The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 24

Tom Gage and Sir Harry, Sir William, (our boast) Lord Howe, and the rest that have travelled the coast, All failed in their projects of laying this ghost:

So unless the d.a.m.ned spectre myself can expel It will yet kill our monarch, I know very well, And gallop him off on his lion to h.e.l.l.

But I heartily wish, that, instead of Sir Guy, They had sent out a seer from the island of Skie, Who rebels, and devils, and ghosts could defy:

So great is our prospect of failing at last, When I look at the present, and think of the past, I wish with our heroes I had not been cla.s.sed;

For though, to a man, we are bullies and bruisers, And covered with laurels, we still are the losers, 'Till each is recalled with his Tory accusers:

But the war now is altered, and on a new plan; By negociation we'll do what we can-- And I am an honest, well-meaning old man;

Too proud to retreat, and too weak to advance, We must stay where we are, at the mercy of chance, 'Till Fortune shall help us to lead you a dance.

Then lay down your arms, dear rebels--O hone!

Our king is the best man that ever was known, And the greatest that ever was stuck on a throne:

His love and affection by all ranks are sought; Here take him, my honies, and each pay a groat-- Was ever a monarch more easily bought?

In pretty good case and very well found, By night and by day we carry him round: He must go for a groat, if we can't get a pound.

Break the treaties you made with Louis Bourbon; Abandon the Congress, no matter how soon, And then, all together, we'll play a new tune.

'Tis strange that they always would manage the roast, And force you their healths and the Dauphin's to toast; Repent, my dear fellows, and each get a post:

Or, if you object that one post is too few, We generous Britons will help you to two, With a beam laid across--that will certainly do.

The folks that rebelled in the year forty-five, We used them so well that we left few alive, But sent them to heaven in swarms from their hive.

Your n.o.ble resistance we cannot forget, 'Tis nothing but right we should honour you yet; If you are not rewarded, we die in your debt.

So, quickly submit and our mercy implore, Be as loyal to George as you once were before, Or I'll slaughter you all--and probably more.

What puzzled Sir Harry, Sir Will, and his brother, Perhaps may be done by the son of my mother, With the Sword in one hand and a Branch in the other.

My bold predecessors (as fitting their station) At their first coming out, all spoke Proclamation; 'Tis the custom with us, and the way of our nation.

Then Kil-al-la-loo!--Shelaly, I say;-- If we cannot all fight, we can all run away-- And further at present I choose not to say.

[163] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, June 5, 1782 and dated May 30, 1782. Carleton was not only empowered to take command of the army in America, but he was also sent as "Commissioner for making peace in North America." He remained in the city until November 25, 1783, when he departed with the army.

SCANDANAVIAN WAR SONG[164]

_Balderi patris scamna Parata scio in aula: Bibemus Cerevisiam Ex concavis crateribus craniorum.

Non gemit vir fortis contra mortem Magnifici in Odini domibus, &c._

_Translation_

Brave deeds atchieved, at death's approach I smile, In Balder's hall I see the table spread, The enlivening ale shall now reward my toil, Quaffed from their sculls, that by my faulchion bled.

Heroes no more at death's approach shall groan: In lofty Odin's dome all sighs forbear-- Conscious of b.l.o.o.d.y deeds, my fearless soul Mounts to great Odin's hall, and revels there.

[164] First printed June 19, 1782, in number 16 of the series of papers contributed to the first volume of the _Freeman's Journal_ under the t.i.tle _The Pilgrim_, and reprinted to some extent in the edition of 1788 under the t.i.tle _The Philosopher of the Forest_. The essay, which might be ent.i.tled "On the Irrationality of War," contained the following pa.s.sage:

"They [the Scandinavians] imagined the chief pleasure of this immortality would be to drink beer out of bowls made of the skulls of the enemies they had slain in battle, according to the number of which every one was to be esteemed and honored in the mansions of another world. Their war songs were particularly horrible to the imagination, and full of those savage notions of valor and romantic heroism that is to this day observable in the North American Indians.... Is it possible that a being illuminated by the rays of that spiritual sun could in his senses write the following lines: they were composed (with a great deal more) by one of the warrior chiefs of the Scandinavians more than 800 years since, a few hours before he expired?"

THE PROJECTORS[165]

Before the brazen age began, And things were yet on Saturn's plan, None knew what sovereign bliss there lay In ruling, were it but a day.

Each with spontaneous food content, His life in Nature's affluence spent; The sun was mild, serene and clear, And walked in Libra all the year; No tempests did the heaven deform, 'Twas not too cold nor yet too warm; People were then at small expence, They dug no ditch, and made no fence, No patentees by sleight or chance For Indian lands got double grants, Not for their wants, but just to say, "If you come here, expect to pay."

Base grasping souls, your pride repress; Beyond your wants must you possess?

If ten poor acres will supply A rustic and his family, Why, Jobbers, would you have ten score, Ten thousand and ten thousand more?

It is a truth well understood, "All would be tyrants if they could."

The love of sway has been confessed The ruling pa.s.sion of the breast: Those who aspire to govern states, If baulked by disapproving fates, Resolve their purpose to fulfil, And scheme for tenants at their will.

Ten thousand acres, fit for toil, In Indiana's fertile soil-- Ten thousand acres! come, agree-- Timon is named[166] the patentee, And, as the longing stomach craves, He'll honour fools and flatter knaves.

If Rome, of old, to greatness rose Triumphant over all her foes, None need believe that people then Were more in strength than modern men; If o'er the world their eagles waved, 'Twas property their freedom saved;[167]

From lands, not shared amongst the few, An independent spirit grew: Each on a small and scanty spot, With much ado his living got, Inured to labour from his birth,[168]

Each Roman soldier tilled the earth, Great as a monarch on the throne By having something of his own.

[165] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, July 3, 1782, under the signature "Ca.s.sibilan." I have followed the 1809 text.

[166] "Let me become."--_Ed. 1786._

[167] "'Twas policy the world enslav'd."--_Ib._

[168] This line and the following not in the 1786 version.

ON GENERAL ROBERTSON'S PROCLAMATION[169]

Old Judas the traitor (nor need we much wonder) Falling down from the gallows, his paunch split asunder, Affording, 'tis likely, a horrible scent Rather worse than the sulphur of h.e.l.l, where he went.

So now this bra' chieftain, who long has suspended And kept out of view what his master intended, Bursts out all at once, and an inside discloses, Disgusting the Tories, who stop up their noses.

The short of the matter is this, as I take it-- New-York of true Britons is plainly left naked, And their conduct amounts to an honest confession, That they cannot depend on the run-a-way Hessian.