  hares  through  dark  recesses  stray, 
And  troops  of  leverets  take  the  woodland  way, 
Here  stately  stags,  with  branching  horns,  appear, 
And  rove  unsought  for,  unassail'd  by  fear: 

1  Published  in  the  1788  edition  under  the  title  "  Ariosto's  Description  of 
the  Gardens  in  Alcina's  Inchanted  Island.  From  the  Italian."  Text  from  the 
edition  of  1795. 


1790]  HORACE,  LIB.  I.  ODE   15  377 

Unknown  the  snare,  the  huntsman's  fatal  dart 
That  wings  the  death  of  torture  to  the  heart, 
In  social  bands  they  trace  their  sylvan  reign, 
Chew  the  rich  cud,  or  graze  along  the  plain. 

In  these  gay  shades  the  nimble  deer  delight, 
While  herds  of  goats  ascend  the  rocky  height, 
Browse  on  the  shrubs  that  shade  the  vale  below, 
And  crop  the  plants,  that  there  profusely  grow. 


HORACE,  LIB.  I.  ODE  is1 

Nereus  prophesies  the  destruction  of  Troy2 

As  'cross  the  deep  to  Priam's  shore 
The  Trojan  prince  bright  Helen  bore, 
Old  Nereus  hushed  each  noisy  breeze 
And  calmed  the  tumults  of  the  seas. 

Then,  musing  on  the  traitor's  doom, 

Thus  he  foretold  the  woes  to  come ; 

"  Ah  why  remove,  mistaken  swain, 

"  The  prize  that  Greece  shall  seize3  again! 

"  With  omens  sad,  you  sail  along; 
11  And  Europe  shall  resent  the  wrong, 
"  Conspire  to  seize  your  bride  away, 
11  And  Priam's  town  in  ashes  lay. 

"  Alas !   what  toils  and  deaths  combined  ! 
"  What  hosts  of  men  and  horses  joined!  — 
"  Bold  Pallas  now  prepares  her  shield, 
"  And  arms  her  chariot  for  the  field. 

1  First  found  in  the  1788  edition  ;  text  from  the  1809  edition. 

2  The  1788  edition  had  the  following  line  after  the  title  :  "  Pastor  quum 
traheretper  freta  nambus,  etc. "  3  "  Fetch.  "—Ed.  1788. 


378  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

"  Can  you  with  heavenly  forms  engage, 
11  A  goddess  kindling  into  rage; 
"  Who  ne'er  have  dared  a  mortal  foe 
"  And  wars,  alone,  of  Venus,  know. 

11  In  vain  you  dress  your  flowing  hair, 
11  And  songs,  to  aid  the  harp,  prepare; 
"  The  harp,  that  sung  to  female  ears, 
"  Shall  fail  when  Mars  and  Greece  appears. 

"  In  vain  will  you  bewail  your  bride, 
"  And  meanly  in  her  chamber  hide, 
"  In  hopes  to  shun,  when  lingering  there, 
"  The  massy  dart,  and  Cretan  spear. 

"  In  vain  will  you,  with  quickening  pace, 
"  Avoid  fierce  Ajax  in  the  chace; 
"  For  late  those  locks,  that  please  the  eye, 
"  In  dust  and  death  must  scattered  lie. 

"  Do  you  not  see  Ulysses,  too, 
"  The  sage  that  brings  your  nation  low : 
"  And  Nestor  from  the  land  of  Pyle  — 
"  Chiefs  skilled  in  arms  and  martial  toil. 

11  Dost  thou  not  see  bold  Teucer  here, 
''And  him  —  no  tardy  chariotteer; 
11  Who  both  pursue  with  eager  force, 
"  And  both  controul  the  thundering  horse. 

"  Thou,  to  thy  grief,  shalt  Merion  know, 

"  And  Tydeus'  son  shall  prove  thy  foe, 

"  Who  wastes  your  realms  with  sword  and  fire; 

"  Tydides,  greater  than  his  sire. 


79°]  A  SUBSCRIPTION   PRAYER  379 

"  Like  timorous  deer,  prepared  to  fly 
"  When  hungry  wolves  are  passing  by, 
"  No  more  the  herbs  their  steps  detain, 
"  They  quit  their  pastures,  and  the  plain : 

"  So  you  from  his  triumphant  arms 
"  Will  fly,  with  all  your  female  charms; 
"  Can  deeds,  like  these,  your  valour  prove, 
"  Was  this  your  promise  to  your  love? 

"  Achilles'  wrath  shall  but  delay 

"  Your  ruin  to  a  later  day  — 

"  The  Trojan  matrons  then  may  mourn, 

"  And  Troy  by  Grecian  vengeance  burn." 


A  SUBSCRIPTION  PRAYER1 

For  defraying  the  burial  expences  of  an  Old  Soldier 

Ah !   Give  him  a  tomb,  for  a  tomb  is  his  due, 
A  shilling,  great  man,  is  a  trifle  to  You : 
If  you  give  him  a  tomb,  that  his  name  may  survive, 
May  Fortune  attend  you,  and  help  you  to  thrive: 
May  you  always  have  something  to  praise  and  approve, 
And  the  pleasure  to  dream  of  the  girl  that  you  love. 

Prepar'd  for  the  worst,  but  enjoying  the  best, 
With  a  girl  and  a  bottle  he  feather'd  his  nest : 
Half  sick  of  the  world,  in  the  wane  of  his  life, 
To  hasten  his  exit,  he  took  him  a  wife, 
But,  finding  his  fair  one  a  damnable  elf, 
He  grounded  his  arms  —  and  took  leave  of  himself. 

1  Entitled  in  1788,  "Patrick  Mulhoni.      A  Subscription  Prayer.      Date 
obolum  Belisario"     Text  from  the  1795  edition. 


380  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  PATRIOTIC  FARMER1 

Thus,  while  new  laws  the  stubborn  States  reclaim, 
And  most  for  pensions,  some  for  honours  aim, 
You,  who  first  aimed  a  shaft  at  George's  crown, 
And  marked  the  way  to  conquest  and  renown, 
While  from  the  vain,  the  lofty,  and  the  proud, 
Retiring  to  your  groves,  you  shun  the  crowd, — 
Can  toils,  like  yours,  in  cold  oblivion  end, 
Columbia's  patriot,  and  her  earliest  friend? 

Blest,  doubly  blest,  from  public  scenes  retired, 
Where  public  welfare  all  your  bosom  fired ; 
Your  life's  best  days  in  studious  labours  past 
Your  deeds  of  virtue  make  your  bliss  at  last ; 
When  all  things  fail,  the  soul  must  rest  on  these !  — 
May  heaven  restore  you  to  your  favourite  trees, 
And  calm  content,  best  lot  to  man  assigned, 
Be  heaven's  reward  to  your  exalted  mind. 

When  her  base  projects  you  beheld,  with  pain, 
And  early  doomed  an  end  to  Britain's  reign. 
When  rising  nobly  in  a  generous  cause 
(Sworn  foe  to  tyrants  and  imported  laws) 
Thou  Dickinson !   the  patriot  and  the  sage, 
How  much  we  owed  to  your  convincing  page :  * 

*The  Farmer's  Letters,  and  others  of  his  truly  valuable  writings. — 
Frenearis  note. 

1  John  Dickinson  (1732-1808),  a  lawyer  in  Philadelphia,  and  a  member  of 
the  Colonial  Congress  of  1765  and  of  the  Continental  Congress  of  1774,  first 
came  into  wide  prominence  in  1767  through  the  publication  of  his  series  of 
papers  entitled  ' '  Letters  from  a  Pennsylvania  Farmer  to  the  Inhabitants  of 
the  British  Colonies."  From  this  time  until  his  death  he  was  a  vigorous  and 
voluminous  publicist.  His  influence  upon  his  times  was  very  great.  The  text 
of  the  poem  is  from  the  1809  edition. 


1790]  PALEMON  TO  LAVINIA  381 

That  page  —  the  check  of  tyrants  and  of  knaves, 
Gave  birth  to  heroes  who  had  else  been  slaves, 
Who,  taught  by  you,  denied  a  monarch's  sway ; 
And  if  they  brought  him  low  —  you  planned  the  way. 

Though  in  this  glare  of  pomp  you  take  no  part 
Still  must  your  conduct  warm  each  generous  heart: 
What,  though  you  shun  the  patriot  vain  and  loud, 
While  hosts  neglect,  that  once  to  merit  bowed, 
Shun  those  gay  scenes,  were  recent  laurels  grow, 
The  mad  Procession,  and  the  painted  show; 
In  days  to  come,  when  pomp  and  pride  resign, 
Who  would  not  change  his  proudest  wreathes  for  thine, 
In  fame's  fair  fields  such  well-earned  honours  share, 
And  Dickinson  confess  unrivalled  there!          [1788] 


PALEMON  TO  LAVINIA1 

[Written  1788] 

"  Torn  from  your  arms  by  rude  relentless  hands, 
No  tears  recall  our  lost  Alcander  home, 
Who,  far  removed  by  fierce  piratic  bands, 
Finds  in  a  foreign  soil  *  an  early  tomb : 

Well  may  you  grieve !  —  his  race  so  early  done, 
No  years  he  reached,  to  urge  some  task  sublime  ;- 
No  conquests  made,  no  brilliant  action  won, 
No  verse  to  bear  him  through  the  gulph  of  time. 

Amidst  these  shades  and  heart  depressing  glooms, 
What  comfort  shall  we  give  —  what  can  we  say ; 
In  her  distress  shall  we  discourse  on  tombs, 
Or  tell  Lavinia,  'tis  a  cloudy  day? 

*  Algiers,  the  piratical  city  on  the  coast  of  Barbary.—  Freneau's  note. 
1  First  published  in  the  1795  edition.     Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

The  pensive  priest  accosts  her  with  a  sigh : 
With  movement  slow,  in  sable  robes  he  came  — 
But  why  so  sad,  philosopher,  ah,  why, 
Since  from  the  tomb  alone  all  bliss  we  claim? 

By  pining  care  and  wakeful  sorrow  worn, 
While  silent  griefs  her  downcast  heart  engage, 
She  saw  me  go,  and  saw  me  thrice  return 
To  pen  my  musings  on  some  vacant  page. 

To  learning's  store,  to  Galen's  science  bred, 
I  saw  Orestes  rove  through  all  the  plain : 
His  pensive  step  no  friendly  genius  led 
To  find  one  plant  that  might  relieve  your  pain ! 

Say,  do  I  wake?  —  or  are  your  woes  a  dream! 
Depart,  dread  vision  !  —  waft  me  far  away  : 
Seek  me  no  more  by  this  sky  painted  stream 
That  glides,  unconscious,  to  the  Indian  bay. 

Alcander !  — ah  !  —  what  tears  for  thee  must  flow — 
What  doom  awaits  the  wretch  that  tortured  thee ! 
May  never  flower  in  his  cursed  garden  blow, 
May  never  fruit  enrich  his  hated  tree : 

May  that  fine  spark,  which  Nature  lent  to  man, 
Reason,  be  thou  extinguished  in  his  brain ; 
Sudden  his  doom,  contracted  be  his  span, 
Ne'er  to  exist,  or  spring  from  dust  again. 

May  no  kind  genius  save  his  step  from  harms : 
Where'er  he  sails,  may  tempests  rend  the  sea; 
May  never  maiden  yield  to  him  her  charms, 
Nor  prattling  infant  hang  upon  his  knee ! 


1 79°]  A  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS  383 

Retire,  retire,  forget  the  inhuman  shore : 
Dark  is  the  sun,  when  woes  like  these  dismay ; 
Resign  your  groves,  and  view  with  joy  no  more 
The  fragrant  orange,  and  the  floweret  gay." 


A  NEWSMAN'S  ADDRESS1 

Though  past  events  are  hourly  read, 
The  various  labours  of  the  dead, 
In  vain  their  story  we  recall, 
The  rise  of  empires,  or  the  fall; 
Our  modern  men,  a  busy  crew, 
Must,  in  their  turn,  have  something  new. 

By  moralists  we  have  been  told 
That  "  Time  himself  in  time  grows  old; 
"  The  seasons  change,  the  moons  decay, 
"  The  sun  shines  weaker  every  day, 
*'  Justice  is  from  the  world  withdrawn, 
"  Virtue  and  friendship  almost  gone, 
"  Religion  fails  (the  clergy  shew) 
"  And  man,  alas,  must  vanish  too." 

Let  others  such  opinions  hold, 
(  Since  grumbling  has  been  always  old ; ) 
All  Nature  must  decay,  'tis  true, 
But  Nature  shall  her  face  renew, 
Her  travels  in  a  circle  make, 
Freeze  but  to  thaw,  sleep  but  to  wake. 
Die  but  to  live,  and  live  to  die, 
In  summer  smile,  in  autumn  sigh, 

1 1  have  not  been  able  to  find  the  paper  which  first  used  these  New  Year's 
verses.  The  1788  edition  gave  them  the  title  "  New  Year's  Verses  for  1788. 
[Supposed  to  be  written  by  the  Printer's  lad,  who  supplies  the  customers  with 
his  weekly  paper.]  "  Text  from  the  edition  of  1795. 


384  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Resume  the  garb  that  once  she  wore, 
Repeat  the  words  she  said  before, 
Bow  down  with  age,  or,  fresh  and  gay, 
Change,  only  to  prevent  decay. 

As  up  and  down,  with  weary  feet, 
I  travel  each  fatiguing  street, 
Meeting  the  frowns  of  party  men, 
Foes  to  the  freedom  of  the  pen, 
And  to  your  doors  our  sheets  convey  — 
I  sometimes  think  I  hear  you  say, 
"  Ah,  were  it  not  for  what  he  brings, 
(  This  messenger  of  many  things) 
We  should  be  in  a  sorry  plight; 
The  wars  of  Europe  out  of  sight, 
No  paragraphs  of  home  affairs 
To  tell  us  how  the  fabric  wears 
Which  Freedom  built  on  Virtue's  plan, 
And  Virtue  only  can  maintain." 

But  something  further  you  pretend, — 
From  want  of  money,  heaven  defend ! 
Leave  that  to  those  who  sleep  in  sheds, 
Or  on  the  pavement  make  their  beds, 
Who  clean  the  streets,  or  carry  news, 
Repair  old  coats,  or  cobble  shoes  — 
Of  every  ill  with  which  we're  curs'd 
This  want  of  money  is  the  worst : 
This  was  the  curse  that  fell  on  Cain, 
The  vengeance  for  a  brother  slain : 
For  this  he  quit  his  native  sod, 
Retreated  to  the  land  of  Nod, 
And,  in  the  torture  of  despair, 
Turn'd  poet,  pimp,  or  newsman  there  — 
Divines  have  labour'd  in  the  dark 
To  find  the  meaning  of  his  mark : 


1790]         ON  THE   PROSPECT  OF  A  REVOLUTION  385 

How  many  idle  things  they  wrote 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  ragged  coat. 

Should  money,  now,  be  scarce  with  you, 
With  me,  alas,  'tis  nothing  new! 
We  news-men  always  are  in  need, 
(So  Beer  and  Bacchus  have  decreed) 
And  still  your  bounty  shall  implore 

Till —  printing  presses  are  no  more  ! 

Did  we  not  conjure  up  our  strain 
The  year  might  come  and  go  again, 
Seasons  advance,  and  moons  decay, 
And  life  itself  make  haste  away, 
And  news-men  only  vex  their  brains 
To  have  their  labour  for  their  pains  — 
Such  usage  I  may  find,  'tis  true, 
But  then  it  would  be  —  something  new! 


ON  THE  PROSPECT  OF  A  REVOLUTION  IN 

FRANCE1 

"Now,  at  the  feast  they  plan  the  fall  of  Troy  ; 
"  The  stern  debate  ATRIDES  hears  with  joy." 

— Horn.  Odys. 

Borne  on  the  wings  of  time  another  year 
Sprung  from  the  past,  begins  its  proud  career : 
From  that  bright  spark  which  first  illumed  these  lands, 
See  Europe  kindling,  as  the  blaze  expands, 
Each  gloomy  tyrant,  sworn  to  chain  the  mind, 
Presumes  no  more  to  trample  on  mankind : 
Even  potent  Louis  trembles  on  his  throne, 
The  generous  prince  who  made  our  cause  his  own, 

1  This  appeared  first  in  the  Daily  Advertiser  of  New  York,  March  7,  1790. 
It  is  the  first  of  Freneau's  series  of  poems  on  the  French  Revolution  and  its 
message.  Text  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


386  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

More  equal  rights  his  injured  subjects  claim, 

No  more  a  country's  strength  —  that  country's  shame ; 

Fame  starts  astonished  at  such  prizes  won, 

And  rashness  wonders  how  the  work  was  done. 

Flushed  with  new  life,  and  brightening  at  the  view, 
Genius,  triumphant,  moulds  the  world  anew ; 
To  these  far  climes  in  swift  succession  moves 
Each  art  that  Reason  owns  and  sense  approves. 
What  though  his  age  is  bounded  to  a  span 
Time  sheds  a  conscious  dignity  on  man, 
Some  happier  breath  his  rising  passion  swells, 
Some  kinder  genius  his  bold  arm  impels, 
Dull  superstition  from  the  world  retires, 
Disheartened  zealots  haste  to  quench  their  fires ; 
One  equal  rule  o'er  twelve  *  vast  States  extends, 
Europe  and  Asia  join  to  be  our  friends, 
Our  active  flag  in  every  clime  displayed 
Counts  stars  on  colours  that  shall  never  fade ; 
A  far  famed  chief  o'er  this  vast  whole  presides 
Whose  motto  Honor  is  —  whom  Virtue  guides 
His  walks  forsaken  in  Virginia's  groves 
Applauding  thousands  bow  where'er  He  moves, 
Who  laid  the  basis  of  this  Empire  sure 
Where  public  faith  should  public  peace  secure. 

Still  may  she  rise,  exalted  in  her  aims, 
And  boast  to  every  age  her  patriot  names, 
To  distant  climes  extend  her  gentle  sway, 
While  choice  —  not  force —  bids  every  heart  obey; 
Ne'er  may  she  fail  when  Liberty  implores, 
Nor  want  true  valour  to  defend  her  shores, 
'Till  Europe,  humbled,  greets  our  western  wave, 
And  owns  an  equal —  whom  she  wished  a  slave. 

*  At  this  time,  Rhode-Island  was  not  a  member  of  the  general  Confedera- 
tion of  the  American  States.     [1788] — Freneau's  note. 


1790]  TO  A  DOG  387 


TO  A  DOG1 

Occasioned  by  putting  him  on  shore  at  the  Island  of  Sapola,  for  theft 

Since  Nature  taught  you,  Tray,  to  be  a  thief, 
What  blame  have  you,  for  working  at  your  trade? 
What  if  you  stole  a  handsome  round  of  beef; 
Theft,  in  your  code  of  laws,  no  crime  was  made. 

The  ten  commandments  you  had  never  read, 
Nor  did  it  ever  enter  in  your  head : 
But  art  and  Nature,  careful  to  conceal, 
Disclos'd  not  even  the  Eighth  —  Thou  shalt  not  steal. 

Then  to  the  green  wood,  caitiff,  haste  away : 

There  take  your  chance  to  live  —  for  Truth  must  say, 

We  have  no  right,  for  theft,  to  hang  up  Tray. 


TO   LYDIA2 

"   Tu  procul  a  patria,  ah  dura!  inculta  deserta, 

Me  sine,  sola  vide  bis 

VIRG.  ECLOG. 

Thus,  safe  arrived,  she  greets  the  strand, 
And  leaves  her  pilot  for  the  land ; 
But  Lydia,  why  to  deserts  roam, 
And  thus  forsake  your  floating  home ! 

1  First  published  in  the  National  Gazette,  Nov.  3,  1791.      Sapola  Island 
is  one  of  the   sea-islands   of    Mclntosh   County,    Georgia,   forty-two  miles 
southwest  of   Savannah.      The  somewhat  unusual  proceeding   of  putting  a 
worthless  dog  on  shore,  instead  of  the  more  common  expedient  of  killing  him 
at  once,  is  only  another  evidence  of  the  poet's  kindly  heart.     Text  from  the 
edition  of  1809. 

2  There  is  a  discrepancy  in  the  dates  given  to  this  poem.     It  was  pub- 
lished in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  Sept.  3,  i?88,  with  the  preliminary  remarks  : 


388  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

To  what  fond  care  shall  I  resign 
The  bosom,  that  must  ne'er  be  mine : 
With  lips,  that  glow  beyond  all  art, 
Oh !   how  shall  I  consent  to  part !  — 

Long  may  you  live,  secure  from  woes, 
Late  dying,  meet  a  calm  repose, 
And  flowers,  that  in  profusion  grow, 
Bloom  round  your  steps,  where'er  you  go. 

On  you  all  eyes  delight  to  gaze, 
All  tongues  are  lavish  in  your  praise ; 
With  you  no  beauty  can  compare, 
Nor  Georgia  boast  one  flower  so  fair. 

Could  I,  fair  girl,  transmit  this  page, 
A  present,  to  some  future  age, 
You  should  through  every  poem  shine, 
You,  be  adored  in  every  line : 

From  Jersey  coasts  too  loth  to  sail, 
Sighing,  she  left  her  native  vale ; 
Borne  on  a  stream  that  met  the  main, 
Homeward  she  looked,  and  looked  again. 

The  gales  that  blew  from  off  the  land 
Most  wantonly  her  bosom  fanned, 
And,  while  around  that  heaven  they  strove, 
Each  whispering  zephyr  owned  his  love. 

"  The  following  copy  of  verses  came  accidentally  into  my  hands.  I  am  told 
that  it  was  written  by  Capt.  Freneau  and  addressed  to  a  young  Quaker  lady 
who  went  passenger  in  his  vessel  to  Georgia  to  reside  in  the  western  parts  of 
that  State.  From  the  New  York  Daily  Advertiser."  It  was  reprinted  in  the 
1795  edition,  and  in  the  edition  of  1809,  where  it  has  the  note  :  "  Miss  Lydia 
Morris,  a  young  quaker  lady,  on  her  landing  from  the  sloop  Industry,  at 
Savannah,  in  Georgia,  December  3Oth.  1806."  I  have  followed  the  1809  text.' 


179°]  TO  LYDIA  389 

As  o'er  the  seas,  with  you  I  strayed, 
The  hostile  winds  our  course  delayed, 
But,  proud  to  waft  a  charge  so  fair, 
To  me  were  kind  —  and  held  you  there. 

I  could  not  grieve,  when  you  complained 
That  adverse  gales  our  barque  detained 
Where  foaming  seas  to  mountains  grow, 
From  gulphs  of  death,  concealed  below. 

When  travelling  o'er  that  lonely  wave 
To  me  your  feverish  hand  you  gave, 
And  sighing,  bade  me  tell  you,  true, 
What  lands  again  would  rise  to  view ! 

When  night  came  on,  with  blustering  gale, 
You  feared  the  tempest  would  prevail, 
And  anxious  asked,  if  I  was  sure 
That  on  those  depths  we  sailed  secure  ? 

Delighted  with  a  face  so  fair, 

I  half  forgot  my  weight  of  care, 

The  dangerous  shoal,  that  seaward  runs, 

Encircled  moons,  and  shrouded  suns. 

With  timorous  heart  and  tearful  eyes, 
You  saw  the  deep  Atlantic  rise, 
Saw  wintry  clouds  their  storms  prepare, 
And  wept,  to  find  no  safety  there. 

Throughout  the  long  December's  night, 
(While  still  your  lamp  was  burning  bright) 
To  dawn  of  day  from  evening's  close 
My  pensive  girl  found  no  repose. 


39°  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Then  now,  at  length  arrived  from  sea, 
Consent,  fair  nymph,  to  stay  with  me  — 
The  barque  —  still  faithful  to  her  freight, 
Shall  still  on  your  direction  wait. 

Such  charms  as  your's  all  hearts  engage  ! 
Sweet  subject  of  my  glowing  page, 
Consent,  before  my  Argo  roves 
To  sun-burnt  isles  and  savage  groves. 

When  sultry  suns  around  us  glare, 
Your  poet,  still,  with  fondest  care, 
To  cast  a  shade,  some  folds  will  spread 
Of  his  coarse  topsails  o'er  your  head. 

When  round  the  barque  the  billowy  wave 
And  howling  winds,  tempestuous,  rave, 
By  caution  ruled,  the  helm  shall  guide 
Safely,  that  Argo  o'er  the  tide. 

Whene'er  some  female  fears  prevail, 
At  your  request  we'll  reef  the  sail, 
Disarm  the  gales  that  rudely  blow, 
And  bring  the  loftiest  canvas  low. 

When  rising  to  harass  the  main 
Old  Boreas  drives  his  blustering  train, 
Still  shall  they  see,  as  they  pursue, 
Each  tender  care  employed  for  you. 

To  all  your  questions — every  sigh! 
I  still  will  make  a  kind  reply ; 
Give  all  you  ask,  each  whim  allow, 
And  change  my  style  to  thee  and  thou. 


1790]  TO  CYNTHIA  391 

If  verse  can  life  to  beauty  give, 
For  ages  I  can  make  you  live ; 
Beyond  the  stars,  triumphant,  rise, 
While  Cynthia's  tomb  neglected  lies: 

Upon  that  face  of  mortal  clay 
I  will  such  lively  colours  lay, 
That  years  to  come  shall  join  to  seek 
All  beauty  from  your  modest  cheek. 

Then,  Lydia,  why  our  bark  forsake ; 
The  road  to  western  deserts  take  ? 
That  lip  —  on  which  hung  half  my  bliss, 
Some  savage,  now,  will  bend  to  kiss; 

Some  rustic  soon,  with  fierce  attack, 
May  force  his  arms  about  that  neck; 
And  you,  perhaps,  will  weeping  come 
To  seek — in  vain — your  floating  home! 


TO    CYNTHIA1 

Through  Jersey2  groves,  a  wandering  stream 
That  still  its  wonted  music  keeps, 
Inspires  no  more  my  evening  dream, 
Where  Cynthia,  in  retirement,  sleeps. 

Sweet  murmuring  stream !   how  blest  art  thou 
To  kiss  the  bank  where  she  resides, 
Where  Nature  decks  the  beechen  bough 
That  trembles  o'er  your  shallow  tides. 

1  This  poem  appeared  in  the  Freeman's  Journal,  Jan.  29,  1789,  under  the 
title:  "Stanzas  written  at  Baltimore  in   Maryland,  Jan.   1789,  by  Capt.  P. 
Freneau."     It  was  republished  in  the  Daily  Advertiser,  Jan.  5,  1790,  under 
the  title  "  To  Harriot."     It  was  used  in  the  editions  of  1795  and  1809.     The 
text  follows  the  latter  edition. 

2  "  Monmouth's."— Ed.  1789.     "  Morven's  vale."— Ed.  1790. 


392  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

The  cypress-tree  on  Hermit's  height, 
Where  Love  his  soft  addresses  paid 
By  Luna's  pale  reflected  light — 
No  longer  charms  me  to  its  shade ! 

To  me,  alas !   so  far  removed, 
What  raptures,  once,  that  scenery  gave, 
Ere  wandering  yet  from  all  I  loved, 
I  sought  a  deeper,  drearier  wave. 

Your  absent  charms  my  thoughts  employ : 
I  sigh  to  think  how  sweet  you  sung, 
And  half  adore  the  painted  toy 
That  near  my  careless  heart  you  hung. 

Now,  fettered  fast  in  icy  fields, 
In  vain  we  loose  the  sleeping  sail; 
The  frozen  wave  no  longer  yields, 
And  useless  blows  the  favouring  gale. 

Yet,  still  in  hopes  of  vernal  showers, 
And  breezes,  moist  with  morning  dew, 
I  pass  the  lingering,  lazy  hours, 
Reflecting  on  the  spring — and  you. 


AMANDA'S   COMPLAINT1 

"  In  shades  we  live,  in  shades  we  die, 
Cool  zephyrs  breathe  for  our  repose; 
In  shallow  streams  we  love  to  play, 
But,  cruel  you,  that  praise  deny 
Which  you  might  give,  and  nothing  lose, 
And  then  pursue  your  destined  way. 

1  First  published  in  the  New  York  Daily  Advertiser,  Sept.  7,  1790,  under 
the  title,  "Written  at  Cape  Hatteras,"  and  dated  June,  1789.     The  last  line 


1 79°]  AMANDA'S  COMPLAINT  393 

Ungrateful  man !   when  anchoring  here, 

On  shore  you  came  to  beg  relief ; 

I  shewed  you  where  the  fig  trees  grow, 

And  wandering  with  you,  free  from  fear, 

To  hear  the  story  of  your  grief 

I  pointed  where  the  cisterns  are, 

And  would  have  shewn,  if  streams  did  flow ! 

The  Men  that  spurned  your  ragged  crew, 
So  long  exposed  to  Neptune's  rage  — 
I  told  them  what  your  sufferings  were : 
Told  them  that  landsmen  never  knew 
The  trade  that  hastens  frozen  age, 
The  life  that  brings  the  brow  of  care. 

A  lamb,  the  loveliest  of  the  flock, 
To  your  disheartened  crew  I  gave, 
Life  to  sustain  on  yonder  deep  — 
Sighing,  I  cast  one  sorrowing  look 
When  on  the  margin  of  the  main 
You  slew  the  loveliest  of  my  sheep. 

Along  your  native  northern  shores, 
From  cape  to  cape,  where'er  you  stray, 
Of  all  the  nymphs  that  catch  the  eye, 
They  scarce  can  be  excelled  by  our's  — 
Not  in  more  fragrant  shades  they  play ;  — 
The  summer  suns  come  not  so  nigh. 

Confess  your  fault,  mistaken  swain, 
And  own,  at  least,  our  equal  charms - 

of  this  version  reads,  "  Hatteras  maidens  are  not  fair."  It  was  republished  in 
the  National  Gazette,  March  19,  1792,  under  the  title  "  Tormentina's  Com- 
plaint," and  dated  "Castle  Island,  Bermuda,  Jan.  20,  1789."  In  the  1809 
edition,  the  text  of  which  I  have  followed,  it  was  grouped  with  the  Amanda 
poems. 


394  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Have  you  no  flowers  of  ruddy  hue, 
That  please  your  fancy  on  the  plain  ?  — 
Would  you  not  guard  those  flowers  from  harm, 
If  Nature's  self  each  picture  drew  ! 

Vain  are  your  sighs  —  in  vain  your  tears, 
Your  barque  must  still  at  anchor  lay, 
And  you  remain  a  slave  to  care ; 
A  thousand  doubts,  a  thousand  fears, 
'Till  what  you  said,  you  shall  unsay, 
Bermudian  damsels  are  not  fair! 


HATTERAS1 

In  fathoms  five  the  anchor  gone; 

While  here  we  furl  the  sail, 

No  longer  vainly  labouring  on 

Against  the  western  gale : 

While  here  thy  bare  and  barren  cliffs, 

O  Hatteras,  I  survey, 

And  shallow  grounds  and  broken  reefs  — 

What  shall  console  my  stay ! 

The  dangerous  shoal,  that  breaks  the  wave 
In  columns  to  the  sky ; 
The  tempests  black,  that  hourly  rave, 
Portend  all  danger  nigh : 

1  Text  from  the  edition  of  1795.  The  poem  seems  to  have  appeared  first 
in  the  Freeman! s  Journal  of  Dec.  9,  1789,  with  the  title  "  The  Pilot  of  Hat- 
teras, by  Capt.  Philip  Freneau."  Affixed  was  the  note:  "This  celebrated 
genius,  the  Peter  Pindar  of  America,  is  now  a  master  of  a  packet  which  runs 
between  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Charleston.  His  tuneful  numbers 
during  the  war  did  much  to  soften  the  disagreeable  sensations  which  a  state  of 
warfare  so  generally  occasions."  The  poem  was  reprinted  in  the  National 
Gazette  of  Jan.  16,  1792,  with  the  note,  "  Written  off  the  Cape,  July,  1789,  on 
a  voyage  to  South  Carolina,  being  delayed  sixteen  days  with  strong  gales 
ahead."  The  poem  was  omitted  from  the  edition  of  1809. 


1790]  HATTERAS  395 

Sad  are  my  dreams  on  ocean's  verge ! 
The  Atlantic  round  me  flows, 
Upon  whose  ancient  angry  surge 
No  traveller  finds  repose ! 

The  Pilot  comes!  —  from  yonder  sands 
He  shoves  his  barque,  so  frail, 
And  hurrying  on,  with  busy  hands, 
Employs  both  oar  and  sail. 
Beneath  this  rude  unsettled  sky 
Condemn'd  to  pass  his  years, 
No  other  shores  delight  his  eye, 
No  foe  alarms  his  fears. 

In  depths  of  woods  his  hut  he  builds, 

Devoted  to  repose, 

And,  blooming,  in  the  barren  wilds 

His  little  garden  grows : 

His  wedded  nymph,  of  sallow  hue, 

No  mingled  colours  grace  — 

For  her  he  toils  —  to  her  is  true, 

The  captive  of  her  face. 

Kind  Nature  here,  to  make  him  blest, 

No  quiet  harbour  plann'd ; 

And  poverty — his  constant  guest, 

Restrains  the  pirate  band : 

His  hopes  are  all  in  yonder  flock, 

Or  some  few  hives  of  bees, 

Except,  when  bound  for  Ocracock,* 

Some  gliding  barque  he  sees: 

*A11  vessels  from  the  northward  that  pass  within  Hatteras  Shoals, 
bound  for  Newbern  and  other  places  on  Palmico  Sound,  commonly  in  favour- 
able weather  take  a  Hatteras  pilot  to  conduct  them  over  the  dangerous  bar  of 
Ocracock,  eleven  leagues  north  southwest  of  the  cape.—Freneau'f  note. 


396  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

His  Catharine  then  he  quits  with  grief, 

And  spreads  his  tottering  sails, 

While,  waving  high  her  handkerchief, 

Her  commodore  she  hails: 

She  grieves,  and  fears  to  see  no  more 

The  sail  that  now  forsakes, 

From  Hatteras'  sands  to  banks  of  Core 

Such  tedious  journies  takes ! 

Fond  nymph !   your  sighs  are  heav'd  in  vain  ; 

Restrain  those  idle  fears : 

Can  you  —  that  should  relieve  his  pain  — 

Thus  kill  him  with  your  tears ! 

Can  absence,  thus,  beget  regard, 

Or  does  it  only  seem  ? 

He  comes  to  meet  a  wandering  bard 

That  steers  for  Ashley's  stream. 

Though  disappointed  in  his  views, 

Not  joyless  will  we  part; 

Nor  shall  the  god  of  mirth  refuse 

The  Balsam  of  the  Heart: 

No  niggard  key  shall  lock  up  Joy  — 

I'll  give  him  half  my  store 

Will  he  but  half  his  skill  employ 

To  guard  us  from  your  shore. 

Should  eastern  gales  once  more  awake, 
No  safety  will  be  here :  — 
Alack !   I  see  the  billows  break, 
Wild  tempests  hovering  near: 
Before  the  bellowing  seas  begin 
Their  conflict  with  the  land, 
Go,  pilot,  go  —  your  Catharine  join, 
That  waits  on  yonder  sand. 


1 79°]  ST.  CATHARINE'S  397 


ST.   CATHARINE'S*1 

He  that  would  wish  to  rove  a  while 

In  forests  green  and  gay, 

From  Charleston  bar  to  Catharine's  isle 

Might  sigh  to  find  the  way ! 

What  scenes  on  every  side  appear, 

What  pleasure  strikes  the  mind, 

From  Folly's  train,  thus  wandering  far, 

To  leave  the  world  behind. 

The  music  of  these  savage  groves 

In  simple  accents  swells, 

And  freely  here,  their  sylvanloves 

The  feather'd  nation  tells ; 

The  panting  deer  through  mingled|shades 

Of  oaks  forever  green 

The  vegetable  world  invades, 

That  skirts  the  watery  scene. 

Thou  sailor,  now  exploring  far 

The  broad  Atlantic  wave, 

Crowd  all  your  canvas,  gallant  tar, 

Since  Neptune  never  gave 

On  barren  seas  so  fine  a  view 

As  here  allures  the  eye, 

Gay,  verdant  scenes  that  Nature  drew 

In  colours  from  the  sky. 

*  An  island  on  the  sea-coast  of  Georgia. — Frenearfs  note. 

1  Text  from  the  edition  of  1795.  The  poem  seems  to  have  appeared  first 
in  the  National  Gazette  of  Feb.  16,  1792,  under  the  title,  "  Lines  written  at 
St.  Catharine's  Island  on  the  coast  of  Georgia,  November,  1789."  The  poem 
is  not  found  in  the  1809  edition. 


39$  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

Ye  western  winds!   awhile  delay 

To  swell  the  expecting  sail  — 

Who  would  not  here,  a  hermit,  stay 

In  yonder  fragrant  vale, 

Could  he  engage  what  few  can  find, 

That  coy,  unwilling  guest 

(All  avarice  banish'd  from  the  mind) 

Contentment,  in  the  breast! 


TO  MR.  CHURCHMAN1 

On  the  rejection  of  his  Petition  to  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
to  enable  him  to  make  a  voyage  to  BAFFIN'S  BAY,  to  ascertain 
the  truth  of  his  Variation  Chart 

Churchman  !   methinks  your  scheme  is  rather  wild 

Of  travelling  to  the  pole 

Where  icy  billows  roll, 

And  pork  and  pease 

Are  said  to  freeze 

Even  at  the  instant  they  are  boil'd. 

Rejected,  now,  your  humble,  ardent  prayer 

For  cash,  to  speed  your  way 

To  Baffin's  frozen  bay, 

'Tis  your  own  fault  if  you  repine! 

You  should  have  mention'd  some  rich  golden  mine — 

Not  Variation  Charts,  that  claim  no  care. 

1  This  poem  is  found  only  in  the  1795  edition.  The  Journal  of  the  House 
of  Representatives,  ist  Congress,  ist  Session,  April  20,  1789,  notes  the  inves- 
tigations of  John  Churchman  in  regard  to  the  magnetic  needle  and  the 
determination  of  longitude  by  his  method  and  grants  to  Churchman  the 
right  of  exclusive  use  of  his  invention.  Unfavorable  report  on  his  petition  for 
aid  to  enable  him  to  make  a  voyage  to  Baffin's  Bay  to  pursue  his  investigations 
of  the  causes  of  the  variation  of  the  magnetic  needle. 


1790]  THE  PROCESSION  TO  SYLVANIA  399 

Avarice,  alone,  would  sooner  bid  you  go 
Than  all  the  inducements  Art  can  shew : 
The  men,  whom  you  petition  for  some  dollars, 
Tho'  willing  to  be  thought  prodigious  scholars, 
Yet  care  as  much  for  variation  charts 
As  king  of  spades,  and  knave  of  hearts. 

Churchman!    'tis  best  to  quit  this  vain  pursuit 
This  Variation  is  a  common  thing ! 
Rather  attach  yourself  to  Caesar's  wing  — 
You'll  find  it  better  —  better,  sir,  by  half, 
To  sooth  Pomposo's  ear  —  or  make  him  laugh : 
So  shall  you,  mounted  in  a  coach  and  six, 
Ride  envoy  to  the  country  of  the  Creeks  — 
So  shall  you  visit  Europe's  gaudy  courts, 
And  see  the  polish'd  world,  at  public  charge ; 
Return  —  and  spend  your  life  in  sports, 
Be  air'd  in  coach,  and  sail'd  in  barge :  — 
Pursue  this  track,  thou  man  of  curious  soul, 
Nor,  like  a  whale,  go  puffing  to  the  pole. 


THE  PROCESSION  TO  SYLVANIA1 

In  Life's  dull  round,  how  often  folks  are  cross'd, 
Their  projects  spoil'd,  their  sayings  misapplied ; 
Some  friends  in  woods  and  some  in  oceans  lost, 
Some  doom'd  to  walk  on  foot,  while  others  ride. 

1  Published  in  the  Daily  Advertiser,  Dec.  30,  1789,  with  this  introduc- 
tion :  ' '  The  seat  of  government  in  South  Carolina  is  removed  by  act  of 
Assembly  from  Charleston  to  Columbia,  a  dismal  place  in  the  centre  of  that 
state  consisting  of  only  four  houses.  This  removal  is  by  many  in  Carolina 
considered  as  premature  and  amongst  other  animadversions  has  occasioned  the 
two  following  poetic  pieces  which  from  several  circumstances  we  conclude  to 
have  been  written  by  Mr.  Freneau."  The  title  of  the  poem  was  originally 
"  The  Procession  to  Columbia."  It  was  published  only  in  the  1795  edition. 


400  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 

But,  now,  let  preachers  moralize  in  verse, 
While  I  to  yonder  caravan  attend 
That  all  prepar'd,  like  some  slow  moving  herse 
Begins  its  journey  to  an  Indian  land ; 

Bound  for  Sylvania! — sad,  disheartening  town, 
When  thou  art  nam'd  how  many  a  nymph  wilPsigh, 
Sigh,  lest  her  sweet-heart  should  return  a  clown 
With  grizly  homespun  coat,  long  beard,  and  pumpkin 
pye. 

This  caravan  with  wondrous  geer  is  stow'd, 
All  sorts  of  moveables — straw  beds,  and  cradles, 
Old  records,  salted  fish,  make  up  their  load, 
With  kegs  of  brandy,  frying  pans,  and  ladles. 

A  pensive  Printer  in  a  one-horse  chair 
( Dragg'd  slowly  on  by  sullen  sleepy  steed, 
With  some  ill-fated  squires)  brings  up  the  rear, 
Contriving  future  news  for  folks  to  read. 

To  guard  the  whole,  a  trusty  knight  appears, 
With  chosen  men,  to  keep  the  wolves  at  bay : 
They  march  —  and  lo !   Belinda  all  in  tears 
That  bears  must  hug  instead  of  ladies  gay. 


1790]  THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS  401 


THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS1 

From  his  obscure  abode, 

On  many  a  tiresome  road 
The  pilgrim,  musing,  took  his  way : 

Through  dark  and  dismal  groves 

Where  the  sad  turtle  loves 
To  pass  the  night,  and  kill  the  day. 

In  an  obscure  retreat, 

I  saw  the  pilgrim  greet, 
A  barren  soil  and  dreary  town ;  — 

Thy  streets  be-gloomed  with  trees 

With  pain  the  traveller  sees, 
Sylvania,  barren  of  renown.  — 

What  can  console  him  there  ?  — 

Not  even  a  house  of  prayer 
With  glittering  spire  is  seen  to  rise  — 

No  nymphs  in  gaudy  trim 

Will  there  be  seen  by  him ;  — 
No  music,  sermons,  balls,  or  pigeon  pies. 

Dull,  melancholy  streams, 

Dutch  politics  and  schemes, 
Owls  screeching  in  the  empty  street  — 

Wolves  howling  at  the  doors  — 

Bears  breaking  into  stores; 
These  make  the  picture  of  the  town  —  complete. 

1  In  the  Daily  Advertiser  of  Dec.  30,  1789,  this  bore  the  title,  "  A  View 
of  Columbia,"  and  the  opening  line  was  "From  Charleston's  gay  abode." 
In  the  1795  edition  the  title  was  changed  to  "  Lysander's  Retreat."  Text 
from  the  edition  of  1809. 


402  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


SANGRADO'S  EXPEDITION  TO  SYLVANIA1 

Tir'd  of  his  journey  o'er  a  sandy  waste, 

Sangrado  to  Sylvania 2  came  at  last : 

A  bear-skin  coat  was  round  his  carcase  roll'd, 

Shivering  with  northern  winds,3  that  blew  so  cold : 

Dark  was  the  night — much  for  his  shins  he  fear'd, 

For  not  one  lamp  in  all  the  town  appear'd, 

Twelve  was  the  hour  —  the  citizens,  in  bed, 

Slept  sound  —  of  bears  and  wolves  no  more  in  dread; 

No  city-guards,  no  watchmen  hove  in  sight, 

No  chyming  bell  sung  out  the  time  of  night ; 

But  foggy  blasts  .their  wintry  music  blew 

Through  shabby  trees  that  round  the  court-house4  grew ; 

At  length,  alighting  at  one  scurvy  dome, 

He  knock'd  —  and  hop'd  the  people  were  at  home. — 

Ho !  —  (  cry'd  the  man  within )  ho !  who  are  you  ?  — 
What!    heigh!  —  from  Cambria?5 — have  you  nothing 
new  ?  — 

Sangrado 

Nothing  at  all  —  the  times  are  shameful  bad  ; 
Money  at  ten  per  cent  —  hard  to  be  had : 

1  Published  in  the  Daily  Advertiser,  Feb.  5,   1790,  under  the  title  "A 
Columbian   Dialogue  from  the   Charleston  Gazette,   supposed    to  have   been 
written  by  Capt.  Freneau."     Text  from  the  1795  edition. 

2  "  Columbia." — Ed.  1790. 

3  "  Shivering  with  Hobaw  winds." — Ib. 

*  "  The  State  house."— Ib.  5  "  Charleston."— Ib. 


1790]  SANGRADO'S  EXPEDITION  403 

With  apples  and  potatoes,  our  dear  cousins 

The  northern  men,  are  pouring  in  by  dozens: 

The  French,  'tis  said,  will  soon  discharge  their  king- 

This,  friend,  is  all  I  know  —  and  all  I  bring  — 

Citizen 

What !   not  some  oysters,  gather'd  near  the  coast, 
Such  as  in  days  of  old  we  lov'd  to  roast  ? 

Sangrado 

No,  not  an  oyster — faith,  you're  in  a  dream, 
To  think  I'd  load  my  little  nag  with  them : 
We  both  are  weary ;   let  me  in,  I  pray, 
Even  though  you  turn  us  out  at  break  of  day. 

Citizen 

'Tis  midnight  now  —  return  from  whence  you  come  — 
High  time  all  honest  people  were  at  home. 

Sangrado 

Brother,  me  thinks  my  toes  are  somewhat  cold  — 
Unbar  your  door  —  if  one  may  be  so  bold: 
Wet  to  the  skin,  and  travelling  all  the  day, 
I  want  some  rest  —  open  the  door,  I  say! 

Citizen 

Open  the  door,  forsooth !  the  man  is  mad : 

Lodging  is  not  so  easy  to  be  had ; 

It  is  an  article  we  do  not  trade  in, 

Nor  shall  my  bed  by  all  the  world  be  laid  in. 

Our  very  hay-loft  is  as  full  as  can  be  — 

Push  off,  my  friend,  and  try  your  luck  at  Granby. 


404  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


THE  DISTREST  THEATRE*1 

Health  to  the  Muse!  — and  fill  the  glass, 
Heaven  grant  her  soon  some  better  place , 
Than  earthen  floor  and  fabric  mean, 
Where  disappointment  shades  the  scene : 

There  as  I  came,  by  rumour  led, 
I  sighed  and  almost  wished  her  dead ; 
Her  visage  stained  with  many  a  tear, 
No  Hallam  and  no  Henry  here ! 

But  what  could  all  their  art  attain  ?  — 
When  pointed  laws  the  stage  restrain 
The  prudent  Muse  obedience  pays 
To  sleepy  squires,  that  damn  all  plays. 

Like  thieves  they  hang  beyond  the  town, 
They  shove  her  off  —  to  please  the  gown ;  — 
Though  Rome  and  Athens  owned  it  true, 
The  stage  might  mend  our  morals  too. 

See,  Mopsus  all  the  evening  sits 
O'er  bottled  beer,  that  drowns  his  wits ; 
Were  Plays  allowed,  he  might  at  least 
Blush  —  and  no  longer  act  the  beast. 

*  Harmony  Hall,  at  Charleston,  now  demolished. — Freneau's  note. 

1  Published  in  the  National  Gazette,  Nov.  21,  1791,  with  the  following 
explanation  :  ' '  The  amusements  of  the  Theatre  were  some  time  since  prohib- 
ited within  the  limits  of  the  City  of  Charleston  by  an  act  of  the  Legislature  of 
the  State  of  South  Carolina.  In  obedience  to  this  act  all  subsequent  dramatic 
exhibitions  were  removed  to  an  obscure  building  in  the  City  of  liberties  called 
Harmony  Hall.  The  following  stanzas  owe  their  origin  to  the  above  edict." 
Text  from  the  1809  edition. 


1790]  THE  DISTREST  THEATRE  40$ 

See,  Marcia,  now  from  guardian  free, 
Retailing  scandal  with  her  tea ;  - 
Might  she  not  come,  nor  danger  fear 
From  Hamlet's  sigh,  or  Juliet's  tear. 

The  world  but  acts  the  player's  part*- 
(  So  says  the  motto  of  their  art)  — 
That  world  in  vice  great  lengths  is  gone 
That  fears  to  see  its  picture  drawn. 

Mere  vulgar  actors  cannot  please ; 
The  streets  supply  enough  of  these ; 
And  what  can  wit  or  beauty  gain 
When  sleepy  dullness  joins  their  train  ? 

A  State  betrays  a  homely  taste, 
By  which  the  stage  is  thus  disgraced, 
Where,  drest  in  all  the  flowers  of  speech, 
Dame  virtue  might  her  precepts  teach. 

Let  but  a  dancing  bear  arrive, 
A  pig,  that  counts  you  four,  or  five  — 
And  Cato,  with  his  moral  strain 
May  strive  to  mend  the  world  in  vain. 

*  Totus  Mundus  agit  Histrionem.—Freneau's  note. 


406  POEMS  OF  PHILIP  FRENEAU  [1781 


TO   MEMMIUS1 

Whoe'er  at  Court  would  hope  to  cut  a  dash, 
He  must  go  loaded  with  some  useful  trash, 
Something,  sage  Dullness,  to  prolong  your  reign ; 
All  fancy  —  stuff  —  all  ornament  is  vain! 

Happy  the  man  who  plans,  by  force  of  steam 
To  drive  his  boat  twelve  knots  against  the  stream ; 
Still  happier  he,  who,  born  to  build  a  bridge, 
Schemes  mighty  matters  on  some  river's  edge :  — 
Such  to  the  world  the  noblest  light  impart, 
The  first  in  genius,  and  the  first  in  art! 

Hence,  then,  ye  bards,  from  our  wise  court  refrain; 
Wiseacres  have  forestall'd  the  present  reign : 
"No  empty  scribblings  we  endure  at  court" 
(Cries  Publius,  poring  o'er  a  dull  Report;) 
11  Nothing  but  useful  projects  we  require, 
(Cries  a  new-fangled,  self-important  'squire) 
11  Even  Churchman,  with  his  chart,  will  just  but  do, 
"  Who  to  the  pole  will  now  all  art  pursue: 
"For  foreign  courts  have  fail'd  our  men  of  song, 
"And  trust  me,  bards,  the  Muses  went  along; 
"Since  that  bright  morn  they  stept  on  board  their  brig, 
"  No  Muses  here  —  no  Muses  are  with  pig; 
"Nor  'till  their  barque  shall  heave  in  sight,  once  more, 
"  Shall  one  true  Muse  grow  pregnant  on  this  shore!  " 

1This  poem  is  unique,  as  far  as  I  can  discover,  in  the  1795  edition.  The 
reference  to  steamboats  alludes  to  Fitch,  who  at  that  time  was  experimenting 
with  steam  navigation.  In  1790  he  completed  his  fourth  boat,  which  during 
the  summer  made  regular  trips  from  Philadelphia  to  Burlington,  at  the  rate  of 
eight  miles  per  hour. 


179°]  TO  MEMMIUS  407 

Now,  had  not  wayward  Fortune  fix'd  me  fast, 
Firm  to  a  point,  that  never  shall  be  pass'd ; 
Did  I  the  smiles  of  Fortune  still  pursue, 
And,  Memmius,  wish  to  rise  in  fame,  like  you, 
Were  this  my  scheme,  I'd  quit  at  once  the  sail, 
And  haste  to  court  with  compasses  and  scale, 
Quit  all  the  hopes  the  finer  arts  bestow, 
The  flowers  of  fancy,  and  —  no  fruits  that  grow; 
Indulge  that  powerful  something  in  the  scull 
That  makes  us  wealthy  while  it  keeps  us  dull, 
To  the  best  place  ensures  a  certain  claim, 
The  road  to  fortune,  and  the  road  to  fame. 


END  OF  VOLUME  II 


PS 

755 

A2 

1902 

v.2 


Freneau,  Philip  Morin 

The  poems  of  Philip  Freneau 


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