Chapter XII: Part VI: The War of 1812 (1)

1809-1815

THE WAR OF 1812

1809-1815

ON THE SYMPTOMS OF HOSTILITIES.[199]

1809

But will they once more be engaged in a war,
Be fated to discord again?
A peace to the nations will nothing restore
But the challenge of death and a deluge of gore!
A modern crusade
Is undoubtedly made:--
With treaties rejected, and treaties renew'd,
A permanent treaty they never conclude.

And who is to blame? we submissively ask--
Did nature predestine this curse to mankind;
Or is it the cruel detestable task
That tyrants impose, with their minions combined?
We are anxious to know
The source of our wo
In a world where the blessings of nature abound
Why discord, the bane of her blessings, is found.

Must our freedom, our labors, our commerce, our all
Be tamely surrender'd, to tyrants convey'd;
Must the flag of the country disgracefully fall,
To be torn by the dogs of the slaughtering trade?
Does no one reply,
With a tear in his eye,
It must be the case, if we do not resent
What monarchs have menaced and tyranny meant.

Not a ship, or a barque, that departs from the shore
But her cargo is plunder'd, her sailors are slain,
Or arriving in England, we see them no more,
Condemn'd in the court of deceit and chicane,
Where their wicked decrees
And their costs and their fees
Have ruin'd the merchant--mechanics half fed,
And sailors uncaptured are begging their bread.

To reason with tyrants is surely absurd;
To argue with them is to preach to the deaf:
They argue alone by the length of the sword;
Their honor the same as the word of a thief.
In such to confide
When a cause they decide,
Is the wolf and the lamb (if the tale we recall)
Where the weakest and meekest must go to the wall.

But an englishman's throat is expanded so wide
Not the ocean itself is a mess for his maw:
And missions there are, and a scoundrel employ'd
To divide, and to rule by the florentine law[A]:
New-England must join
In the knavish design,
As some have predicted to those who believe 'em;
--The event is at hand--may the devil deceive 'em.

[A] Nicholas Machiavel's maxim, _divide et impera_; divide and
govern. He was a native of Florence, in Italy.--_Freneau's
note._

With an empire at sea and an empire on land,
And the system projected, monopolization,
The western republic no longer will stand
Than answers the views of a desperate nation,
Who have shackled the east,
Made the native a beast,
And are scheming to give us--the matter is clear--
A man of their own for the president's chair,

Then arouse from your slumbers, ye men of the west,
Already the indian his hatchet displays;
Ohio's frontier, and Kentucky distrest;
The village, and cottage, are both in a blaze:--
Then indian and english
No longer distinguish,
They bribe, and are bribed, for a warfare accurst;
Of the two, we can hardly describe which is worst.

In the court of king Hog was a council convened,
In which they agreed we are growing too strong:
They snuffled and grunted, and loudly complained
The sceptre would fall, if they suffer'd it long;
To cut up our trade
Was an object, they said,
The nearest and dearest of all in their view;
Not a fish should be caught if old England said, No!

Then arouse from your slumbers, ye men of the west,
A war is approaching, there's room to suppose;
The rust on your guns we abhor and detest,
So brighten them up--we are coming to blows
With the queen of the ocean
The prop of devotion,
The bulwark of all that is truly divine;
A motto she often has put on her sign.

[199] The poems in this section are all from the edition of 1815.

LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. JEFFERSON,

On his retirement from the Presidency of the United States.--1809.

Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores--_Hor._

To you, great sir, our heartfelt praise we give,
And your ripe honors yield you--while you live.

At length the year, which marks his course, expires,
And Jefferson from public life retires;
That year, the close of years, which own his claim,
And give him all his honors, all his fame.
Far in the heaven of fame I see him fly,
Safe in the realms of immortality:
On Equal Worth his honor'd mantle falls,
Him, whom Columbia her true patriot calls;
Him, whom we saw her codes of freedom plan,
To none inferior in the ranks of man.

When to the helm of state your country call'd
No danger awed you and no fear appall'd;
Each bosom, faithful to its country's claim,
Hail'd Jefferson, that long applauded name;
All, then, was dark, and wrongs on wrongs accrued
Our treasures wasted, and our strength subdued;
What seven long years of war and blood had gain'd,
Was lost, abandon'd, squander'd, or restrain'd:
Britania's tools had schemed their easier way,
To conquer, ruin, pillage, or betray;
Domestic traitors, with exotic, join'd,
To shackle this last refuge of mankind;
Wars were provoked, and France was made our foe,
That George's race might govern all below,
O'er this wide world, uncheck'd, unbounded, reign,
Seize every clime, and subjugate the main.

All this was seen--and rising in your might,
By genius aided, you reclaim'd our right,
That Right, which conquest, arms, and valor gave
To this young nation--not to live a slave.

And what but toil has your long service seen?
Dark tempests gathering over a sky serene--
For wearied years no mines of wealth can pay,
No fame, nor all the plaudits of that day,
Which now returns you to your rural shade,
The sage's heaven, for contemplation made,
Who, like the Roman, in their country's cause
Exert their valor, or enforce its laws,
And late retiring, every wrong redress'd,
Give their last days to solitude and rest.

This great reward a generous nation yields--
Regret attends you to your native fields;
Their grateful thanks for every service done,
And hope, your thorny race of care is run.

From your sage counsels what effects arise!
The vengeful briton from our waters flies;
His thundering ships no more our coasts assail,
But seize the advantage of the western gale.
Though bold and bloody, warlike, proud, and fierce,
They shun your vengeance for a Murdered Pearce,
And starved, dejected, on some meagre shore,
Sigh for the country they shall rule no more.

Long in the councils of your native land,
We saw you cool, unchanged, intrepid, stand:
When the firm Congress, still too firm to yield,
Stay'd masters of the long contested field,
Your wisdom aided, what their counsels framed--
By you the murdering savages were tamed--
That Independence we had sworn to gain,
By you asserted (nor Declared in vain)
We seized, triumphant, from a tyrant's throne,
And Britain totter'd when the work was done.

You, when an angry faction vex'd the age,
Rose to your place at once, and check'd their rage;
The envenom'd shafts of malice you defied,
And turn'd all projects of revolt aside:--
We saw you libell'd by the worst of men,
While hell's red lamp hung quivering o'er his pen,
And fiends congenial every effort try
To blast that merit which shall never die--

These had their hour, and traitors wing'd their flight,
To aid the screechings of distracted night.

Vain were their hopes--the poison'd darts of hell,
Glanced from your flinty shield, and harmless fell.

All this you bore--beyond it all you rose,
Nor ask'd despotic laws to crush your foes.
Mild was your language, temperate though severe;
And not less potent than Ithuriel's spear
To touch the infernals in their loathsome guise,
Confound their slanders and detect their lies.

All this you braved--and, now, what task remains,
But silent walks on solitary plains:
To bid the vast luxuriant harvest grow,
The slave be happy and secured from wo--
To illume the statesmen of the times to come
With the bold spirit of primeval Rome;
To taste the joys your long tried service brings,
And look, with pity, on the cares of kings:--
Whether, with Newton, you the heavens explore,
And trace through nature the creating power,
Or, if with mortals you reform the age,
(Alike, in all, the patriot and the sage)
May peace and soft repose, attend you, still,
In the lone vale, or on the cloud-capp'd hill,
While smiling plenty decks the abundant plain,
And hails Astrea to the world again.

ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR,

AND AMERICAN WRONGS.

Americans! rouse at the rumors of war,
Which now are distracting the hearts of the nation,
A flame blowing up, to extinguish your power
And leave you, a prey, to another invasion;
A second invasion, as bad as the old,
When, northward or southward, wherever they stroll'd
With heart and with hand, a murdering band
Of vagrants, came over to ravage your land:
For liberty's guard, you are ever array'd
And know how to fight, in the sun or the shade.

Remember the cause that induced you to rise
When oppression advanced, with her king-making host,
Twas the cause of our nation that bade you despise
And drive to destruction all England's proud host,
Who, with musket and sword, under men they adored,
Rush'd into each village and rifled each shade
To murder the planter, and ravish the maid.

What though you arose, and resolved to be free,
With spirit to humble all Europe combining,
You had soon bit the dust or been drown'd in the sea
By the slaves of a king, and a court all designing,
Had not liberty swore she would cover your shore,
Her colors display'd, and with vengeance repaid
The myriads that came from a blood-thirsty isle
Our groves, and our streams, and our beds to defile.

Our churches defaced, by a merciless foe,
Or made the poor captive's distress'd habitation:
The prison-ship, fraught with its cargo of wo,
Where thousands were starved, without shame or compassion;
All these, and yet more, were the evils we bore
From a motherly dame, Great Britain her name,
From a nation, that once we accounted our friends,
Who would shackle the country, that freedom defends.

All true-born americans! join, as of old;
For freedom's defence, be your firm resolution;
Whoever invades you by force, or with gold,
Alike is a foe to a free constitution:
Unite to pull down that imposture, a crown;
Oppose it at least, tis a mark of the beast:
All tyranny's engines again are at work
To make you as poor and as base as the turk.

Abandon'd to all the intrigues of a knave,
Abounding with sharpers of every description,
They would plunder our towns, and prohibit the wave;
Their treaties of commerce are all a deception:
Not a ship do we send but they rob without end;
With their law of blockade they have ruin'd our trade;
The shops of mechanics at midnight they burn
That home manufactures may cease to be worn.

Look round the wide world; and observe with a sigh,
Wherever a monarch presides o'er a nation,
Sweet nature appears with a tear in her eye,
And the mantle of sorrow enshrouds the creation.
The ocean is chain'd, all freedom restrain'd,
The soil is resign'd to the pests of mankind,
To royals and nobles, the guard of the throne,
And the slaves they have bribed, to make freedom their own.

All hail to the nation, immortal and great,
Who, rising on bold philosophical pinion,
Reforms, and enlightens, and strengthens the state,
Not places her weal in excess of dominion.
What reason can do she intends to pursue;
And true to the plan, on which she began,
Will the volume unfold she to freedom assign'd,
Till tyrants are chased from the sight of mankind.

Since the day we declared, they were masters no more,
The day we arose from the colony station,
Has England attack'd us, by sea and by shore,
In war by the sword, as in peace by vexation;
Impressment they claim'd, till our seamen, ashamed,
Grew sick of our flag, that against the old hag
Of Britain, no longer their freedom protected
But left them, like slaves, to be lash'd and corrected.

Old Rome, that in darkness so long had been lost,
Since on her republic bright freedom was shining:
The warmth of her spirit congeal'd in a frost,
Under tyrants and popes, many centuries, pining:
At the close of the page, who can bridle his rage
To see her return to the fetters she broke,
When tyranny sicken'd, and liberty spoke:
What an image of clay have they thrown in her way!
The king and the priest on her carcass will feast;
When these are allied, the world they divide;
The nations they plunder, the nations they kill,
And bend all the force of the mind to their will:
Not the spirit to rise, or the strength to command,
But friars and monks--and the scum of the land.--
No more of your Nero's or Caesars complain,
Leave Brutus and Cato, and take them again.

But reason, that sun, whose unquenchable ray
Progressive, has dawn'd on the night of the mind,
From the source of all good, may hereafter display,
And man a more dignified character find:
As far as example and vigor can go,
As long as forbearance and patience will do,
The western republic will carry it through--:
May order and peace through the nations increase,
And murder, and plunder, and tyranny cease:
May justice and honor through empires prevail
And all the bad passions weigh light in the scale,
Till man is the being that nature at first
Placed here, to be happy, and not to be cursed.

Approaching, at hand, in the progress of time,
An era will come, to begin its career,
When freedom reviving, and man in his prime,
His rights will assert, and maintain without fear
Of that cunning, bold race, who our species disgrace;
On the blood of a nation who make calculation
To rise into splendor and fill a high station;
Nay, climb to the throne on a villanous plan
To plunder his substance, and trample on man.

ON THE BRITISH COMMERCIAL DEPREDATIONS.

As gallant ships as ever ocean stemm'd--
A thousand ships are captured, and condemn'd!
Ships from our shores, with native cargoes fraught,
And sailing to the very shores they ought:
And yet at peace!--the wrong is past all bearing;
The very comets[A] are the war declaring:
Six thousand seamen groan beneath your power,
For years immured, and prisoners to this hour:

[A] A large comet appeared for several months, about this
time.--_Freneau's note._

Then England come! a sense of wrong requires
To meet with thirteen stars your thousand fires;
On your own seas the conflict to sustain,
Or drown them, with your commerce in the main!

True do we speak, and who can well deny,
That England claims all water, land, and sky
Her power expands--extends through every zone,
Nor bears a rival--but must rule alone.
To enforce her claims, a thousand sails unfurl'd
Pronounce their home the cock-pit of the world;
The modern Tyre, whose fiends and lions prowl,
A tyrant navy, which in time must howl.[B]
Heaven send the time--the world obeys her nod:
Her nods, we hope, the sleep of death forbode;
Some mighty change, when plunder'd thrones agree,
And plunder'd countries, to make commerce free.

[B] Howl, ye ships of Tarshish, &c.--Ezekiel.--_Freneau's note._

TO AMERICA:

On the English Depredations on the American Coast.

When Alfred held the english throne,
And England's self was little known,
Yet, when invaded by the Dane,
He early faced them on the main.

That scythian race who ruled the sea--
He soon pronounced their destiny;
To leave his isle, to sheath the sword;
Disgraced, defeated, and abhorr'd.

So now, these worse than danes appear
To do their deeds of havoc here--
For all they did in seasons past,
The day of grief must come at last.

For plains, yet white with human bones,
For murders past, no prayer atones;
For ruin spread in former years,
Not even the mitred clergy's tears.

Let us but act the part we ought,
And tyrants will be dearly taught
That they, who aid a country's claim,
Fight not for ribands, or a name.

Still hostile to the rights of man,
A deadly war, the english plan;
The gothic system will prevail,
To ruin where they can assail;
A war, where seas of blood may flow
To ornament their scenes of wo.

O Washington! thy honored dust
The foe will not profane, we trust;
Or if they do, will vengeance sleep,
Or fail to drive them to the deep?

For shores well known, they shape their course,
An english fleet, with all its force;
A british fleet may soon appear
To ravage all we counted dear.

Advancing swift, by beat of drum,
Half England's dregs, or Scotland's scum;
With these unite the indian tribes,
Now hostile made by force of bribes--
And they will dare the eagle's frown,
Though half his force can put them down.

The envenom'd foe, inured to war,
May scatter vengeance wide and far,
Unless, to assert our country's right,
All hearts resolve, all hands unite.

Let party feuds be hush'd, forgot,
Past discord from the memory blot,
And Britain, from our coasts repell'd,
Shall rue the day she took the field.

The dart, to assail the english power,
In time must reach that hostile shore,
And red with vengeance, on its way,
Their naval power in ruins lay.

The western world a blow must deal
To let them know, and make them feel
That much too long a plundering hag
Has mortified all Europe's flag.

By wars and death while despots thrive
What pity one remains alive!
By them the seeds of war are sown,
By them, our lives are not our own.

Their deadly hate to freedom's growth,
To reason's light--that spurns them both,
That deadly hate predicts our doom,
And digs the pit for freedom's tomb.

Be not deceived--the league of kings,
Confederate crowns, this warfare brings;
These send their hosts to forge our chains,
Harass our shores, renew their reigns.

At Pilnitz they who join'd to swear
And wage with France wide wasting war
Till freedom should her claims recall,
And Louis reign, or myriads fall;

At Pilnitz, with decided aim,
They form'd their schemes to blast our fame:
And, faithful now to what they swore,
Would, kings dismiss'd and thrones, restore.

Ye hearts of steel, observe these hosts!
The odious train my soul disgusts;
They rise upon the vultures wings
To prop the tottering cause of kings.

Observe them well--through every grade
They exercise the robber's trade;
They sail upon a plundering scheme,
They march, to give you sword and flame.

And burn you must, if, slow to act,
You wait to see your cities sack'd,
Yourselves enslav'd, and all things lose
That labor earns or wealth bestows;
If slow to send your heated balls,
Indignant, through their wooden walls.

O may you see their squadrons yield
Their legions sink on every field;
And new Burgoynes, to slaughter bred,
Burgoynes, once more, in fetters led.

And may you see all foreign power
Forever banish'd from your shore,
And see disheartened tyrants mourn,
And Britain to her hell return.

THE SUTTLER AND THE SOLDIER.

"Who would refuse this cheering draught?"
The suttler said, and saying, laugh'd
The soldier, then, the liquor quaff'd,
And felt right bold.

The suttler soon foresaw the rest,
And thus the son of Mars address'd,
"This brandy is the very best
Of all I've sold.

"The journey you are bound to go,
In former times, I travell'd too,
When Arnold march'd, with lord knows who,
To seize Quebec.

"And if he fail'd in that assault,
It was not, sure, the brandy's fault;
The best, at times, may make a halt,
Ay, break his neck.

"Now hear a dotard of your trade:--
Of old I lived by flint and blade,
But, disregarded, and decay'd,
I'm nothing now.

"This leaky shed is not my own,
And here I stay, unheard, unknown,
Poor Darby, and without a Joan,
Nor horse, nor cow.

"But mend your draught--I have more to say:--
You now are young, and under pay;
Be warn'd by me, whose hairs are grey;
The time will come

"When you may find this trade of arms,
The march, that now your bosom warms,
Has little but illusive charms,
Mere beat of drum:

"But yet, in such a cause as this
I deem your ardor not amiss--
I know you are no hireling swiss;
Your country calls:

"And when she calls, you must obey;
For wages not--fig for the pay--
Tis honor calls you out this day
To face the balls.

"You have to go where George Provost
Has many a soldier made a ghost,
Where indians many a prisoner roast
Or seize their scalps.

"And what of that?--mere fate of war--
God grant you may have better fare--
Go, fight beneath a kinder star,
And scourge the whelps.

"They scarce are men--mere flesh and blood--
Mere ouran-outangs of the wood,
Forever on the scent of blood,
And deers at heart.

"When men, like you, approach them nigh,
They make a yell, retreat, and fly:
On equal ground, they never try
The warrior's art.

"Then dare their strength--at honor's call
Explore the road to Montreal,
To dine, perchance, in Drummond's hall,
Perhaps in jail.

"Of all uncertain things below
The chance of war is doubly so;
For this I saw, and this I know;--
Yet, do not fail.

"To live, for months on scanty fare,
To sleep, by night in open air,
To fight, and every danger share;
All these await.

"But bear them all!--wherever led,
And live contented, though half fed:--
A couch of straw, and canvas shed
Shall be your fate!

"And mind the mark--remember me--
When full of fight, and full of glee,
Be of your brandy not too free:--
Ay, mind the mark!

"Who drinks too much, the day he fights,
Calls danger near, and death invites
To dim, or darken all his lights;--
His noon is dark!

"It is a friend in a stormy day;
Then brandy drives all care away,
But, over done, it will betray
The wisest sage.

"Then strictly guard the full canteen--
Its power enlivens every scene,
And helps to keep the soul serene
When battles rage.

"This potent stuff, if managed well,
(And strong it is, the sort I sell)
Can every doubt and fear expel,
When prudence guides.

"Though mountains rise, or rocks intrude,
This nectar smooths the roughest road,
And cheers the heart, and warms the blood
Through all its tides.

"Then drink you this, and more," (he said,
And held the pitcher to his head)
"This drink of gods, when Ganymede
Hands round the bowl,

"Will nerve the arm, and bid you go
Where prowls the vagrant Eskimau,[A]
Where torpid winter tops with snow
The darkened pole,--"

[A] The savage inhabitants of Labrador, or
New-Britain.--_Freneau's note._

"Enough, enough!"--(the sergeant said)
"Now, suttler, he must go to bed--
See! topsy-turvy goes his head;
I hear him snort."

"Since I know where to get my pay
(The suttler answered rather gay)
No matter what I said or say--
I've sold my quart."

MILITARY RECRUITING

To a Recruit Fond of Segar Smoking

----Ex fumo dare lucem
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat--_Hor._

When first I arrived to the age of a man
And met the distraction of care,
As the day to a close rather sorrowful ran
Yet I smiled and I smoked my segar:
O, how sweet did it seem
What a feast, what a dream
What a pleasure to smoke the segar!

In vain did the din of the females assail
Or the noise of the carts in the street,
With a spanish segar and a pint of good ale
I found my enjoyment complete:
Old care I dismiss'd
While I held in my fist
The pitcher, and smoked the segar.

What a world are we in, if we do not retire,
And, at times, to the tavern repair
To read the gazette, by a hickory fire,
With a sixpence or shilling to spare,
To handle the glass
And an evening pass
With the help of a lively segar.

The man of the closet, who studies and reads,
And prepares for the wars of the bar;
The priest who harangues, or the lawyer who pleads,
What are they without the segar?
What they say may be right,
But they give no delight
Unless they have smoked the segar.

The farmer still plodding, who follows his plough,
A calling, the first and the best,
Would care not a fig for the sweat on his brow
If he smoked a segar with the rest:
To the hay-loft alone
I would have it unknown,
For there a segar I detest.

The sailor who climbs and ascends to the yard
Bespatter'd and blacken'd with tar,
Would think his condition uncommonly hard
If he did not indulge the segar,
To keep them in trim
While they merrily swim
On the ocean, to countries afar.

The soldier untry'd, in the midst of the smoke,
The havoc and carnage of war,
Would stand to his cannon, as firm as a rock,
Would they let him but smoke his segar:
Every gun in the fort
Should make its report
From the fire which illumes the segar.

Come then, to the tavern, ye sons of the sword,
No fear of a wound or a scar;
If your money is gone, your account will be scored
By the lady who tends at the bar:
And this I can say,
Not a cent need you pay
For the use of the social segar.

ON THE CAPTURE OF THE GUERRIERE,

Captain Dacres, August 19, 1812--by the Constitution, american frigate, capt. Hull.

AN IRREGULAR ODE.

Long the tyrant of our coast
Reign'd the famous Guerriere;
Our little navy she defy'd,
Public ship and privateer:
On her sails in letters red,
To our captains were display'd
Words of warning, words of dread,
All, who meet me, have a care!
I am England's Guerriere.[A]

[A] Female warrior, or amazon.--_Freneau's note._

On the wide, Atlantic deep
(Not her equal for the fight)
The Constitution, on her way,
Chanced to meet these men of might:
On her sails was nothing said,
But her waist the teeth displayed
That a deal of blood could shed,
Which, if she would venture near,
Would stain the decks of the Guerriere.

Now our gallant ship they met--
And, to struggle with John Bull--
Who had come, they little thought,
Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull:
Better, soon, to be acquainted:
Isaac hail'd the lord's anointed--
While the crew the cannon pointed,
And the balls were so directed
With a blaze so unexpected;
Isaac did so maul and rake her
That the decks of captain Dacres
Were in such a woful pickle
As if death, with scythe and sickle,
With his sling, or with his shaft
Had cut his harvest fore and aft.

Thus, in thirty minutes ended,
Mischiefs that could not be mended:
Masts, and yards, and ship descended,
All to David Jones' locker--
Such a ship in such a pucker!

Drink about to the Constitution!
She perform'd some execution
Did some share of retribution
For the insults of the year
When she took the Guerriere.
May success again await her,
Let who will again command her
Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur--
Nothing like her can withstand her,
With a crew, like that on board her
Who so boldly call'd "to order"
One bold crew of english sailors,
Long, too long our seamen's jailors,
Dacre' and the Guerriere!

THEODOSIA

In the _Morning Star_.[200]

The fatal and perfidious barque!
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that angel form of thine!

The morning star, resplendent in the east,
May be our station, when from life released,

Tempestuous cape! how fatal proved the day
When from thy shores the faithless ship withdrew,
Yet, prosperous gales impell'd her on her way
Till the broad canvas vanish'd from the view.

Long on that height the pensive friends remain'd
Till ocean's curve conceal'd her from the eye,
And all was hope that she her port attain'd
Ere ten more suns illumed the morning sky.

Fond friends! false hope! no port beheld her come
With flowing sheet, to meet the pilot's sail:
No pilot met her on the Atlantic foam--
What could the pilot, or his art, avail?

Detested barque! nor art thou yet arrived--
Nor wilt thou come! three years are roll'd away!
You, Theodosia of her life deprived,
You sunk her from the cheerful beams of day!

Where dost thou rest, with her whose genius rose
Above her sex--for science so renown'd--
But does her spirit in the deep repose
Or find new mansions on celestial ground?

That soars above to heights unknown before,
Where all is joy, and life that never ends;
Where all is rapture, all admire, adore;
Immortal nature, with angelic friends.

Oh! shed no more the tears of sad regret;
The hymns of joy, the lofty verse prepare--
Her briny doom, the ingulphing wave forget
For Theodosia in the Morning Star.

[200] Theodosia, the brilliant and accomplished daughter of Aaron Burr, embarked from Charleston, S. C., December 29, 1812, in the schooner _Patriot_ for New York. The boat never was heard from afterwards. It doubtless foundered off Cape Hatteras in the severe gale which sprang up soon after the vessel had left the harbor.

IN MEMORY OF JAMES LAWRENCE, ESQUIRE,

Late commander of the United States frigate Chesapeake, who fell in the action, with the british ship of war Shannon, June 1st. 1813

--Semper honoratum habebo--_Virg._

To lift his name to high renown
His native merits led the way;
His morning sun resplendent shone
Till clouds obscured the fading ray:
His country's voice his worth confess'd,
His country's tears disclose the rest,
In battle brave, his lofty mind
Aspired to all that fame relates
Of those, who on her page we find
Defenders of insulted states:
Of all who fought, or all who fell,
The noblest part he copied well.

For Lawrence dead, his Jersey mourns,
With tearful eye laments the day
When all the worth that men adorns
One fatal moment snatch'd away!
On honor's bed his doom he found,
In honor's cause, the deadly wound.

To what vast heights his mind aspired,
Who knew him best can best relate:--
A longer term the cause required
That urged him to an early fate:
But He, whose fires illumed his breast,
Knew what was right and what was best.

His country to her breast receives
His mangled form, and holds it dear;
She plants her marble, while she grieves,
Where all, who read, might drop a tear,
And say, while memory calls to mind
The chief, who with our worthies shined,
Here Lawrence rests, his country's pride,
On valor's decks who fought and died!

ON THE LAKE EXPEDITIONS

Where Niagara's awful roar
Convulsive shakes the neighboring shore,
Alarm'd I heard the trump of war,
Saw legions join!

And such a blast, of old, they blew,
When southward from st. Lawrence flew
The indian, to the english true,
Led by Burgoyne.

United, then, they sail'd Champlain,
United now, they march again,
A land of freedom to profane
With savage yell.

For this they scour the mountain wood;
Their errand, death, their object, blood:
For this they stem thy subject flood,
O stream Sorel!

Who shall repulse the hireling host,
Who force them back through snow and frost,
Who swell the lake with thousands lost,
Dear freedom? say!--

Who but the sons of freedom's land,
Prepared to meet the bloody band;
Resolved to make a gallant stand
Where lightnings play.

Their squadrons, arm'd with gun and sword,
Their legions, led by knight and lord
Have sworn to see the reign restored
Of George, the goth;

Whose mandate, from a vandal shore,
Impels the sail, directs the oar,
And, to extend the flames of war,
Employs them both.

THE BATTLE OF LAKE ERIE

September 10, 1813

"To clear the lake of Perry's fleet
And make his flag his winding sheet
This is my object--I repeat--"
--Said Barclay, flush'd with native pride,
To some who serve the british crown:--
But they, who dwell beyond the moon,
Heard this bold menace with a frown,
Nor the rash sentence ratified.

Ambition so bewitch'd his mind,
And royal smiles had so combined
With skill, to act the part assign'd
He for no contest cared, a straw;
The ocean was too narrow far
To be the seat of naval war;
He wanted lakes, and room to spare,
And all to yield to Britain's law.

And thus he made a sad mistake;
Forsooth he must possess the lake,
As merely made for England's sake
To play her pranks and rule the roast;
Where she might govern, uncontrol'd,
An unmolested empire hold,
And keep a fleet to fish up gold,
To pay the troops of George Provost.

The ships approach'd, of either side,
And Erie, on his bosom wide
Beheld two hostile navies ride,
Each for the combat well prepared:
The lake was smooth, the sky was clear,
The martial drum had banish'd fear,
And death and danger hover'd near,
Though both were held in disregard.

From lofty heights their colors flew,
And Britain's standard all in view,
With frantic valor fired the crew
That mann'd the guns of queen Charlotte.
"And we must Perry's squadron take,
And England shall command the lake;--
And you must fight for Britain's sake,
(Said Barclay) sailors, will you not?"

Assent they gave with heart and hand;
For never yet a braver band
To fight a ship, forsook the land,
Than Barclay had on board that day;--
The guns were loosed the game to win,
Their muzzles gaped a dismal grin,
And out they pulled their tompion pin,
The bloody game of war to play.

But Perry soon, with flowing sail,
Advanced, determined to prevail,
When from his bull-dogs flew the hail
Directed full at queen Charlotte.
His wadded guns were aim'd so true,
And such a weight of ball they threw,
As, Barclay said, he never knew
To come, before, so scalding hot!

But still, to animate his men
From gun to gun the warrior ran
And blazed away and blazed again--
Till Perry's ship was half a wreck:
They tore away both tack and sheet,--
Their victory might have been complete,
Had Perry not, to shun defeat
In lucky moment left his deck.

Repairing to another post,
From another ship he fought their host
And soon regain'd the fortune lost,
And down, his flag the briton tore:
With loss of arm and loss of blood
Indignant, on his decks he stood
To witness Erie's crimson flood
For miles around him, stain'd with gore!

Thus, for dominion of the lake
These captains did each other rake,
And many a widow did they make;--
Whose is the fault, or who to blame?--
The briton challenged with his sword,
The yankee took him at his word,
With spirit laid him close on board--
They're ours--he said--and closed the game.

ON THE CAPTURE

OF THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE ESSEX,

Of thirty-two guns, David Porter, esq. commander, in the neutral port of Valparisso, on the coast of Chili, in South America, January, 1814, by the british frigate Phoebe, capt. Hillyer, of forty-nine guns, and the Cherub of thirty-two guns.

"All the devils were there, and hell was empty!"

From cruising near the southern pole
Where wild antarctic oceans roll,
With a gallant crew, a manly soul,
Heroic Porter came.
Then, weathering round the stormy cape,
And facing death in every shape,
Which Anson[A] hardly could escape,
(So says the page of fame.)

[A] See Lord Anson's voyage round the world between 1740 and
1744, by his chaplain, the rev. Richard Walter. The terrors
and dangers of a winter passage round Cape Horn into the
Western Ocean, are depicted in that work by a masterly hand,
who was witness to the scene.--_Freneau's note._

He made the high chilesian coast,
The Andes, half in vapor lost,
The Andes, topp'd with snow and frost,
Eternal winter's reign!
Then, to the rugged western gale,
He spread the broad columbian sail;
And, Valparisso, thy fair vale
Received him, with his men.

There, safely moor'd, his colors fly,
Columbia's standard waved on high;
The neutral port, his friends, were nigh;
So gallant Porter thought;
Nor deem'd a foe would heave in sight
Regardless of all neutral right;
And yet, that foe he soon must fight,
And fight them as he ought.

His Essex claim'd his fondest care,
With her he every storm could dare,
With her, to meet the blast of war,
His soul was still in trim:
In her he cruised the northern main,
In her he pass'd the burning line,
In her he all things could attain,
If all would act like him.

At length, two hostile ships appear,
And for the port they boldly steer--
The Phoebe first, and in her rear
The Cherub, all secure.
They loom'd as gay as for a dance,
Or ladies painted in romance--
Do, mind how boldly they advance.
Who can their fire endure?

The Phoebe mounted forty-nine--
All thought her on some grand design--
Does she alone the fight decline?
Say, Captain Hillyer, say?
The Cherub's guns were thirty-two--
And, Essex! full a match for you--
Yet to her bold companion true,
She hugg'd her close, that day.

Ye powers, that rule the southern pole!
Are these the men of English soul?
Do these, indeed, the waves control?
Are these the ocean's lords?
Though challenged singly to the fight
(As Porter, Hillyer, did invite)
These men of spunk, these men of might,
Refused to measure swords!

What, fight alone! bold Hillyer said--
I will not fight without my Aid--
The Cherub is for war array'd,
And she must do her share!
Now Porter saw their dastard plan--
To fight them both was surely vain;
We should have thought a man insane
That would so madly dare.

Then, hands on deck! the anchors weigh!
--And for the sea he left the bay,
A running fight to have that day,
And thus escape his foes.
But oh!--distressing to relate--
As round a point of land he beat
A squall from hell the ship beset,
And her maintopmast goes!

Unable to attain that end,
He turns toward the neutral friend,
And hoped protection they might lend,
But no protection found.
In this distress, the foe advanced--
With such an eye at Essex glanced!
And such a fire of death commenced
As dealt destruction round!

With every shot they raked the deck,
Till mingled ruin seized the wreck:
No valor could the ardor check
Of England's martial tars!
One hundred men the Essex lost:
But Phoebe found, and to her cost,
That Porter made them many a ghost
To serve in Satan's wars.

Oh, clouded scene!--yet must I tell
Columbia's flag, indignant, fell--
To Essex, now, we bid farewell;
She wears the english flag!
But Yankees she has none on board
To point the gun or wield the sword;
And though commanded by a lord
They'll have no cause to brag.

THE TERRIFIC TORPEDOES[201]

OR SIR THOMAS HARDY'S SOLILOQUY.

"Then traitor come! as black revenge excites,
Extinguish all our claims with all my lights!
But keen remorse, which vengeful furies lead,
Will act her part for this inhuman deed.
How will her vultures on your vitals prey!
How will her stings our every death repay!--
O nature! is all sympathy a jest;
Art thou a stranger to the human breast?
Has manly prowess quit the abandon'd stage,
Are midnight plots the order of the age?

"Where proud New-London holds her flaming guide
To steer Decatur through the darksome tide,
I stay too long! what station can I find
To shake distraction from a tortured mind!

"Then, traitor, come! your dark attack begin,
Renown'd inventor of the black machine:
But mark!--for when some future poet tells,
Or some historian on the subject dwells,
No word of praise shall meet the listening ear,
Disgustful story, to repeat or hear--
Was you, an infant, to a mother press'd,
Or did ferocious tigers give the breast--
Did nature in some angry moment plan
Some fierce hyena to degrade the man?
Resolve me quick, for doubtful while I stay
These dark torpedoes may be on their way.
Does nature thus her heaviest curse impart
And will she give such countenance to art?--
She gave you all that rancor could bestow,
She lent her magic from the world below;
She gave you all that madness could propose,
And all her malice in your bosom glows;
She gave you sulphur, charcoal, nitre join'd:
She gave you not--a great and generous mind."

So spoke the knight, and slamm'd the door,
And thus went on, with feelings sore:
"I relish not torpedo war:--
Die when I will, or where I may,
I would not choose so short a way:
These twenty nights I did my best
To shut my eyes, and take my rest,
But drowsy Morpheus might as well
Upon the main mast try his spell.
No potion from the poppy's leaf
Can close my lids;--and, to be brief,
This Fulton, with his dashing plans,
Distracts my head, my heart unmans:
And, every night, I have my fears
Of such infernal engineers;
Who, when I sup, or could I sleep
Might row their wherry through the deep,
And screw their engine to the keel,
And blow us--where there's no appeal;
No question how, or where we died,
But how we lived, and how applied
The little sense our heads contain
To save our souls, and live again.

"They, who support torpedo plans
Should have no plaudit for their pains;
Should be employ'd on dark designs,
Explorers of peruvian mines;
Such have not felt the patriot glow,
A feeling they could never know:
For treasons they were surely made,
Have princes slain and kings betray'd.--
Ye powers above! and must I wait
Till these prevail in every state,
Till pale disease, or shivering age
Drives such false patriots from the stage!

"The chaplain said he heard me snore,
But many a fib he told before;
And if I snored, I'm satisfied
Twas when my eyes were open wide.

"Torpedoes! who contrived the word?
Torpedoes! worse than gun or sword!
They are a mode of naval war
We cannot have a relish for:--
In all the chronicles I read
Of former times, they nothing said
Of such a horrible machine
That would disgrace an algerine,
And only yankees would employ,
Not to distress, but to destroy.

"What human eye, without dismay
Can see torpedo-lightning's play?
What mortal heart, but dreads a foe
That fights unseen from fields below!

"What passion must that heart inspire
That dives the sea, to deal in fire,
What can he fear, I trembling ask
Who undertakes the daring task?

"With engines of perdition spread,
Amazed, I see the ocean's bed!
And find with rage, regret, despair,
I have no power to meet them there!

"Alack! my nerves are on the rack--
They're hammering at the garboard streak!
Some yankee dog is near the keel!
Ho, sailors give the ship a heel:
Go, chaplain, to the starboard chains
And ask the rascal what he means?
Who knows but Fulton's self is there
With all his dark infernal gear:
Who knows but he has fix'd his screws,
And left a match, to fire the fuze--
Who knows, but in this very hour,
The Ramillies will be no more!
Will only live in empty fame,
And I, myself, be but a name!

"Should the torpedo take effect,
Her carcass will be worse than wreck'd;
In scatter'd fragments to the sky
This ship of ships will clattering fly:
And then--ah, chaplain!--ah, what then!
Where will I be, and all my men?
And where will you a lodging find,
A traveller on a gale of wind!
And where will be the pretty maid
That sweeps my floor and makes my bed?

Oh Fanny, Fanny! must we part?--
Torpedoes!--I am sick at heart!--
How will the flames those lips deface!
How will they spoil that blooming face!
How will they scorch your auburn hair--?
--You'll have your plagues, and I my share.

And must I all my fears impart;
And do these guns my ship ensure?
And must I ask my fluttering heart
If on these decks I stand secure?

"Do, Fanny, go and boil some tea:
Come hither, love, and comfort me:
A glass of wine! my spirits sink!
The last perhaps that I shall drink!--
Or go--unlock the brandy case
And let us have a dram a piece;--
No matter if your nose is red,
We shall be sober when we're dead.

"In fancy's view the mine is sprung,
The rudder from the stern unhung,
My valiant sailors torn asunder,
The ship herself a clap of thunder,
From fathoms down, a deadly blast
Unbolts the keel, unsteps the mast,
While Fulton, with a placid grin
Exulting, views the infernal scene!

The sails are vanish'd, tack and clue,
The rigging burnt, by lord knows who,
The star that glitter'd on my breast
Is gone to Davy Jones's chest;
The glorious ensign of st. George,
Of Spain the dread, of France the scourge,
Is from the staff, unpitied, torn
And for a cloak by satan worn:
The Lion mounted on the prow,
To awe the subject sea below
With flames that Lion is oppress'd--
They will not spare the royal beast.--
O vengeance! why does vengeance sleep?
The yards are scatter'd o'er the deep,
Our guns are buried in the seas,
And thus concludes the Ramillies!

"The world, I think, can witness bear
My name was never stain'd by fear:
At least the british fleet can say
I never shunn'd the face of clay:
But Fulton's black, infernal art--
Has stamp'd me--coward--to the heart!

"When Nelson met the spanish fleet,
And every pulse for conquest beat,
At Nelson's side I had my stand;
When Nelson fell I took command:
Not Etna's self, with all her flames--
Vesuvius--such description claims;
Not Hecla, in her wildest rage,
Does with such fires the heavens engage,
As on that day, in mourning clad,
Was thunder'd from the Trinidad.[A]

[A] The Santa Trinidada, the spanish admiral's ship, of 112 guns,
from the mizen top of which admiral Nelson was mortally
wounded by a musket shot. Another account says, he received
his death wound from the Redoubtable, french 74.--_Freneau's
note._

"And yet, amidst that awful scene,
I stood unhurt, composed, serene;
Though balls, by thousands, whistled round,
Not one had leave to kill or wound--
But here! in this torpedo war
I perish, with my glittering star,
The laurels that adorn my brow--
My laurels are surrender'd now.
O Fanny! these envenom'd states
Have doom'd our deaths among the rats,
In one explosion, to the sky
Our chaplain, rats, and sailors fly.

"To deal in such inhuman war
Is more than English blood can bear;
It brings again the gothic age,
Renews that period on the stage,
When men against the gods rebell'd,
And Ossa was on Pelion piled:
The trojan war, when Diomede
In battle, made fair Venus bleed;
Or, when the giants of renown
Attempted Jove's imperial crown:--
From such a foe, before we meet,
The safest way, is to retreat,
To leave this curst unlucky shore
And come to trouble them no more.

"But, should it be my fate to-night
Not to behold to-morrow's light
But mingle with the vulgar dead,
With all my terrors on my head--
Should such a fate be mine, I say,
Dear Fanny, you must lead the way;--
You are the saint that will atone
For what amiss I might have done:
If such as you will intercede
The chaplain may a furlow plead,
While you and I in raptures go
Where stormy winds no longer blow,
Where guns are not, to shed our blood,
Or if there be, are made of wood;
Where all is love, and no one hates;
No falling kings or rising states;
No colors that we must defend,
If sick, or dead, or near our end;
Where yankees are admitted not
To hatch their damn'd torpedo plot:
Where you will have no beds to make,
Nor I be doom'd to lie awake."

[201] It is a fact well ascertained that during a great part of the summer of 1814 the knight was under such serious apprehensions of being blown up by the Torpedo men, that he enjoyed no sleep or rest for many nights together. With such feelings, and under such impressions, he is supposed to begin his soliloquy abruptly, under all the emotions of horror, incident to such an occasion.--_Freneau's note._

Sir Thomas Hardy was commander of the 74 gun ship _Ramillies_, the leader of the squadron which lay off New London during the summer of 1814. The following in _Niles' Register_, May 7, 1814, is suggestive: "It appears the British squadron off _New London_ are yet disturbed by torpedoes. One of them lately exploded under the sprit-sail yard of the _La Hoque_, and threw up a volume of water near her fore top. The enemy, it seems, has a list of the persons concerned in the management of these machines!"

THE NORTHERN MARCH

Written Previously to the Battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater.[202]

Come, to the battle let us go,
Hurl destruction on the foe;
Who commands us, well we know,
Tis the gallant general Brown.
Haste away from field or town,
Pull the hostile standard down--
If but led by general Brown
What will be the event, we know.

If but led against that foe,
Soon their doom the english know,
Soon their haughtiest blood shall flow,
When opposed to general Brown.
Haste away from town and farm:
If we meet them, where's the harm?
English power has lost its charm,
England's fame is tumbling down.

Long she ruled the northern waste,
Freedom is by her debased,
Freedom is not to her taste;
All the world must wear her chain!!!
"Not a keel shall plough the wave,
Not a sail, without her leave;
Not a fleet, the nations have,
Safe from her, shall stem the main!!!

Let this day's heroic deeds
Let the generous breast that bleeds,
Let our chief who bravely leads
Tell them that their reign is done:
Soon to quit Columbia's shore,
Is their doom--we say no more;
General Brown, in the cannon's roar
Tells them how the field is won!

[202] Early in the year 1814 the British army obtained possession of Fort Niagara and thereupon determined to remove the seat of the war to the Niagara frontier. The American expedition intended to invade Canada was directed, under command of General Jacob Brown, to dislodge the British from this position. The first decisive action was the battle of Chippewa, fought July 5, 1814, on Canadian soil, opposite Niagara Falls. Three weeks later, July 25, he again closed with the British at Bridgewater, or Lundy Lane, in the same vicinity. In both engagements the Americans were victorious.

ON POLITICAL SERMONS

When parsons preach on politics, pray why
Should declamation cease, if you go by?

We heard a lecture, or a scold,
And, doubtful which it might be call'd,
But senseless as the bell that toll'd,
And pleasing neither young nor old.

We kept our seats amid the din,
Then quit the field, with all our sin,
Just as good as we went in.

Tell me what the preacher said,
Ye, who somewhat longer stay'd
Till the last address was made:--

Why,--he talk'd of ruin'd states,
Demagogues and democrates,
Falling stars, and Satan's baits.

Did he mention nothing more?--
Simply, what he said before--
Repetitions, twenty score.

His arguments could nothing prove,
His text alarm'd the sacred grove,
His prayer displeased the powers above.

He would not pray for those who rule,
But hoped that in Bethesda's pool
They all might dip, to make them cool.

He deprecated blood and war,
Its many mischiefs did deplore
Except when England mounts the car.

At Congress he had such a fling,
As plainly show'd, he wish'd a king,
Might here arrive, on Vulture's wing;

And that himself an horn might blow
To shake our modern Jericho,
And bring its ramparts very low.

To english notes his psalm was sung,
With politics the pulpit rung,
And thrice was bellow'd from his tongue,
"The president is always wrong!

"He brought these evils on our land,
And he must go--the time's at hand--
With Bonaparte to take his stand."--

Must not the wheels of fate go on?
Must not the lion's teeth be drawn,
Because it suits not Prester John!--

A Bishop's Lawn is such a prize
Such virtue in a mitre lies,
Democracy before it flies.

And these he hopes, if George prevails,
In time may hoist his shorten'd sails
And waft him on, with fortune's gales.

To gain by preaching, nett and clear,
Some twenty hundred pounds a year;
Which democrats would never bear.

To England why so much a friend,
Or why her cause with heat defend?--
There is, no doubt, some selfish end.

Dear Momus come, and help me laugh--
This England is the stay and staff
Of true religion--more than half!

She is the prop of all that's good,
A bulwark, which for ages stood
To guard the path and mark the road!

One proof of which can soon be brought,
The temple rais'd to Jaggernaut,[A]
And India to his temple brought,