The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 45

[303] Unalter'd.

[304] Dim.

[305] Thy own brave deeds.

[306] Manly.

[307] Were _thrice_.

[308] Blast the wrongs of.

[309] On these plains.

A RENEGADO EPISTLE[310]

To the Independent Americans

We Tories, who lately were frightened away, When you marched into York all in battle array, Dear Whigs, in our exile have somewhat to say.

From the clime of New Scotland we wish you to know We still are in being--mere spectres of woe, Our dignity high, but our spirits are low.

Great people we are, and are called the king's friends; But on friendships like these what advantage attends?

We may stay and be starved[311] when we've answered his ends!

The Indians themselves, whom no treaties can bind, We have reason to think are perversely inclined-- And where we have friends is not easy to find.

From the day we arrived on this desolate sh.o.r.e We still have been wishing to see you once more, And your freedom enjoy, now the danger is o'er.

Although we be-rebelled you up hill and down, It was all for your good--and to honour a crown Whose splendours have spoiled better eyes than our own.

That traitors we were, is no more than our due, And so may remain for a century through, Unless we return, and be tutored by you.

Although with the dregs of the world we are cla.s.sed, We hope your resentment will soften at last, Now your toils are repaid, and our triumphs are past.

When a matter is done, 'tis a folly to fret-- But your market-day mornings we cannot forget, With your coaches to lend, and your horses to let.

Your dinners of beef, and your breakfasts of toast!

But we have no longer such blessings to boast, No cattle to steal, and no turkies to roast.

Such enjoyments as these, we must tell you with pain, 'Tis odds we shall only be wishing in vain Unless we return, and be brothers again.

We burnt up your mills and your meetings, 'tis true, And many bold fellows we crippled and slew-- (Aye! we were the boys that had something to do!)

Old Huddy[312] we hung on the Neversink sh.o.r.e-- But, Sirs, had we hung up a thousand men more, They had all been avenged in the torments we bore,

When Asgill to Jersey you foolishly fetched, And each of us feared that his neck would be stretched, When you were be-rebelled, and we were be-wretched.

In the book of destruction it seems to be written The Tories must still be dependent on Britain-- The worst of dependence that ever was. .h.i.t on.

Now their work is concluded--that pitiful jobb-- They send over convicts to strengthen our mob-- And so we do nothing but snivel and sob.

The worst of all countries has fallen to our share, Where winter and famine provoke our despair, And fogs are for ever obscuring the air.

Although there be nothing but sea dogs to feed on, Our friend Jemmy Rivington made it an Eden-- But, alas! he had nothing but lies to proceed on.

Deceived we were all by his d.a.m.nable schemes-- When he coloured it over with gardens and streams, And grottoes and groves, and the rest of his dreams.

Our heads were so turned by that conjuror's spell, We swallowed the lies he was ordered to tell-- But his "happy retreats" were the visions of h.e.l.l.

We feel so enraged we could rip up his weazon, When we think of the soil he described with its trees on, And the plenty that reigned, and the charms of each season.

Like a parson that tells of the joys of the blest To a man to be hanged--he himself thought it best To remain where he was, in his haven of rest.

Since he helped us away by the means of his types, His precepts should only have lighted our pipes, His example was rather to honour your stripes.

Now, if we return, as we're bone of your bone, We'll renounce all allegiance to George and his throne And be the best subjects that ever were known.

In a ship, you have seen (where the duty is hard) The cook and the scullion may claim some regard, Though it takes a good fellow to brace the main yard.

Howe'er you despise us, because you are free, The world's at a loss for such people as we, Who can pillage on land, and can plunder at sea.

So long for our rations they keep us in waiting-- The Lords and the Commons, perhaps, are debating If Tories can live without drinking or eating.

So we think it is better to see you, by far-- And have hinted our meaning to governor Parr[A]-- The worst that can happen is--feathers and tar.

[A] Then Governor of Nova-Scotia.--_Freneau's note._

_Nova-Scotia, Feb. 1784._

[310] Text from the edition of 1809. First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, March 30, 1785, under the t.i.tle, "A New York Tory's Epistle."

[311] "We may starve and be d.a.m.n'd."--_Ed. 1786._

[312] See note to poem "On Gen. Robertson's Proclamation," Vol. II, p. 162.

THE AMERICAN SIBERIA[313]

When Jove from darkness smote the sun, And Nature earth from chaos won, One part she left a barren waste By stormy seas and fogs embraced.

Jove saw her vile neglect, and cried, "What madness did your fancy guide-- Why have you left so large a s.p.a.ce With winter brooding o'er its face?