Chapter IX: Part III: Era of the Freeman's Journal

1781--1790

ERA OF THE FREEMAN'S JOURNAL

1781--1790[41]

[41] This period began in August, 1781, when Freneau became connected with Mr. Francis Bailey's _Freeman's Journal_, in Philadelphia. In June, 1784, he left Philadelphia for a wandering career upon the ocean, which continued until 1790, when his assumption of the editorship of the _New York Advertiser_ and his marriage put an end for a time to his wanderings. The greater part of the poems written during this period appeared originally in the _Freeman's Journal_.

ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY[42]

Obtained by the gallant Captain Paul Jones, of the _Good Man Richard_, over the _Seraphis_, etc., under the command of Captain Pearson.

Written August, 1781

1

O'er the rough main with flowing sheet
The guardian of a numerous fleet,
_Seraphis_ from the Baltic came;
A ship of less tremendous force
Sail'd by her side the self-same course,
_Countess of Scarb'ro'_ was her name.

2

And now their native coasts appear,
Britannia's hills their summits rear
Above the German main;
Fond to suppose their dangers o'er,
They southward coast along the shore,
Thy waters, gentle Thames, to gain.

3

Full forty guns _Seraphis_ bore,
And _Scarb'ro's Countess_ twenty-four,
Mann'd with Old England's boldest tars--
What flag that rides the Gallic seas
Shall dare attack such piles as these,
Design'd for tumults and for wars!

4

Now from the top-mast's giddy height
A seaman cry'd--"Four sail in sight
"Approach with favouring gales;"
Pearson, resolv'd to save the fleet,
Stood off to sea these ships to meet,
And closely brac'd his shivering sails.

5

With him advanc'd the _Countess_ bold,
Like a black tar in wars grown old:
And now these floating piles drew nigh;
But, muse, unfold what chief of fame
In th' other warlike squadron came,
Whose standards at his mast head fly.

6

'Twas Jones, brave Jones, to battle led
As bold a crew as ever bled
Upon the sky surrounded main;
The standards of the Western World
Were to the willing winds unfurl'd,
Denying Britain's tyrant reign.

7

The _Good Man Richard_ led the line;
The _Alliance_ next: with these combine
The Gallic ship they _Pallas_ call:
The _Vengeance_, arm'd with sword and flame,
These to attack the Britons came--
But two accomplish'd all.

8

Now Phoebus sought his pearly bed:
But who can tell the scenes of dread,
The horrors of that fatal night!
Close up these floating castles came;
The _Good Man Richard_ bursts in flame;
_Seraphis_ trembled at the sight.

9

She felt the fury of her ball,
Down, prostrate down, the Britons fall;
The decks were strew'd with slain:
Jones to the foe his vessel lash'd;
And, while the black artillery flash'd,
Loud thunders shook the main.

10

Alas! that mortals should employ
Such murdering engines, to destroy
That frame by heav'n so nicely join'd;
Alas! that e'er the god decreed
That brother should by brother bleed,
And pour'd such madness in the mind.

11

But thou, brave Jones, no blame shalt bear;
The rights of men demand thy care:
For these you dare the greedy waves--
No tyrant on destruction bent
Has planned thy conquests--thou art sent
To humble tyrants and their slaves.

12

See!--dread _Seraphis_ flames again--
And art thou, Jones, among the slain,
And sunk to Neptune's caves below--
He lives--though crowds around him fall,
Still he, unhurt, survives them all;
Almost alone he fights the foe.

13

And can thy ship these strokes sustain?
Behold thy brave companions slain,
All clasp'd in ocean's dark embrace.
"Strike, or be sunk!"--the Briton cries--
"Sink, if you can!"--the chief replies,
Fierce lightnings blazing in his face.

14

Then to the side three guns he drew,
(Almost deserted by his crew)
And charg'd them deep with woe:
By Pearson's flash he aim'd the balls;
His main-mast totters--down it falls--
Tremendous was the blow.[43]

15

Pearson as yet disdain'd to yield,
But scarce his secret fears conceal'd,
And thus was heard to cry--
"With hell, not mortals, I contend;
"What art thou--human, or a fiend,
"That dost my force defy?

16

"Return, my lads, the fight renew!"
So call'd bold Pearson to his crew;
But call'd, alas! in vain;
Some on the decks lay maim'd and dead;
Some to their deep recesses fled,
And more were bury'd in the main.[44]

17

Distress'd, forsaken, and alone,
He haul'd his tatter'd standard down,
And yielded to his gallant foe;
Bold _Pallas_ soon the _Countess_ took,
Thus both their haughty colours struck,
Confessing what the brave can do.

18

But, Jones, too dearly didst thou buy
These ships possest so gloriously,
Too many deaths disgrac'd the fray:
Thy barque that bore the conquering flame,
That the proud Briton overcame,
Even she forsook thee on thy way;

19

For when the morn began to shine,
Fatal to her, the ocean brine
Pour'd through each spacious wound;
Quick in the deep she disappear'd,
But Jones to friendly Belgia steer'd,
With conquest and with glory crown'd.

20

Go on, great man, to daunt the foe,
And bid the haughty Britons know
They to our Thirteen Stars shall bend;
The Stars that veil'd in dark attire,
Long glimmer'd with a feeble fire,
But radiant now ascend;

21

Bend to the Stars that flaming rise
In western, not in eastern, skies,
Fair Freedom's reign restor'd.
So when the Magi, come from far,
Beheld the God-attending Star,
They trembled and ador'd.

[42] This was the first poem contributed by Freneau to the _Freeman's Journal_. It appeared August 8, 1781. The exploit of Jones is too well known to need further comment; it took place September 23, 1779. The text follows the edition of 1786.

[43] "Overwhelming half below."--_Ed. 1795._

[44] "And hosts were shrouded in the main."--_Ed. 1795._

AN ADDRESS[45]

To the Commander-in-Chief, Officers, and Soldiers of the American
Army

Accept, great men, that share of honest praise
A grateful nation to your merit pays:
Verse is too mean your merit to display,
And words too weak our praises to convey.
When first proud Britain raised her hostile hand
With claims unjust to bind our native land,
Transported armies, and her millions spent
To enforce the mandate that a tyrant sent;
"Resist! resist!" was heard through every state,
You heard the call, and feared your country's fate;
Then rising fierce in arms, for war arrayed,
You taught to vanquish those who dared invade.
Those British chiefs whom former wars had crowned
With conquest--and in every clime renowned;
Who forced new realms to own their monarch's law,
And whom even George beheld with secret awe--
Those mighty chiefs, compelled to fly or yield,
Scarce dared to meet you on the embattled field;
To Boston's port you chased the trembling crew,
Quick, even from thence the British veterans flew--
Through wintry waves they fled, and thought each wave
Their last, best safety from a foe so brave![46]
What men, like you, our warfare could command,
And bring us safely to the promised land?--
Not swoln with pride,[47] with victory elate--
'Tis in misfortune you are doubly great:
When Howe victorious our weak armies chased,
And, sure of conquest, laid Cesarea waste,
When prostrate, bleeding, at his feet she lay,
And the proud victor tore her wreathes away,
Each gallant chief[48] put forth his warlike hand
And raised the drooping genius of the land,
Repelled the foe, their choicest warriors slain,
And drove them howling to their ships again.
While others kindle into martial rage
Whom fierce ambition urges to engage,
An iron race, by angry heaven designed
To conquer first and then enslave mankind;
Here chiefs and heroes[49] more humane we see,
They venture life, that others may be free.
O! may you live to hail that glorious day
When Britain homeward shall pursue her way--
That race subdued, who filled the world with slain
And rode tyrannic o'er the subject main!--
What few presumed, you boldly have atchieved,
A tyrant humbled, and a world relieved.
O Washington, who leadst this glorious train,[50]
Still may the fates thy valued life maintain.--
Rome's boasted chiefs, who, to their own disgrace,
Proved the worst scourges of the human race,
Pierced by whose darts a thousand nations bled,
Who captive princes at their chariots led;
Born to enslave, to ravage, and subdue--
Return to nothing when compared to you;
Throughout the world your growing fame has spread,
In every country are your virtues read;
Remotest India hears your deeds of fame,
The hardy Scythian stammers at your name;
The haughty Turk, now longing to be free,
Neglects his Sultan to enquire of thee;
The barbarous Briton hails you to his shores,
And calls him Rebel, whom his heart adores.
Still may the heavens prolong your vital date,
And still may conquest on your banners wait:
Whether afar to ravaged lands you go,
Where wild Potowmac's rapid waters flow,
Or where Saluda laves the fertile plain
And, swoln by torrents, rushes to the main;
Or if again to Hudson you repair
To smite the cruel foe that lingers there--
Revenge their cause, whose virtue was their crime,
The exiled hosts from Carolina's clime.
Late from the world in quiet mayest thou rise
And, mourned by millions, reach your native skies--
With patriot kings and generous chiefs to shine,
Whose virtues raised them to be deemed divine:
May Vasa[A] only equal honours claim,
Alike in merits--not the first in fame!

[A] Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, the deliverer of his
country.--_Freneau's note._ In the earlier editions
this read _Louis_. First changed for the edition of
1795.

[45] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, September 5, 1781, under the title "To his Excellency General Washington," and reprinted without change in the edition of 1786. The same paper contained the following news item: "On Thursday, the 30th of August, at one o'clock in the afternoon, his excellency General Washington, Commander-in-chief of the American Armies, accompanied by the Generals Rochambeau and Chattelux, with their respective suites, arrived in this city." The early version was addressed wholly to Washington, the opening line reading, "Accept, great chief," etc. For the edition of 1795 it was changed to include officers and soldiers.

[46]

"* * * they fled, and thought the sea
With all its storms less terrible than thee!"--_Ed. 1786._

[47] "Not _Clinton-like_."--_Ib._

[48] "You undismay'd."--_Ib._

[49] "In him a hero."--_Ib._

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

A NEW-YORK TORY[51]

To His Friend in Philadelphia

Dear Sir, I'm so anxious to hear of your health,
I beg you would send me a letter by stealth:
I hope a few months will quite alter the case,
When the wars are concluded, we'll meet and embrace.

For I'm led to believe from our brilliant success,
And, what is as clear, your amazing distress,
That the cause of rebellion has met with a check
That will bring all its patrons to hang by the neck.

Cornwallis has managed so well in the South,
Those rebels want victuals to put in their mouth;
And Arnold has stript them, we hear, to the buff[52]--
Has burnt their tobacco, and left them--the snuff.

Dear Thomas, I wish you would move from that town
Where meet all the rebels of fame and renown;
When our armies, victorious, shall clear that vile nest
You may chance, though a Tory, to swing with the rest.

But again--on reflection--I beg you would stay--
You may serve us yet better than if moved away--
Give advice to Sir Harry of all that is passing,
What vessels are building, what cargoes amassing;

Inform, to a day, when those vessels will sail,
That our cruisers may capture them all, without fail--
By proceedings like these, your peace will be made,
The rebellious shall swing, but be you ne'er afraid.

I cannot conceive how you do to subsist--
The rebels are starving, except those who 'list;
And as you reside in the land of Gomorrah,
You must fare as the rest do, I think, to your sorrow.

Poor souls! if ye knew what a doom is decreed,
(I mean not for you, but for rebels indeed),
You would tremble to think of the vengeance in store,
The halters and gibbets--I mention no more.

The rebels must surely conclude they're undone,
Their navy is ruined, their armies have run;
It is time they should now from delusion awaken--
The rebellion is done--for the _Trumbull_[53] is taken!

[51] _Freeman's Journal_, September 5, 1781.

[52] Cornwallis, in command of the British army in the South, was in the early part of 1781 working his way steadily northward from South Carolina. Benedict Arnold arrived in the Chesapeake, January 2, 1781, and, supported by the British navy there, committed extensive ravages on the rivers and unprotected coasts of Virginia. Arnold offered to spare Richmond if he were given its stores of tobacco. The offer being rejected, the city with its tobacco was burned.

[53] The American frigate _Trumbull_, 20, Captain James Nicholson, was chased off the capes of the Delaware, August 8th, 1781, by three British cruisers. As it was blowing heavily towards night, the fore-topmast of the _Trumbull_ was carried away by a squall, bringing down with it, on deck, the main-topgallant mast. About ten o'clock at night, one of the British vessels, the _Iris_, 32, came up and closed with her while still encumbered with the wreck. "In the midst of rain and squalls, in a tempestuous night, with most of the forward hamper of the ship over her bows, or lying on the forecastle, with one of the arms of the fore-topsail yard run through her fore-sail, and the other jammed on deck, and with a disorganized crew, Captain Nicholson found himself compelled to go to quarters, or to strike without resistance. He preferred the first; but the English volunteers, instead of obeying orders, went below, extinguished the lights, and secreted themselves. Near half of the remainder of the people imitated this example, and Captain Nicholson could not muster fifty of even the diminished crew he had, at the guns. The battle that followed might almost be said to have been fought by the officers. These brave men, sustained by a party of the petty officers and seamen, managed a few of the guns for more than an hour, when the _General Monk_, 18, coming up and joining in the fire of the _Iris_, the _Trumbull_ submitted."--_Cooper's Naval History._--[_Duyckinck's note, ed. of 1865._]

TO LORD CORNWALLIS[54]

At York, Virginia

Hail, great destroyer (equalled yet by none)
Of countries not your master's, nor your own;
Hatched by some demon on a stormy day,
Satan's best substitute to burn and slay;
Confined at last, hemmed in by land and sea,
Burgoyne himself was but a type of thee!
Like his, to freedom was your deadly hate,
Like his your baseness, and be his your fate:
To you, like him, no prospect Nature yields,
But ruined wastes and desolated fields[55]--
In vain you raise the interposing wall,
And hoist those standards that, like you, must fall,
In you conclude the glories of your race,
Complete your monarch's and your own disgrace.
What has your lordship's pilfering arms attained?--
Vast stores of plunder, but no State regained--
That may return, though you perhaps may groan,
Restore it, Charley,[56] for 'tis not your own--
Then, lord and soldier, headlong to the brine
Rush down at once--the devil and the swine.
Wouldst thou at last with Washington engage,
Sad object of his pity, not his rage?
See, round thy posts how terribly advance
The chiefs, the armies, and the fleets of France;[57]
Fight while you can, for warlike Rochambeau
Aims at your head his last decisive blow,
Unnumbered ghosts from earth untimely sped,
Can take no rest till you, like them, are dead--
Then die, my Lord; that only chance remains
To wipe away dishonourable stains,
For small advantage would your capture bring,
The plundering servant of a bankrupt king.

[54] This did not appear in the _Freeman's Journal_. In the edition of 1786 it bore the title, "To Lord Cornwallis, at York, Virginia, October 8, 1781."

[55] Cornwallis arrived in Virginia from his Southern campaign early in the summer of 1781, and immediately began with extreme vigor to subjugate that State. His cruelty and severity were exceptional, even in the annals of war. "The Americans of that day," says Bancroft, "computed that Cornwallis, in his midsummer marchings up and down Virginia, destroyed property to the value of three million pounds sterling."

[56] "Ruffian."--_Ed. 1786._

[57] On October 8th, Cornwallis, at York, was surrounded by the American army, who had just completed the first line of trenches. The redoubts were so far enough completed on the 9th that the Americans and French felt ready to begin the bombardment of the British works.

A LONDON DIALOGUE[58]

Between My Lords, Dunmore and Germaine

_Dunmore_

Ever since I return'd to my dear native shore,
No poet in Grubstreet was ever dunned more--
I'm dunned by my barber, my taylor, my groom;
How can I do else than to fret and to fume?
They join to attack me with one good accord,
From morning till night 'tis "my lord, and my lord."
And there comes the cobler, so often denied--
If I had him in private, I'd thresh his tough hide.

_Germaine_

Would you worry the man that has found you in shoes?
Come, courage, my lord, I can tell you good news--
Virginia is conquered, the rebels are banged,[59]
You are now to go over and see them safe hanged:
I hope it is not to your nature abhorrent
To sign for these wretches a handsome death warrant--
Were I but in your place, I'm sure it would suit
To sign their death warrants, and hang them to boot.

_Dunmore_

My lord!--I'm amazed--have we routed the foe?--
I shall govern again then, if matters be so--
And as to the hanging, in short, to be plain,
I'll hang them so well, they'll ne'er want it again.
With regard to the wretches who thump at my gates,
I'll discharge all their dues with the rebel estates;
In less than three months I may send a polacca
As deep as she'll swim, sir, with corn and tobacco.

_Germaine_

And send us some rebels--a dozen or so--
They'll serve here in London by way of a show;
And as to the Tories, believe me, dear cousin,
We can spare you some hundreds to pay for the dozen.

[58] _Freeman's Journal_, September 19, 1781. The original title, the one used in the 1786 edition, was "Dialogue between the Lords Dunmore and Mansfield." Lord Dunmore was Governor of Virginia at the beginning of the war, in 1775, and was driven from that State by the outraged colonists. He continued in America, in various capacities, until near the close of the war. Lord George Germaine was Colonial Secretary under George III., and so had charge of the American War.

[59] Alluding to the vigorous campaign of Cornwallis. In June, Germaine had written to Cornwallis: "The rapidity of your movements is justly matter of astonishment to all Europe." On August 2nd he wrote: "I see nothing to prevent the recovery of the whole country to the King's obedience."

LORD CORNWALLIS TO SIR HENRY CLINTON[60]

[From York, Virginia]

From clouds of smoke, and flames that round me glow,
To you, dear Clinton, I disclose my woe:
Here cannons flash, bombs glance, and bullets fly;
Not Arnold's[61] self endures such misery.
Was I foredoomed in tortures[62] to expire,
Hurled to perdition in a blaze of fire?
With these blue flames can mortal man contend--
What arms can aid me, or what walls defend?
Even to these gates last night a phantom strode,
And hailed me trembling to his dark abode:
Aghast I stood, struck motionless and dumb,
Seized with the horrors of the world to come.
Were but my power as mighty as my rage,
Far different battles would Cornwallis wage;
Beneath his sword yon' threat'ning hosts should groan,
The earth would quake with thunders all his own.
O crocodile! had I thy flinty hide,
Swords to defy, and glance the balls aside,
By my own prowess would I rout the foe,
With my own javelin would I work their woe--
But fates averse, by heaven's supreme decree,
Nile's serpent formed more excellent than me.
Has heaven, in secret, for some crime decreed
That I should suffer, and my soldiers bleed?
Or is it by the jealous powers concealed,
That I must bend, and they ignobly yield?
Ah! no--the thought o'erwhelms my soul with grief:
Come, bold Sir Harry, come to my relief;
Come, thou brave man, whom rebels Tombstone call,
But Britons, Graves[63]--come Digby, devil and all;
Come, princely William, with thy potent aid,
Can George's blood by Frenchmen be dismayed?
From a king's uncle once Scotch rebels run,
And shall not these be routed by a son?
Come with your ships to this disastrous shore,
Come--or I sink--and sink to rise no more;
By every motive that can sway the brave
Haste, and my feeble, fainting army save;
Come, and lost empire o'er the deep regain,
Chastise these upstarts that usurp the main;
I see their first rates to the charge advance,
I see lost _Iris_ wear the flags of France;
There a strict rule the wakeful Frenchman keeps;
There, on no bed of down, Lord Rawdon sleeps!
Tired with long acting on this bloody stage,
Sick of the follies of a wrangling age,
Come with your fleet, and help me to retire
To Britain's coast, the land of my desire--
For, me the foe their certain captive deem,
And every trifler[64] takes me for his theme--
Long, much too long in this hard service tried,
Bespattered still, be-deviled, and belied;
With the first chance that favouring fortune sends
I fly, converted, from this land of fiends;
Convinced, for me, she has no gems in store,
Nor leaves one triumph, even to hope for more.

[60] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, October 17, 1781, two days before the final surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown. "On the seventeenth [of September] Cornwallis reported to Clinton: 'This place is in no state of defence. If you cannot relieve me very soon, you must be prepared to hear the worst.'"--_Bancroft._

[61] "Satan's self."--_Ed. 1786._

[62] "Like Korah."--_Ib._

[63] "Lord Sandwich, after the retirement of Howe, gave the naval command at New York to officers without ability; and the aged Arbuthnot was succeeded by Graves, a coarse and vulgar man of mean ability, and without skill in his profession."--_Bancroft._

[64] "School-boy."--_Ed. 1786._

THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE[65]

To Thyrsis

In youth, gay scenes attract our eyes,
And not suspecting their decay
Life's flowery fields before us rise,
Regardless of its winter day.

But vain pursuits and joys as vain,
Convince us life is but a dream.
Death is to wake, to rise again
To that true life you best esteem.

So nightly on some shallow tide,
Oft have I seen a splendid show;
Reflected stars on either side,
And glittering moons were seen below.

But when the tide had ebbed away,
The scene fantastic with it fled,
A bank of mud around me lay,
And sea-weed on the river's bed.

[65] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, October 24, 1781, under the title "A Moral Thought," and reprinted without change in the edition of 1786.

ON THE FALL OF GENERAL EARL CORNWALLIS

Who, with above seven thousand Men, surrendered themselves
prisoners of war to the renowned and illustrious General GEORGE
WASHINGTON, Commander-in-chief of the allied armies of France
and America, on the memorable 19th of _October_, 1781.[66]

"Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
"That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
"_Ad manes fratrum_ sacrifice his flesh,
"Before this earthly prison of their bones;
"That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
"Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth."
--_Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus_, Act I, Scene II.

A Chieftain join'd with[67] Howe, Burgoyne, and Gage,
Once more, nor this the last, provokes my rage--
Who saw these Nimrods first for conquest burn!
Who has not seen them to the dust return?
This ruffian[68] next, who scour'd our ravag'd fields,
Foe to the human race,[69] Cornwallis yields!--
None e'er before essay'd such desperate crimes,
Alone he stood, arch-butcher of the times,
Rov'd uncontroul'd this wasted country o'er,
Strew'd plains with dead, and bath'd his jaws with gore?[70]
'Twas thus the wolf, who sought by night his prey,
And plunder'd all he met with on his way,
Stole what he could, and murder'd as he pass'd,
Chanc'd on a trap, and lost his head at last.
What pen can write, what human tongue can tell
The endless murders of this man of hell![71]
Nature in him disgrac'd the form divine;
Nature mistook, she meant him for a--swine:
That eye his forehead to her shame adorns;
Blush! nature, blush--bestow him tail and horns!--
By him the orphans mourn--the widow'd dame
Saw ruin spreading in the wasteful flame;
Gash'd o'er with wounds beheld with streaming eye
A son, a brother, or a consort, die!--
Through ruin'd realms bones lie without a tomb,
And souls he sped to their eternal doom,
Who else had liv'd, and seen their toils again
Bless'd by the genius of the rural reign.
But turn your eyes, and see the murderer fall,[72]
Then say--"Cornwallis has atchiev'd it all."--
Yet he preserves the honour and the fame
That vanquish'd heroes only ought to claim--
Is he a hero!--Read, and you will find
Heroes are beings of a different kind:--
Compassion to the worst of men is due,
And mercy heaven's first attribute, 'tis true;
Yet most presume it was too nobly done
To grant mild terms to Satan's first-born son.
Convinc'd we are, no foreign spot on earth
But Britain only, gave this reptile[73] birth.
That white-cliff'd isle, the vengeful dragon's[74] den,
Has sent us monsters where we look'd for men.
When memory paints their horrid deeds anew,
And brings these murdering miscreants to your view,
Then ask the leaders of these bloody bands,
Can they expect compassion at our hands?--
But may this year, the glorious eighty-one,
Conclude successful, as it first begun;[75]
This brilliant year their total downfall see,
And what Cornwallis is, may Clinton be.[76]
O come the time, nor distant be the day,
When our bold navy shall its wings display;
Mann'd by our sons, to seek that barbarous shore,[77]
The wrongs revenging that their fathers bore:
As Samuel hew'd the tyrant Agag down,[78]
So hew the wearer of the British crown;
Unpitying, next his hated offspring slay,
Or into foreign lands the fiends convey:[79]
Give them their turn to pine and die in chains,
'Till not one monster[80] of the race remains.
Thou, who resid'st on those thrice happy shores,
Where white rob'd peace her envied blessings pours,
Stay, and enjoy the pleasures that she yields;
But come not, stranger, to our wasted fields,
For warlike hosts on every plain appear,
War damps the beauties of the rising year:
In vain the groves their bloomy sweets display;
War's clouded winter chills the charms of May:
Here human blood the trampled harvest stains;
Here bones of men yet whiten all the plains;
Seas teem with dead; and our unhappy shore
Forever blushes with its children's gore.
But turn your eyes--behold the tyrant fall,
And think[81]--Cornwallis has atchiev'd it all.--
All mean revenge Americans disdain,
Oft have they prov'd it, and now prove again;
With nobler fires their generous bosoms glow;
Still in the captive they forget the foe:--
But when a nation takes a wrongful cause,
And hostile turns to heaven's and nature's laws;
When, sacrificing at ambition's shrine,
Kings slight the mandates of the power divine,
And devastation spread on every side,
To gratify their malice or their pride,
And send their slaves their projects to fulfil,
To wrest our freedom, or our blood to spill:--
Such to forgive, is virtue too sublime;
For even compassion has been found a crime.
A prophet once, for miracles renown'd,
Bade Joash smite the arrows on the ground--
Taking the mystic shafts, the prince obey'd,
Thrice smote them on the earth--and then he stay'd--
Griev'd when he saw full victory deny'd,
"Six times you should have smote," the prophet cry'd,
"Then had proud Syria sunk beneath thy power,
"Now thrice you smite her--but shall smite no more."
Cornwallis! thou art rank'd among the great;
Such was the will of all-controuling fate.
As mighty men, who liv'd in days of yore,
Were figur'd out some centuries before;
So you with them in equal honour join,
Your great precursor's name was Jack Burgoyne!
Like you was he, a man in arms renown'd,
Who, hot for conquest, sail'd the ocean round;
This, this was he, who scour'd the woods for praise,
And burnt down cities[A] to describe the blaze!
So, while on fire, his harp Rome's tyrant strung,
And as the buildings flam'd, old Nero sung.
Who would have guess'd the purpose of the fates,
When that proud boaster bow'd to conquering Gates!--
Then sung the sisters[B] as the wheel went round,
(Could we have heard the invigorating sound)
Thus surely did the fatal sisters sing--
"When just four years do this same season bring,
"And in his annual journey, when the sun
"Four times completely shall his circuit run,
"An angel then shall rid you of your fears,
"By binding Satan for a thousand years,
"Shall lash the serpent[82] to the infernal shore,
"To waste the nations and deceive no more,
"Make wars and blood, and tyranny to cease,
"And hush the fiends of Britain[83] into peace."
Joy to your lordship, and your high descent,
You are the Satan that the sisters meant.
Too soon you found your race of ruin run,
Your conquests ended, and your battles done!
But that to live is better than to die,
And life you chose, though life with infamy,
You should have climb'd your loftiest vessel's deck,[84]
And hung a millstone round your halter'd neck--[85]
Then plung'd forever to the wat'ry bed,
Hell in your heart, and vengeance on your head.[86]
All must confess, that in regard to you,[87]
'Twas wrong to rob the devil of his due--
For Hayne, for Hayne![88] no death but thine atones;
For thee, Cornwallis, how the gallows groans!
That injur'd man's, and all the blood you've shed,
That blood shall rest on your devoted head;
Asham'd to live, and yet afraid to die,
Your courage slacken'd as the foe drew nigh--
Ungrateful wretch, to yield your favourite band
To chains and prisons in a hostile land:
To the wide world your Negro friends to cast,
And leave your Tories to be hang'd at last!--
You should have fought with horror and amaze,
'Till scorch'd to cinders in the cannon blaze,
'Till all your host of Beelzebubs[89] was slain,
Doom'd to disgrace no human shape again--
As if from hell this horned host he drew,[90]
Swift from the South the embodied ruffians[91] flew;
Destruction follow'd at their cloven feet,
'Till you, Fayette, constrain'd them to retreat,
And held them close, 'till thy fam'd squadron came,
De Grasse, completing their eternal shame.
When the loud cannon's unremitting glare
And red hot balls compell'd you to despair,
How could you stand to meet your generous foe?
Did not the sight confound your soul with woe?--
In thy great soul what god-like virtues shine,
What inborn greatness, Washington, is thine!--
Else had no prisoner trod these lands to-day,
All, with his lordship, had been swept away,
All doom'd alike death's vermin to regale,
Nor one been left to tell the dreadful tale!
But his own terms the vanquish'd murderer[92] nam'd--
He nobly gave the miscreant[93] all he claim'd,
And bade Cornwallis, conquer'd and distress'd,
Bear all his torments in his tortur'd breast.
Now curs'd with life, a foe to man and God,
Like Cain, I drive you to the land of Nod.
He with a brother's blood his hands did stain,
One brother he, you have a thousand slain.
And, O! may heaven affix some public mark[94]
To know Cornwallis--may he howl and bark!--
On eagle's wings explore your downward flight[95]
To the deep horrors of the darkest night,[96]
Where, rapt in shade on ocean's utmost bound,[97]
No longer sun, nor moon, nor stars are found;
Where never light her kindling radiance shed,
But the dark comets rove with all their dead,[C]
Doom'd through the tracks of endless space to run
No more revolving to confound the sun.
Such horrid deeds your spotted soul[98] defame
We grieve to think your shape and ours the same!
Enjoy what comfort in this life you can,[99]
The form you have, not feelings of a man;
Haste to the rocks, thou curse to human kind,
There thou may'st wolves and brother tygers find;
Eternal exile be your righteous doom
And gnash your dragon's teeth in some sequester'd gloom;
Such be the end of each relentless foe
Who feels no pity for another's woe;
So may they fall[100]--even you, though much too late,
Shall curse the day you languished to be great;
Haste from the torments of the present life,[101]
Quick, let the halter end thee or the knife;
So may destruction rush with speedy wing,
Low as yourself, to drag your cruel king;[102]
His head torn off, his hands, his feet, and all,[103]
Deep in the dust may Dagon's image fall;
His stump alone escape the vengeful steel,
Sav'd but to grace the gibbet or the wheel.

[A] Charlestown, near Boston. See his letter on that
occasion.--_Freneau's note._ The poet has satirized
Burgoyne's literary pretentions in the "Voyage to
Boston," _q. v._

[B] The _Parcae_, or _Fates_, who, according to the Heathen
mythology, were three in number.--_Ib._

[C] See Whiston's Hypothesis.--_Freneau's note._

[66] This title was changed for the edition of 1795 by leaving out the words "the renowned and illustrious General George Washington, Commander-in-chief of," and also the quotation from Shakespeare. The same title was used in 1809, with the added quotation:

"_One brilliant game our arms have won to-day,
Another_, PRINCES, _yet remains to play,
Another mark our arrows must attain--_
GALLIA _assist!--nor be our efforts vain_."
--_Hom. Odyssey, Book XXII._

In the issue of the _Freeman's Journal_ of October 24, 1781, the editor voiced his joy by printing the following in huge letters, that covered more than half of the first page of the paper:

BE IT REMEMBERED

That on the 17th day of October, 1781, Lieut. General Charles Earl
Cornwallis with above 5000 British troops surrendered themselves
prisoners of war to his excellency Gen. George Washington,
commander in chief of the allied forces of France and America.

LAUS DEO!--

Two weeks later, in the issue of November 7th, Freneau printed the above poem. It was so mutilated and changed for the edition of 1795 that I have reproduced the test of the 1786 edition, which was printed verbatim from the newspaper, and have indicated in the footnotes the most significant changes.

[67] "Formed on."--_Ed. 1795._

[68] "Conqueror."--_Ib._

[69] "Foe to the rights of man."--_Ib._

[70] This does not overdo the contemporary estimate of Cornwallis. Attempting to crush at once the American rebellion by the use of the harshest measures, he inaugurated a veritable reign of terror. "Cruel measures seek and find cruel agents; officers whose delight was in blood patrolled the country, burned houses, ravaged estates, and put to death whom they would.... For two years cold-blooded assassinations, often in the house of the victim and in the presence of his wife and little children, were perpetrated by men holding the king's commission."--_Bancroft._

[71] "Lord of war."--_Ed. 1795._

[72] This line and the nine following lines were omitted from the edition of 1795.

[73] "Warrior."--_Ed. 1795._

[74] "Tyrant's."--_Ib._

[75] "And all wars be done."--_Ib._

[76] "Sir Henry be."--_Ib._

[77] "Manned by brave souls, to see the British shore."--_Ib._

[78] "As earthquakes shook the huge Colossus down."--_Ed. 1795._

[79] "By force convey."--_Ib._

[80] "Tyrant."--_Ib._

[81] "Nor say."--_Ib._

[82] "His godship."--_Ed. 1795._

[83] "The rage of Europe."--_Ib._

[84] "Mast."--_Ib._

[85] "Took one sad survey of your wanton waste."--_Ib._

[86] "Lost all your honours--even your memory dead."--_Ib._

[87] This and the five following lines omitted in edition of 1795.

[88] An allusion to the brutal execution of the patriot, Isaac Hayne, of Charlestown, by General Rawdon, in the summer of 1781. The guilt of this crime rests almost wholly upon Rawdon. Yet "his first excuse for the execution was in the order of Cornwallis which had filled the woods of Carolina with assassins."--_Bancroft._

[89] "Gog-magogs."--_Ed. 1795._

[90] "From depth of woods this hornet host he drew."--_Ib._

[91] "Envenom'd ruffians."--_Ib._

[92] "The mean invader."--_Ib._

[93] "The prisoner."--_Ib._

[94] This line and the next omitted from later editions.

[95] "Homeward flight."--_Ed. 1795._

[96] "Plan future conquests and new battles fight."--_Ib._

[97] This and the following five lines omitted from later editions.

[98] "Your murdering host."--_Ed. 1795._

[99] This and the following seven lines omitted from later editions.

[100] "Remorse be theirs."--_Ed. 1809._

[101] This line and the following omitted from later editions.

[102] "Each tyrant king."--_Ed. 1809._

[103] The later editions end at this point as follows:

"Swept from this stage, the race that vex our ball,
Deep in the dust may every monarch fall,
To wasted nations bid a long adieu,
Shrink from an injured world--and fare like you."

TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS[104]

Under General Greene, in South Carolina, who fell in the action of September 8, 1781

At Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er--
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more![105]

If in this wreck of ruin, they
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite your gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!

Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign;
Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!

Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
You too may fall, and ask a tear;
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear.--

They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear--but left the shield.[106]

Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None distant viewed the fatal plain,
None grieved, in such a cause to die--

But, like the Parthian, famed of old.
Who, flying, still their arrows threw,
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.[107]

Now rest in peace, our patriot band;
Though far from nature's limits thrown,
We trust they find a happier land,
A brighter sunshine of their own.

[104] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, November 21, 1781. The patriot army under Greene spent the summer of 1781 in the High Hills of Santee, in South Carolina. "On the 22d of August, Greene broke up his camp very quietly and started out on the last of his sagacious campaigns.... By vigilant scouting parties, he so completely cut off the enemy's means of information that Stuart remained ignorant of his approach until he was close at hand. The British commander then fell back on Eutaw Springs, about fifty miles from Charleston, where he waited in a strong position. The battle of Eutaw Springs may be resolved into two brief actions between sunrise and noon of the 8th of September, 1781. In the first action the British line was broken and driven from the field. In the second, Stuart succeeded in forming a new line, supported by a brick house and palisaded garden, and from this position Greene was unable to drive him. It has therefore been set down as a British victory. If so, it was a victory followed the next evening by the hasty retreat of the victors, who were hotly pursued by Marion and Lee."--_Fiske._

[105] "In the two engagements the Americans lost in killed, wounded, and missing, five hundred and fifty-four men."--_Bancroft._

[106] Scott borrowed this line in the introduction to the third canto of _Marmion_, in the apostrophe to the Duke of Brunswick, which reads thus:

"Lamented Chief!--not thine the power
To save in that presumptuous hour,
When Prussia hurried to the field
And snatched the spear but left the shield."

[107] After the first engagement the British fled in confusion. Greene, in his eagerness, pursued them too closely, and sheltered by the brick house, they inflicted upon the advancing Americans the greater part of the loss of life incurred during the battle.

ARNOLD'S DEPARTURE[108]

Imitated from Horace

"_Mala soluta navis exit alite
Ferens olentem Maevium_," &c.

With evil omens from the harbour sails
The ill-fated barque that worthless Arnold bears,--
God of the southern winds, call up the gales,
And whistle in rude fury round his ears.

With horrid waves insult his vessel's sides,
And may the east wind on a leeward shore
Her cables part while she in tumult rides,
And shatter into shivers every oar.

And let the north wind to her ruin haste,
With such a rage, as when from mountains high
He rends the tall oak with his weighty blast,
And ruin spreads where'er his forces fly.

May not one friendly star that night be seen;
No moon, attendant, dart one glimmering ray,
Nor may she ride on oceans more serene
Than Greece, triumphant, found that stormy day,

When angry Pallas spent her rage no more
On vanquished Ilium, then in ashes laid,
But turned it on the barque that Ajax[A] bore,
Avenging thus her temple and the maid.

[A] Ajax the younger, son of Oileus, king of the Locrians. He
debauched Cassandra in the temple of Pallas, which was the
cause of his misfortune on his return from the siege of
Troy.--_Freneau's note._

When tossed upon the vast Atlantic main
Your groaning ship the southern gales shall tear,
How will your sailors sweat, and you complain
And meanly howl to Jove, that will not hear!

But if, at last, upon some winding shore
A prey to hungry cormorants you lie,
A wanton goat to every stormy power,[B]
And a fat lamb, in sacrifice, shall die.

[B] The _Tempests_ were Goddesses amongst the Romans.--_Ib._

[108] First published in the July 10, 1782, issue of the _Freeman's Journal_, under the title "The 10th Ode Horace's Book of Epodes Imitated. Written in December, 1781, upon the departure of General Arnold from New-York." The poem was reprinted verbatim in the 1786 edition.

"The capitulation at Yorktown having virtually put an end to the war, and Arnold, finding himself neither respected by the British officers nor likely to be further employed in the service, obtained permission from Sir Henry Clinton to go to England. He sailed from New York with his family in December, 1781."--_Sparks' Life of Arnold._

PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER, TO HIS FRIEND THEON[109]

_Semel omnibus calcanda via Lethi._--Hor.

Why, Theon, wouldst thou longer groan
Beneath a weight of years and woe,
Thy youth is lost, thy pleasures flown,
And time proclaims, "'Tis time to go."

To willows sad and weeping yews
With me a while, dear friend, repair,[110]
Nor to the vault thy steps refuse,
Thy constant home shall soon be there.

To summer suns and winter moons
Prepare to bid a long adieu,
Autumnal seasons shall return
And spring shall bloom, but not for you.

Why so perplext with cares and toil
To rest upon this darksome road,
'Tis but a thin, a thirsty soil,
A barren and a bleak abode.

Constrain'd to dwell with pain and care,
These dregs of life are bought too dear,
'Tis better far to die than bear
The torments of another year.[111]

Subjected to perpetual ills
A thousand deaths around us grow,
The frost the tender blossom kills,
And roses wither as they blow.

Cold nipping winds thy fruits assail,
The infant[112] apple seeks the ground,
The peaches fall, the cherries fail,
The grape receives a fatal wound.

The breeze that gently ought to blow
Swells to a storm and rends the main,
The sun that charm'd the grass to grow
Turns hostile and consumes the plain;

The mountains waste, the shores decay,
Once purling streams are dead and dry--
'Twas nature's work--'tis nature's play,
And nature says that all must die.

Yon' flaming lamp, the source of light,
In chaos dark shall shroud his beam
And leave the world to mother night,
A farce, a phantom, or a dream.

What now is young must soon be old,
Whate'er we love, we soon must leave,
'Tis now too hot, 'tis now too cold--
To live is nothing but to grieve.

How bright the morn her course begun,
No mists bedimm'd the solar sphere--
The clouds arise--they shade the sun,
For nothing can be constant here.

Now hope the longing soul employs,
In expectation we are blest;
But soon the airy phantom flies,
For, lo! the treasure is possest.

Those monarchs proud that havoc spread,
(While pensive nature[113] dropt a tear)
Those monarchs have to darkness fled
And ruin bounds their mad career.

The grandeur of this earthly round,
Where Theon[114] would forever be,
Is but a name, is but a sound--
Mere emptiness and vanity.

Give me the stars, give me the skies,
Give me the heaven's remotest sphere,
Above these gloomy scenes to rise
Of desolation and despair.

Those native fires that warmed the mind
Now languid grown too dimly glow,
Joy has to grief the heart resigned
And love itself is changed to woe.

The joys of wine are all you boast,
These for a moment damp thy pain;
The gleam is o'er, the charm is lost--
And darkness clouds the soul again.

Then seek no more for bliss below,
Where real bliss can ne'er be found,
Aspire where sweeter blossoms blow
And fairer flowers bedeck the ground.

Where plants of life the plains invest
And green eternal crowns the year,
The little god within thy breast[115]
Is weary of his mansion here.

Like Phosphor clad in bright array[116]
His height meridian to regain,
He can, nor will no longer stay[117]
To shiver on a frozen plain.

Life's journey past, for death[118] prepare,
'Tis but the freedom of the mind,
Jove made us mortal--his we are,
To Jove, dear Theon,[119] be resigned.

[109] _Freeman's Journal_, January 2, 1782. In the editions of 1795 and 1809, the title is "To an Old Man."

[110] "With me a while, old man, repair."--_Ed. 1795._

[111] "The torments of life's closing year."--_Ed. 1795._

[112] "Blasted."--_Ib._

[113] "Reason."--_Ed. 1795._

[114] "Folly."--_Ib._

[115] "That swells the breast."--_Ed. 1795._

[116] "Sent before the day."--_Ib._

[117] "The dawn arrives--he must not stay."--_Ib._

[118] "Fate."--_Ib._

[119] "Be all our cares."--_Ib._