The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 8

_2nd P._

But we must sleep in frost and snows, No season shuts up our campaign; Hard as the oaks, we dare oppose The autumn's or the winter's reign.

Alike to us the winds that blow In summer's season gay, Or those that rave On Hudson's wave And drift his ice away.

For Liberty, celestial maid, With joy all hardships we endure.

In her blest smiles we are repaid, In her protection are secure.

Then rise superior to the foe, Ye freeborn souls of fire; Respect these arms, 'Tis freedom warms, To n.o.ble deeds aspire.

Winter and death may change the scene, The cold may freeze, the ball may kill, And dire misfortunes intervene; But freedom shall be potent still To drive these Britons from our sh.o.r.e, Who, cruel and unkind, With slavish chain Attempt in vain Our freeborn limbs to bind.

_Pasq._ O, excellent--"Our freeborn limbs to bind"--by my soul, they never shall bind mine. Harry, give us another song on our affairs and then we'll be ready.

_All._ Ay, ay; another, another.

_2nd P._ I have not many by heart. I do recollect one at present, but it was made at the beginning of the war.

_All._ No matter, no matter; let's hear it.

_2nd P._ [_Sings_

The cohorts of Britain are now all complete, She has brushed up her soldiers and manned out her fleet; The lion has roared whose trade is to kill, And we are the victims whose blood he must spill.

But ere I am slaughtered and wrapped in a shroud I must tell you the motive that makes him so proud.

The monkeys and puppies that bow to his rule Have told him a lie and deceived the old fool.

They say we are cowards, not dressed in red coats, That he without danger may cut all our throats; If we see but a Briton, confounded with fear, We'll throw down our muskets and run like a deer.

That one thousand men with a captain would dare To march from New Hampshire to Georgia, they swear.

But here lies the trick of these wonderful men, They tell us they'll do it, but do not say when.

Such a motive to fight would you ever conceive, Yet such is the motive that makes him so brave.

On such a presumption, in hopes of applause, He whets up his grinders and sharpens his claws.

But hark, Mr. Lion, and be not so stout, In fancy alone you have put us to rout.

To show you how little your threat'nings avail, Here's a kick at your breech and a clip at your tail.[39]

But everything seems poisoned where I tread, And I am tortured to perfection.

[_Exit. Enter an officer of the guard_

SCENE IV.--_Another apartment in said house. Enter_ AIDE _to_ GEN.

ARNOLD.

_Aide._ General Arnold here?

_Jeff._ Two hours have hardly yet elapsed since he Across the river to the garrison On some important business went in haste, So as I told to his attendant here.

For since the general parted I arrived.

Is he, then, at the garrison? by heaven, We'll have him in a trice.

_Aide._ You'll have him in a trice. Pray, what means that?

_Jeff._ I see your ignorance, my honest friend.

Why such a d.a.m.ned, unnatural plot has happened That when I mention it, if you have feeling, At the first word your blood must chill with horror And admiration shake your very soul.

This traitor Arnold, this vile, abandoned traitor, This monster of ingrat.i.tude unequalled, Has been conspiring with an English spy To render tip the fort to General Clinton.

_Aide._ What fort? the fort at West Point, mean you?

_Jeff._ The fort at West Point, on my sacred honour, The garrison, dependencies, and stores, And, what is more, the person of our leader.

Five thousand troops at York are now embarked, And even wait this night to take possession.

_Aide._ Is this reality; sure you are jesting.

And yet you serious seem to be of countenance.

Lips that quiver, eyes that glow with pa.s.sion, Tempt me to think your story may be true.

And yet I doubt it. Came you here to seize him?

_Jeff._ Nay, doubt it not. I have the papers with me That at a glance betray this horrid treason.

_Aide._ For what could he do this?

Was it Resentment, Avarice, Ambition That prompted him to act the traitor's part?

And yet I'm sure it never could be avarice.

His country lavishes her wealth upon him; He has the income of a little king, And perquisites that by a hundred ways Not only the base wants of life supply, But deck him out in elegance and grandeur.

Perhaps, indeed, he has ambitious views: He aims to make his court to Britain's king, And rise upon the ruins of his country.

Perhaps it is resentment and disgust, For many hate him, and have often said He fattens on the plunder of the public.

_Jeff._ 'Tis avarice, sir, that base, unmanly motive.

The glare of British gold has captivated This hero, as we thought him. What a curse, That human souls can of such stuff be moulded, That they, foregoing fame and character, E'en for the sake of what is despicable, Be foe to virtue and to virtue's friend.

But such are to be found, and every age has seen 'em, Who, for the sake of mere external show, Some qualities that seemed to them attractive----[40]

[33] This fragment of a drama, as far as I can find, was never published. Freneau, judging from indications, wrote it shortly after his "Prison Ship," in the autumn of 1780, only a few weeks after the events took place which it records. It exists, as far as I know, only in Freneau's fragmentary and much-revised autograph ma.n.u.script now in the possession of Miss Adele M. Sweeney of Jersey City. The arrest of Andre took place September 23, 1780.

[34] Here occurs an illegible word in Freneau's ma.n.u.script.

[35] This poem was first published in the edition of 1786 under the t.i.tle, "The English Quixote of 1778; or, Modern Idolatry." In the 1809 edition Freneau added the following:

EPILOGUE

'Tis so well known 'tis hardly worth relating That men have worshipped G.o.ds, though of their own creating: Art's handy work they thought they might adore, And bowed to G.o.ds that were but logs before.

Idols, of old, were made of clay or wood, And, in themselves, did neither harm nor good, Acted as though they knew the good old rule, "Friend, hold thy peace, and you'll be thought no fool."

Britons! their case is yours--and linked in fate, You, like your Indian allies--good and great-- Bow to some frowning block yourselves did rear, And worship _wooden monarchs_--out of fear.

[36] This lyric has been used by Freneau in his poem, "Mars and Hymen,"

_q. v._