The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 62

And cry'd "like h.e.l.l his heart is black-- Pursue him, boys, and scent his track, If drunk or dead, we'll have him back, This man of sc.u.m!"

Each took his mark, and hit a tree; The battle's done!--all sober, we; Huzza! we have the victory!

Then scamper'd home!

RETALIATION

A Marine Ode--1814

"Ye powers who rule the western gale Not for the golden fleece we sail, Nor yet on wild ambition's plan, But vengeance gathers man with man.

For wrongs which wearied patience bore, For slighted rules of legal war, We rear our flag, our sails display, And east north east explore our way.

Let some a.s.sert, ten thousand pounds Would place our fleet on british grounds, And urge us onward to saint James To wrap his palaces in flames.

A motive of so mean a cast Allures no mind, excites no breast; From such reward we loathing turn And would at such a proffer spurn.

No--to retaliate on the foe, Free-will'd, we independent go, Our ship well mann'd, in war's attire, To light the skies with english fire.

November comes! tis time to sail, The nights are long and brisk the gale, And England, soon, the odds may prove Between our hatred and our love."

ON THE LAUNCHING

Of the Seventy-four Gun Ship _Independence_,[211] at Charlestown, near Boston

Our trade to restore as it stood once before We have launched a new ship from the stocks, Her rate is our first, and her force will, we trust, Be sufficient to humble the hawks; The hawks of old England we mean, don't mistake, Some harpies of England our prizes we'll make.

Independence her name, independent our minds, And prepared for the toils of the sea, We are ready to combat the waves and the winds, And fight till the ocean is free: Then, away to your stations, each man on our list Who, when danger approaches, will never be miss'd.

In a.s.serting our rights we have rather been slow And patient till patience was tired; We were plunder'd and press'd ere we ventur'd a blow Till the world at our patience admired, And language was held, of contempt and disgrace, And Europe mis-call'd us a pitiful race.

Twas time to arise in the strength of our might When Madison publish'd the war, And many have thought that he would have been right Had he published it three years before; While France was unpester'd with traitors and knaves, Nor Europe polluted with Wellington's slaves.

To arm for our country is never too late, No fetters are yet on our feet; Our hands are more free, and our hearts are as great As the best in the enemy's fleet: And look at the list of their navy, and think, How many are left, to burn, capture, and sink!

Let the nations of Europe surrender the sea, Or crouch at the foot of a throne; In liberty's soil we have planted her tree, And her rights will relinquish to none: Then stand to your arms, Then stand to your arms, Then stand to your arms--half the battle is done!

And bravely accomplish what valor begun.

The day is approaching, a day not remote, A day with impatience we hail, When Decatur and Hull shall again be afloat, And Bainbridge commission'd to sail; To raise his blockades, will advance on the foe, And bulwark with Bull to the bottom shall go.

On the waves of Lake Erie we show'd the old brag We, too, could advance in a line, And batter their frigates and humble their flag; "I have met them," said Perry, "they're mine!"

And so, my dear boys, we can meet them again On the waves of the sea, or the waves of Champlain.

To the new Independence then, pour out a gla.s.s, And drink, with the sense of a man: She soon will be ready, this pride of her cla.s.s, Sir Thomas[A] to meet on his plan: He hates our torpedoes--then teaze him no more, Let him venture his luck with our Seventy-four.

Then stand to your arms, you shall ne'er be enslav'd, Let the battle go on till the nation is saved!

[A] Sir Thomas Hardy, of the Ramillies 74.--_Freneau's note._

[211] The _Independence_ was one of the four 74-gun frigates authorized by Congress at the opening of the war. It was launched late in 1814, too late to play any part in the war.

THE BROOK OF THE VALLEY

The world has wrangled half an age, And we again in war engage, While this sweet, sequester'd rill Murmurs through the valley still.

All pacific as you seem: Such a gay elysian stream;-- Were you always thus at rest How the valley would be blest.

But, if always thus at rest; This would not be for the best: In one summer you would die And leave the valley parch'd and dry.

Tell me, where your waters go, Purling as they downward flow?

Stagnant, now, and now a fall?-- To the gulph that swallows all.

Flowing, peaceful, from your urn Are your waters to return?-- Though the same you may appear, You're not the same we saw last year.

Not a drop of that remains-- Gone to visit other plains, Gone, to stray through other woods, Gone, to join the ocean floods!

Yes--they may return once more To visit scenes they knew before;-- Yonder sun, to cheer the vale From the ocean can exhale

Vapors, that your waste supply, Turn'd to rain from yonder sky; Moisture, vapors, to revive And keep your margin all alive.

But, with all your quiet flow, Do you not some quarrels know!

Lately, angry, how you ran!

All at war--and much like man.

When the shower of waters fell, How you raged, and what a swell!

All your banks you overflow'd, Scarcely knew your own abode!

How you battled with the rock!

Gave my willow such a shock As to menace, by its fall, Underwood and bushes, all:

Now you are again at peace: Time will come when that will cease; Such the human pa.s.sions are; --You again will war declare.

Emblem, thou, of restless man; What a sketch of nature's plan!

Now at peace, and now at war, Now you murmur, now you roar;

Muddy now, and limpid next, Now with icy shackles vext-- What a likeness here we find!

What a picture of mankind!