The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 32

[227] This line and the three following not in the edition of 1786.

[228] This line and the three following not in the original version.

[229] "The false-hearted Tory."--_Ed. 1786._

[230] "Tories."--_Ed. 1786._

[231] "Whigs."--_Ib._

[232] Dr. Francis, in his paper on Christopher Colles, records this story:

"While on one of his visits at Gaine's a customer saluted him loudly by name, the sound of which arrested the attention of the old Royalist, who, lifting up his eyes, interrogated him: 'Is your name Freneau?'

'Yes,' answered the Republican poet. '_Philip_ Freneau?' rejoined Gaine.

'Yes sir! the same.' 'Then, sir,' warmly uttered Gaine, 'you are a very clever fellow. Let me have the pleasure of taking you by the hand. Will you walk round the corner and join me in my parlor. We will take a gla.s.s of wine together. You, sir, have given me and my paper a wide reputation."

STANZAS[233]

Occasioned by the Departure of the British from Charleston, December 14, 1782

His triumphs of a moment done, His race of desolation run, The Briton, yielding to his fears, To other sh.o.r.es with sorrow steers:

To other sh.o.r.es--and coa.r.s.er climes He goes, reflecting on his crimes, His broken oaths, a murdered Hayne, And blood of thousands, spilt in vain.

To Cooper's stream, advancing slow, Ashley no longer tells his woe; No longer mourns his limpid flood Discoloured deep with human blood.

Lo! where those social streams combine, Again the friends of Freedom join; And, while they stray, where once they bled, Rejoice to find their tyrants fled.

Since memory paints that dismal day When British squadrons held the sway, And circling close on every side, By sea and land retreat denied--

Can she recall that mournful scene, And not the virtues of a Greene, Who great in war--in danger tried, Has won the day, and crushed their pride.

Through barren wastes and ravaged lands, He led his bold undaunted bands; Through sickly climes his standard bore Where never army marched before:

By fort.i.tude, with patience joined, (The virtues of a n.o.ble mind) He spread, where'er our wars are known, His country's honour and his own.

Like Hercules, his generous plan Was to redress the wrongs of men; Like him, accustomed to subdue, He freed a world from monsters too.

Through every want and every ill We saw him persevering still, Through Autumn's damps and Summer's heat, 'Till his great purpose was complete.

Like the bold eagle, from the skies That stoops, to seize his trembling prize, He darted on the slaves of kings At Camden plains and Eutaw Springs.

Ah! had our friends that led the fray Survived the ruins of that day, We should not damp our joy with pain, Nor, sympathizing, now complain.

Strange! that of those who n.o.bly dare Death always claims so large a share, That those of virtue most refined Are soonest to the grave consigned!--

But fame is theirs--and future days On pillared bra.s.s shall tell their praise; Shall tell--when cold neglect is dead-- "These for their country fought and bled."

[233] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, February 19, 1783, and copied by the Charleston _Weekly Gazette_, May 13 following. Text from the edition of 1809.

ON THE BRITISH KING'S SPEECH[234]

Recommending Peace with the American States

Grown sick of war, and war's alarms, Good George has changed his note at last-- Conquest and death have lost their charms; He, and his nation stand aghast, To think what fearful lengths they've gone, And what a brink they stand upon.

Old Bute and North, twin sons of h.e.l.l, If you advised him to retreat Before our vanquished thousands fell, Prostrate, submissive at his feet: Awake once more his latent flame, And bid us yield you all you claim.[235]

The Macedonian wept and sighed Because no other world was found Where he might glut his rage and pride, And by its ruin be renowned; The world that Sawney wished to view George fairly had--and lost it too!

Let jarring powers make war or peace, Monster!--no peace can greet your breast: Our murdered friends can never cease To hover round and break your rest!

The Furies will your bosom tear, Remorse, distraction, and despair And h.e.l.l, with all its fiends, be there!

Cursed be the ship that e'er sets sail Hence, freighted for your odious sh.o.r.e; May tempests o'er her strength prevail, Destruction round her roar!

May Nature all her aids deny, The sun refuse his light, The needle from its object fly, No star appear by night: 'Till the base pilot, conscious of his crime, Directs the prow to some more Christian[236] clime.

Genius! that first our race designed, To other kings impart The finer feelings of the mind, The virtues of the heart; Whene'er the honours of a throne Fall to the b.l.o.o.d.y and the base, Like Britain's tyrant, pull them down, Like his, be their disgrace!

Hibernia, seize each native right!

Neptune, exclude him from the main; Like her that sunk with all her freight, The _Royal George_,[237] take all his fleet, And never let them rise again: Confine him to his gloomy isle, Let Scotland rule her half, Spare him to curse his fate awhile, And Whitehead,[A] thou to write his epitaph.

[A] _William Whitehead_, Poet Laureat to his Majesty--author of the execrable birth-day Odes.--_Freneau's note, Ed. 1786._

[234] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, March 12, 1783. "King George of England was mastered by a consuming grief for the loss of America, and knew no ease of mind by day or by night. When on the fifth of December [1782], in his speech at the opening of Parliament, he came to read that he had offered to declare the colonies of America free and independent States, his manner was constrained and his voice full."--_Bancroft._

[235] "And feed with hope his heart's desire."--_Ed. 1786._

[236] "Grateful."--_Ed. 1786._

[237] The _Royal George_, 108 guns, while being refitted at Spithead, August 29, 1782, was heeled over too far by her crew, causing her suddenly to sink. Admiral Kempenfelt and nearly 800 men perished in this disaster.

A NEW-YORK TORY'S EPISTLE[238]

To one of his Friends in Pennsylvania.--Written previous to his Departure for Nova Scotia

May, 1783