Chapter XIII: Prologue: 120 (4)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[226]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STANZAS[233]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ON THE BRITISH KING'S SPEECH[234]

Recommending Peace with the American States

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A NEW-YORK TORY'S EPISTLE[238]

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

May, 1783

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

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

[239] Two added lines in the later editions:

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

[240]

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

MANHATTAN CITY[241]

A Picture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[245]

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

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

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

[248]

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

VERSES[249]

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

_December, 1783_

1

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

2

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

3

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

4

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

5

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

6

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

7

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

8

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

9

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

10

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

11

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

12

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

13

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

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

14

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

15

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

16

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

17

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

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

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

RIVINGTON'S CONFESSIONS[251]

Addressed to the Whigs of New-York

_December 31, 1783_