The Columbiad: A Poem Part 14

When shall the applause of men their chiefs pursue In just proportion to the good they do, On virtue's base erect the shrine of fame, Define her empire, and her code proclaim?

Unhappy Frazer! little hast thou weigh'd The crirneful cause thy valor comes to aid.

Far from thy native land, thy sire, thy wife, Love's lisping race that cling about thy life, Thy soul beats high, thy thoughts expanding roam On battles past, and laurels yet to come: Alas, what laurels? where the lasting gain?

A pompous funeral on a desert plain!

The cannon's roar, the m.u.f.fled drums proclaim, In one short blast, thy momentary fame, And some war minister per-hazard reads In what far field the tool of placemen bleeds.

Brave Heartly strode in youth's o'erweening pride; Housed in the camp he left his blooming bride, The sweet Lucinda; whom her sire from far, On steeds high bounding o'er the waste of war, Had guided thro the lines, and hither led, That fateful morn, the plighted chief to wed.

He deem'd, deluded sire! the contest o'er, That routed rebels dared the fight no more; And came to mingle, as the tumult ceased, The victor's triumph with the nuptial feast.

They reach'd his tent; when now with loud alarms The morn burst forth and roused the camp to arms; Conflicting pa.s.sions seized the lover's breast, Bright honor call'd, and bright Lucinda prest:-- And wilt thou leave me for that clangorous call?

Traced I these deserts but to see thee fall?

I know thy valorous heart, thy zeal that speeds Where dangers press and boldest battle bleeds.

My father said blest Hymen here should join With sacred Love to make Lucinda thine; But other union these dire drums foredoom, The dark dead union of the eternal tomb.

On yonder plain, soon sheeted o'er with blood, Our nuptial couch shall prove a crimson clod; For there this night thy livid corse must lie, I'll seek it there, and on that bosom die.

Yet go; tis duty calls; but o'er thy head Let this white plume its floating foliage spread; That from the rampart, thro the troubled air, These eyes may trace thee toiling in the war.

She fixt the feather on his crest above, Bound with the mystic knot, the knot of love; He parted silent, but in silent prayer Bade Love and Hymen guard the timorous fair.

Where Saratoga show'd her champaign side, That Hudson bathed with still untainted tide, The opposing pickets push'd their scouting files, Wheel'd skirmisht, halted, practised all their wiles; Each to mislead, insnare, exhaust their foes, And court the conquest ere the armies close.

Now roll like winged storms the solid lines, The clarion thunders and the battle joins, Thick flames in vollied flashes load the air, And echoing mountains give the noise of war; Sulphureous clouds rise reddening round the height, And veil the skies, and wrap the sounding fight.

Soon from the skirts of smoke, where thousands toil, Ranks roll away and into light recoil; Starke pours upon them in a storm of lead; His hosted swains bestrew the field with dead, Pierce with strong bayonets the German reins, Whelm two battalions in their captive chains, Bid Baum, with wounds enfeebled, quit the field, And Breyman next his gushing lifeblood yield.

This Frazer sees, and thither turns his course, Bears down before them with Britannia's force, Wheels a broad column on the victor flank, And springs to vengeance thro the foremost rank.

Lincoln, to meet the hero, sweeps the plain; His ready bands the laboring Starke sustain; Host matching host, the doubtful battle burns, And now the Britons, now their foes by turns Regain the ground; till Frazer feels the force Of a rude grapeshot in his flouncing horse; Nor knew the chief, till struggling from the fall, That his gored thigh had first received the ball.

He sinks expiring on the slippery soil; Shock'd at the sight, his baffled troops recoil; Where Lincoln, pressing with redoubled might, Broke thro their squadrons and confirmed the flight; When this brave leader met a stunning blow, That stopt his progress and avenged the foe.

He left the field; but prodigal of life, Unwearied Francis still prolong'd the strife; Till a chance carabine attained his head, And stretch'd the hero mid the vulgar dead.

His near companions rush with ardent gait, Swift to revenge, but soon to share his fate; Brown, Adams, Coburn, falling side by side, Drench the chill sod with all their vital tide.

Firm on the west bold Herkimer sustains The gather'd shock of all Canadia's trains; Colons and wildmen post their skulkers there, Outflank his pickets and a.s.sail his rear, Drive in his distant scouts with hideous blare, And press, on three sides close, the hovering war.

Johnson's own shrieks commence the deafening din, Rouse every ambush and the storm begin.

A thousand thickets, thro each opening glen, Pour forth their hunters to the chase of men; Trunks of huge trees, and rocks and ravines lend Unnumber'd batteries and their files defend; They fire, they squat, they rise, advance and fly, And yells and groans alternate rend the sky.

The well aim'd hatchet cleaves the helmless head, Mute showers of arrows and loud storms of lead Rain thick from hands unseen, and sudden fling A deep confusion thro the laboring wing.

But Herkimer undaunted quits the stand, Breaks in loose files his disenc.u.mbered band, Wheels on the howling glens each light-arm'd troop, And leads himself where Johnson tones his whoop, Pours thro his copse a well directed fire; The semisavage sees his tribes retire, Then follows thro the brush in full horse speed, And gains the hilltop where the Hurons lead; Here turns his courser; when a grateful sight Recals his stragglers, and restrains his flight.

For Herkimer no longer now sustains The loss of blood that his faint vitals drains: A ball had pierced him ere he changed his field; The slow sure death his prudence had conceal'd, Till dark derouted foes should yield to flight, And his firm friends could finish well the fight.

Lopt from his horse the hero sinks at last; The Hurons ken him, and with hallooing blast Shake the vast wilderness; the tribes around Drink with broad ears and swell the rending sound, Rush back to vengeance with tempestuous might, Sweep the long slopes from every neighboring height, Full on their check'd pursuers; who regain, From all their woods, the first contested plain.

Here open fight begins; and sure defeat Had forced that column to a swift retreat, But Arnold, toiling thro the distant smoke, Beheld their plight, a small detachment took, Bore down behind them with his field-park loud, And hail'd his grapeshot thro the savage crowd; Strow'd every copse with dead, and chased afar The affrighted relics from the skirts of war.

But on the centre swells the heaviest charge, The squares develop and the lines enlarge.

Here Kosciusko's mantling works conceal'd His batteries mute, but soon to scour the field; Morgan with all his marksmen flanks the foe, Hull, Brooks and Courtlandt in the vanguard glow; Here gallant Dearborn leads his light-arm'd train, Here Scammel towers, here Silly shakes the plain.

Gates guides the onset with his waving brand, a.s.signs their task to each unfolding band, Sustains, inspirits, prompts the warrior's rage, Now bids the flank and now the front engage, Points the stern riflers where their slugs to pour, And tells the unmasking batteries when to roar.

For here impetuous Powell wheels and veers His royal guards, his British grenadiers; His Highland broadswords cut their wasting course, His horse-artillery whirls its furious force.

Here Specht and Reidesel to battle bring Their scattering yagers from each folding wing; And here, concentred in tremendous might, Britain's whole park, descending to the fight, Roars thro the ranks; tis Phillips leads the train, And toils and thunders o'er the shuddering plain.

Burgoyne, secure of victory, from his height, Eyes the whole field and orders all the fight, Marks where his veterans plunge their fiercest fire, And where his foes seem halting to retire, Already sees the starry staff give way.

And British ensigns gaining on the day; When from the western wing, in steely glare, All-conquering Arnold surged the tide of war.

Columbia kindles as her hero comes; Her trump's shrill clangor and her deafening drums Redoubling sound the charge; they rage, they burn, And hosted Europe trembles in her turn.

So when Pelides' absence check'd her fate, All Ilion issued from her guardian gate; Her huddling squadrons like a tempest pour'd, Each man a hero and each dart a sword, Full on retiring Greece tumultuous fall, And Greece reluctant seeks her sheltering wall; But Pelius' son rebounding o'er the plain, Troy backward starts and seeks her towers again.

Arnold's dread falchion, with terrific sway, Rolls on the ranks and rules the doubtful day, Confounds with one wide sweep the astonish'd foes, And bids at last the scene of slaughter close.

Pale rout begins, Britannia's broken train Tread back their steps and scatter from the plain, To their strong camp precipitate retire, And wide behind them streams the roaring fire.

Meantime, the skirts of war as Johnson gored, His kindred cannibals desert their lord; They scour the waste for undistinguish'd prey, Howl thro the night the horrors of the day, Scalp every straggler from all parties stray'd, Each wounded wanderer thro the moonlight glade; And while the absent armies give them place, Each camp they plunder and each world disgrace.

One deed shall tell what fame great Albion draws From these auxiliars in her barbarous cause, Lucinda's fate; the tale, ye nations, hear; Eternal ages, trace it with a tear.

Long from the rampart, thro the imbattled field, She spied her Heartly where his column wheel'd, Traced him with steadfast eye and tortured breast, That heaved in concert with his dancing crest; And oft, with head advanced and hand outspread, Seem'd from her Love to ward the flying lead; Till, dimm'd by distance and the gathering cloud; At last he vanish'd in the warrior crowd.

She thought he fell; and wild with fearless air, She left the camp to brave the woodland war, Made a long circuit, all her friends to shun, And wander'd wide beneath the falling sun; Then veering to the field, the pickets past, To gain the hillock where she miss'd him last.

Fond maid, he rests not there; from finish'd fight He sought the camp, and closed the rear of flight.

He hurries to his tent;--oh rage! despair!

No glimpse, no tidings of the frantic fair; Save that some carmen, as acamp they drove, Had seen her coursing for the western grove.

Faint with fatigue and choked with burning thirst, Forth from his friends with bounding leap he burst, Vaults o'er the palisade with eyes on flame, And fills the welkin with Lucinda's name, Swift thro the wild wood paths phrenetic springs,-- Lucind! Lucinda! thro the wild wood rings.

All night he wanders; barking wolves alone And screaming night-birds answer to his moan; For war had roused them from their savage den; They scent the field, they snuff the walks of men.

The fair one too, of every aid forlorn, Had raved and wander'd, till officipus morn Awaked the Mohawks from their short repose, To glean the plunder, ere their comrades rose.

Two Mohawks met the maid,--historian, hold!-- Poor Human Nature! must thy shame be told?

Where then that proud preeminence of birth, Thy Moral Sense? the brightest boast of earth.

Had but the tiger changed his heart for thine, Could rocks their bowels with that heart combine, Thy tear had gusht, thy hand relieved her pain, And led Lucinda to her lord again.

She starts, with eyes upturn'd and fleeting breath, In their raised axes views her instant death, Spreads her white hands to heaven in frantic prayer, Then runs to grasp their knees, and crouches there.

Her hair, half lost along the shrubs she past, Rolls in loose tangles round her lovely waist; Her kerchief torn betrays the globes of snow That heave responsive to her weight of woe.

Does all this eloquence suspend the knife?

Does no superior bribe contest her life?

There does: the scalps by British gold are paid; A long-hair'd scalp adorns that heavenly head; Arid comes the sacred spoil from friend or foe, No marks distinguish, and no man can know.

With calculating pause and demon grin, They seize her hands, and thro her face divine Drive the descending ax; the shriek she sent Attain'd her lover's ear; he thither bent With all the speed his wearied limbs could yield, Whirl'd his keen blade, and stretch'd upon the field The yelling fiends; who there disputing stood Her gory scalp, their horrid prize of blood.

He sunk delirious on her lifeless clay, And past, in starts of sense, the dreadful day.

Are these thy trophies, Carleton! these the swords Thy hand unsheath'd and gave the savage hordes, Thy boasted friends, by treaties brought from far, To aid thy master in his murderous war?

But now Britannia's chief, with proud disdain Coop'd in his camp, demands the field again.

Back to their fate his splendid host he drew, Swell'd high their rage, and led the charge anew; Again the batteries roar, the lightnings play, Again they fall, again they roll away; For now Columbia, with rebounding might, Foil'd quick their columns, but confined their flight.

Her wings, like fierce tornados, gyring ran, Crusht their wide flanks and gain'd their flying van; Here Arnold charged; the hero storm'd and pour'd A thousand thunders where he turn'

No pause, no parley; onward far he fray'd, Dispersed whole squadrons every bound he made, Broke thro their rampart, seized theircampand stores And pluck'd the standard from their broken towers.

Aghast, confounded in the midway field, They drop their arms; the banded nations yield.

When sad Burgoyne, in one disastrous day, Sees future crowns and former wreaths decay, His banners furl'd, his long battalions wheel'd To pile their muskets on the battle field; While two pacific armies shade one plain, The mighty victors and the captive train.

Book VII.

Argument.