THE NORTHERN MARCH
Written Previously to the Battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater.[202]
Come, to the battle let us go,
Hurl destruction on the foe;
Who commands us, well we know,
Tis the gallant general Brown.
Haste away from field or town,
Pull the hostile standard down—
If but led by general Brown
What will be the event, we know.
If but led against that foe,
Soon their doom the english know,
Soon their haughtiest blood shall flow,
When opposed to general Brown.
Haste away from town and farm:
If we meet them, where's the harm?
English power has lost its charm,
England's fame is tumbling down.
Long she ruled the northern waste,
Freedom is by her debased,
Freedom is not to her taste;
All the world must wear her chain!!!
"Not a keel shall plough the wave,
Not a sail, without her leave;
Not a fleet, the nations have,
Safe from her, shall stem the main!!!
Let this day's heroic deeds
Let the generous breast that bleeds,
Let our chief who bravely leads
Tell them that their reign is done:
Soon to quit Columbia's shore,
Is their doom—we say no more;
General Brown, in the cannon's roar
Tells them how the field is won!
ON POLITICAL SERMONS
When parsons preach on politics, pray why
Should declamation cease, if you go by?
We heard a lecture, or a scold,
And, doubtful which it might be call'd,
But senseless as the bell that toll'd,
And pleasing neither young nor old.
We kept our seats amid the din,
Then quit the field, with all our sin,
Just as good as we went in.
Tell me what the preacher said,
Ye, who somewhat longer stay'd
Till the last address was made:—
Why,—he talk'd of ruin'd states,
Demagogues and democrates,
Falling stars, and Satan's baits.
Did he mention nothing more?—
Simply, what he said before—
Repetitions, twenty score.
His arguments could nothing prove,
His text alarm'd the sacred grove,
His prayer displeased the powers above.
He would not pray for those who rule,
But hoped that in Bethesda's pool
They all might dip, to make them cool.
He deprecated blood and war,
Its many mischiefs did deplore
Except when England mounts the car.
At Congress he had such a fling,
As plainly show'd, he wish'd a king,
Might here arrive, on Vulture's wing;
And that himself an horn might blow
To shake our modern Jericho,
And bring its ramparts very low.
To english notes his psalm was sung,
With politics the pulpit rung,
And thrice was bellow'd from his tongue,
"The president is always wrong!
"He brought these evils on our land,
And he must go—the time's at hand—
With Bonaparte to take his stand."—
Must not the wheels of fate go on?
Must not the lion's teeth be drawn,
Because it suits not Prester John!—
A Bishop's Lawn is such a prize
Such virtue in a mitre lies,
Democracy before it flies.
And these he hopes, if George prevails,
In time may hoist his shorten'd sails
And waft him on, with fortune's gales.
To gain by preaching, nett and clear,
Some twenty hundred pounds a year;
Which democrats would never bear.
To England why so much a friend,
Or why her cause with heat defend?—
There is, no doubt, some selfish end.
Dear Momus come, and help me laugh—
This England is the stay and staff
Of true religion—more than half!
She is the prop of all that's good,
A bulwark, which for ages stood
To guard the path and mark the road!
One proof of which can soon be brought,
The temple rais'd to Jaggernaut,[A]
And India to his temple brought,
To see her murder'd, mangled sons,
To worship idols, stocks, and stones,
Or reliques of some scoundrel's bones.
And "long may heaven on England smile—
(So says our preacher, all the while)
The world's last hope, fast anchor'd isle!"—
Religion there is made no sport,
State tailors there have deckt her out
In a birth-day suit—to go to court!—
LINES ON NAPOLEON BONAPARTE[203]
Napoleon, born for regal sway,
With fortune in a smiling mood,
To a foreign land explored his way,
Where Cairo stands, or Memphis stood.
And still he fought, and still she smiled,
And urged him far, and spurr'd him on,
And on his march, at length beguiled,
One thinking man to wear a crown.
The crown attracted many a care,
And war employ'd him, day and night;
He by a princess had an heir
Born to succeed him, or—who might.
Through russian tribes he forced his way,
To blast their hopes and hurl them down
Whose valor might dispute his sway,
Or dispossess him of a crown.
At last arrived the fatal time,
When powerful tyrants, jealous grown,
Agreed to count it for a crime
A commoner should fill a throne.
European states, with England join'd
To keep unmixt the royal race,
And let the famed Napoleon find
A dotard might supply his place.
ON THE DISMISSION OF BONAPARTE
From the French Throne.
Famed Bonaparte, in regal pride,
Put slighted Josephine aside,
And wedded an imperial bride,
Of fortune sure.
But when he droop'd, and when he fell,
(I took my pen and mark'd it well)
This jilt of jilts, this austrian belle,
No longer styled him, Mon Amour;
Which means, I think, my dearest heart,
My love!—but lovers often part
When friendship does not point the dart,
Nor fix the flame.
And warning, hence, let others take,
Nor love's decree for interest break;
In marriage, too much lies at stake
To slight its claim.
Retreating to the tuscan coast,
An empire, wife, and fortune lost,
He found the throne a dangerous post,
And wars a cheat;
Where all, who play their game too deep,
Must hazard life, and discord reap,
Or thrown from grandeur's giddy steep,
Lament their fate.
Napoleon, with an empty chest!
An austrian princess must detest;
And yet, she wears upon her breast
The painted toy;[A]
And often weeps, the story goes,
That royal blood not wholly flows
In every vein, from head to toes,
Of her dear boy.
To Elba's isle she could not go—
The royal orders said "No, no!
On Elba's island we bestow
No royal throne:"
And thus Napoleon, shoved from power,
Has many a lonely gloomy hour
To walk on Elba's sea-beat shore,
Alone! alone!
O save us from ambition's sway,
Ye powers, who tread the milky way;
It will deceive, it will betray
Nine out of ten.
Napoleon's history let us read:
In science he was great indeed—
Ambition's lantern did mislead
This prince of men:—
And yet, ambition had its use,
It check'd the royal game of goose,
And many a flagrant vile abuse
Fell at his frown.
But, doom'd to share immortal fame,
Despotic powers will dread his name,
Though he, perhaps, was much the same,
Raised to a throne!
THE PRINCE REGENT'S RESOLVE
The regent prince, enraged to find
The standard from his frigates torn,
To a full court thus spoke his mind,
With hand display'd and soul of scorn,
"Since fate decreed Napoleon's fall,
Now, now's the time to conquer all!
"We at the head of all that's great,
Tis ours to hold the world in awe:
Let Louis reign in regal state,
And let his subjects own his law;
Their tide of power tis ours to stem—
We'll govern those who govern them.
"But here's the rub, and here's my grief;
My frigates from the seas are hurl'd!
What shall we do? how find relief?
How strike and stupefy the world?
Our flag, that long control'd the main,
Our standard must be raised again.
"A land there lies towards the west
There must my royal will be done;
That land is an infernal nest
Of reptiles, rul'd by Madison:
That nest I swear to humble down,
There plant a king, and there a crown.
"Depart, my fleet, depart, my slaves,
Invade that nest, attack and burn;
Where'er the ocean rolls his waves,
Subdue, or dare not to return;
Subdue and plunder all you can,
Who plunders most—shall be my man.
"To scatter death, by fire and sword,
To prostrate all, where'er you go:
That is the mandate, that the word,
Though seas of blood around you flow:
No more!—go, aid the indian yell:
Be conquerors, and I'll feed you well.
So spoke the prince, but little knew
His minions were for slaughter fed;
Nor did he guess, that vengeance, too,
Would fall on his devoted head;
When all his plans and projects fail,
And he ascends Belshazzar's scale.[A]
THE VOLUNTEER'S MARCH[A]
July, 1814
Dulce est pro patria mori.
Ye, whom Washington has led,
Ye, who in his footsteps tread,
Ye, who death nor danger dread,
Haste to glorious victory.
Now's the day and now's the hour;
See the British navy lour,
See approach proud George's power,
England! chains and slavery.
Who would be a traitor knave?
Who would fill a coward's grave?
Who so base to be a slave?
Traitor, coward, turn and flee.
Meet the tyrants, one and all;
Freemen stand, or freemen fall—
At Columbia's patriot call,
At her mandate, march away!
Former times have seen them yield,
Seen them drove from every field,
Routed, ruin'd, and repell'd—
Seize the spirit of those times!
By oppression's woes and pains—
By our sons in servile chains
We will bleed from all our veins
But they shall be—shall be free.
O'er the standard of their power
Bid Columbia's eagle tower,
Give them hail in such a shower
As shall blast them—horse and man!
Lay the proud invaders low,
Tyrants fall in every foe;
Liberty's in every blow,
Forward! let us do or die.
THE BATTLE OF STONINGTON
ON THE SEABOARD OF CONNECTICUT
In an attack upon the town and a small fort of two guns, by the Ramillies,
seventy-four gun ship, commanded by Sir Thomas Hardy; the
Pactolus, 38 gun ship, Despatch, brig of 22 guns, and
a razee, or bomb ship.—August, 1814.
Four gallant ships from England came
Freighted deep with fire and flame,
And other things we need not name,
To have a dash at Stonington.
Now safely moor'd, their work begun;
They thought to make the yankees run,
And have a mighty deal of fun
In stealing sheep at Stonington.
A deacon, then popp'd up his head
And parson Jones's sermon read,
In which the reverend doctor said
That they must fight for Stonington.
A townsman bade them, next, attend
To sundry resolutions penn'd,
By which they promised to defend
With sword and gun, old Stonington.
The ships advancing different ways,
The britons soon began to blaze,
And put th' old women in amaze,
Who fear'd the loss of Stonington.
The yankees to their fort repair'd,
And made as though they little cared
For all that came—though very hard
The cannon play'd on Stonington.
The Ramillies began the attack,
Despatch came forward—bold and black—
And none can tell what kept them back
From setting fire to Stonington.
The bombardiers with bomb and ball,
Soon made a farmer's barrack fall,
And did a cow-house sadly maul
That stood a mile from Stonington.
They kill'd a goose, they kill'd a hen,
Three hogs they wounded in a pen—
They dash'd away, and pray what then?
This was not taking Stonington.
The shells were thrown, the rockets flew,
But not a shell, of all they threw,
Though every house was full in view,
Could burn a house at Stonington.
To have their turn they thought but fair;—
The yankees brought two guns to bear,
And, sir, it would have made you stare,
This smoke of smokes at Stonington.
They bored Pactolus through and through,
And kill'd and wounded of her crew
So many, that she bade adieu
T' the gallant boys of Stonington.
The brig Despatch was hull'd and torn—
So crippled, riddled, so forlorn,
No more she cast an eye of scorn
On th' little fort at Stonington.
The Ramillies gave up th' affray
And, with her comrades, sneak'd away—
Such was the valor, on that day,
Of british tars near Stonington.
But some assert, on certain grounds,
(Besides the damage and the wounds)
It cost the king ten thousand pounds
To have a dash at Stonington.
ON THE BRITISH INVASION
From France, desponding and betray'd,
From liberty in ruins laid,
Exulting Britain has display'd
Her flag, again to invade us.
Her myrmidons, with murdering eye,
Across the broad Atlantic fly
Prepared again their strength to try,
And strike our country's standard.
Lord Wellington's ten thousand slaves,[A]
And thrice ten thousand, on the waves,
And thousands more of brags and braves
Are under sail, and coming
To burn our towns, to seize our soil,
To change our laws, our country spoil,
And Madison to Elba's isle
To send without redemption.
In Boston state they hope to find
A yankee host of kindred mind
To aid their arms, to rise and bind
Their countrymen in shackles:
But no such thing—it will not do—
At least, not while a Jersey Blue
Is to the cause of freedom true,
Or the bold Pennsylvanian.
A curse on England's frantic schemes!
Both mad and blind—her monarch dreams
Of crowns and kingdoms in these climes
Where kings have had their sentence.
Though Washington has left our coast,
Yet other Washingtons we boast,
Who rise, instructed by his ghost,
To punish all invaders.
Go where they will, where'er they land,
This pilfering, plundering, pirate band,
They liberty will find at hand
To hurl them to perdition:
If in Virginia they appear,
Their fate is fix'd, their doom is near,
Death in their front and hell their rear—
So says the gallant buckskin.
All Carolina is prepared,
And Charleston doubly on her guard;
Where, once, sir Peter badly fared,
So blasted by fort Moultrie.
If farther south they turn their views,
With veteran troops, or veteran crews,
The curse of heaven their march pursues
To send them all a-packing:
The tallest mast that sails the wave,
The longest keel its waters lave,
Will bring them to an early grave
On the shores of Pensacola.
ON THE ENGLISH DEVASTATIONS
AT THE CITY OF WASHINGTON[205]
Their power abused! that power may soon descend:
Years, not remote, may see their glory end:—
The british power, the avaricious crown,
Pull'd every flag, hurl'd every standard down;
Columbian ships they seized on every sea,
Condemn'd those ships, nor left our sailors free.—
So long a tyrant on the watery stage,
They thought to tyrannize through every age;
They hoped all commerce to monopolize;
Europe, at sea, they affected to despise;
They laugh'd at France contending for a share
Of commerce, one would think, as free as air.
They captured most, without remorse or plea,
And grew as proud as arrogance could be.
Stung by a thousand wrongs, at length arose
The Western States, these tyrants to oppose;
With just resentment, met them on the main,
And burnt, or sunk their ships, with hosts of slain.
The blood ran black from every english heart
To see their empire from the seas depart,
To see their flag to thirteen stripes surrender,
And many an english ship made fire and tinder;
They swore, they raged; they saw, with patience spent,
Each last engagement had the same event—
What could they do? revenge inspired their breasts,
And hell's sensations seized their swelling chests.—
All to revenge, to Maryland they came,
And costly works of art assail'd with flame;
In Washington they left a dismal void,—
Poor compensation for their ships destroy'd!—
We burn, where guns their frigates poorly guard;
They burn, where scarce a gun is seen or heard!
ON THE CONFLAGRATIONS AT WASHINGTON
August 24, 1814
——Jam deiphobi dedit ampla ruinam,
Vulcano superante, domus; jam proximus ardet
Ucalegon.—Virgil.
Now, George the third rules not alone,
For George the vandal shares the throne,
True flesh of flesh and bone of bone.
God save us from the fangs of both;
Or, one a vandal, one a goth,
May roast or boil us into froth.
Like danes, of old, their fleet they man
And rove from Beersheba to Dan,
To burn, and beard us—where they can.
They say, at George the fourth's command
This vagrant host were sent, to land
And leave in every house—a brand.
An idiot only would require
Such war—the worst they could desire—
The felon's war—the war of fire.
The warfare, now, th' invaders make
Must surely keep us all awake,
Or life is lost for freedom's sake.
They said to Cockburn, "honest Cock!
To make a noise and give a shock
Push off, and burn their navy dock:
"Their capitol shall be emblazed!
How will the buckskins stand amazed,
And curse the day its walls were raised!"
Six thousand heroes disembark—
Each left at night his floating ark
And Washington was made their mark.
That few would fight them—few or none—
Was by their leaders clearly shown—
And "down," they said, "with Madison!"
How close they crept along the shore!
As closely as if Rodgers saw her—
A frigate to a seventy-four.
A veteran host, by veterans led,
With Ross and Cockburn at their head—
They came—they saw—they burnt—and fled.
But not unpunish'd they retired;
They something paid, for all they fired,
In soldiers kill'd, and chiefs expired.
Five hundred veterans bit the dust,
Who came, inflamed with lucre's lust—
And so they waste—and so they must.
They left our congress naked walls—
Farewell to towers and capitols!
To lofty roofs and splendid halls!
To courtly domes and glittering things,
To folly, that too near us clings,
To courtiers who—tis well—had wings.
Farewell to all but glorious war,
Which yet shall guard Potomac's shore,
And honor lost, and fame restore.
To conquer armies in the field
Was, once, the surest method held
To make a hostile country yield.
The mode is this, now acted on;
In conflagrating Washington,
They held our independence gone!
Supposing George's house at Kew
Were burnt, (as we intend to do,)
Would that be burning England too?
Supposing, near the silver Thames
We laid in ashes their saint James,
Or Blenheim palace wrapt in flames;
Made Hampton Court to fire a prey,
And meanly, then, to sneak away,
And never ask them, what's to pay?
Would that be conquering London town?
Would that subvert the english throne,
Or bring the royal system down?
With all their glare of guards or guns,
How would they look like simpletons,
And not at all the lion's sons!
Supposing, then, we take our turn
And make it public law, to burn,
Would not old english honor spurn
At such a mean insidious plan
Which only suits some savage clan—
And surely not—the english man!
A doctrine has prevail'd too long;
A king, they hold, can do no wrong—
Merely a pitch-fork, without prong:
But de'il may trust such doctrines, more,—
One king, that wrong'd us, long before,
Has wrongs, by hundreds, yet in store.
He wrong'd us forty years ago;
He wrongs us yet, we surely know;
He'll wrong us till he gets a blow
That, with a vengeance, will repay
The mischiefs we lament this day,
This burning, damn'd, infernal play;
Will send one city to the sky,
Its buildings low and buildings high,
And buildings—built the lord knows why;
Will give him an eternal check
That breaks his heart or breaks his neck,
And plants our standard on Quebec.
TO THE LAKE SQUADRONS[206]
The brilliant task to you assign'd
Asks every effort of the mind,
And every energy, combined,
To crush the foe.
Sail where they will, you must be there;
Lurk where they can, you will not spare
The blast of death—but all things dare
To bring them low.
To wield his thunders on Champlain,
Macdonough leads his gallant train,
And, his great object to sustain,
Vermont unites
Her hardy youths and veterans bold
From shelter'd vale and mountain cold,
Who fought, to guard, in days of old
Their country's rights.
That country's wrongs are all your own
And to the world the word is gone—
Her independence must to none
Be sign'd away.
Be to the nation's standard true,
To Britain, and to Europe shew
That you can fight and conquer too,
And prostrate lay.
That bitter foe, whose thousands rise
No more to fight us in disguise,
But count our freedom for their prize,
If valor fails:
Beneath your feet let fear be cast,
Remember deeds of valor past,
And nail your colors to the mast
And spread your sails.
In all the pride and pomp of war
Let thunders from the cannon roar,
And lightnings flash from shore to shore,
To wing the ball.
Let Huron from his slumbers wake,
Bid Erie to his centre shake,
Till, foundering in Ontario's lake,
You swamp them all!