[A] Georgia had not at this time acceded to the Union of the Thirteen States.—Freneau's note.

[B] Sir Jeffery Amherst, who about this time refused to act against the Colonial cause.—Freneau's note.

[71] From the edition of 1809. The original edition, which consisted of 114 lines, was first published in New York, by H. Gaine, in August, 1775. The poem was thus written and published in the early days of the siege.

General Gage, the last royal governor of Massachusetts, arrived in Boston May, 1774, and remained until October, 1775, when he was succeeded by Major General Howe. The siege of Boston began with the arrival of Washington before the city, early in July, 1775, and continued until Howe was forced to evacuate the city, the following March. Gage's incompetency was admitted even by his own countrymen. He was narrow-minded, and prejudiced, and unable to estimate justly the forces that were against him. His only argument was force and dictatorial interference.

[72] This and the following line not in edition of 1775.

[73] To fight for Britons against Englishmen.—Ed. 1775.

In such damn'd service to harass my brain.—Ed. 1786.

[74] Four lines of the original edition omitted:

"North take advice, thy lucky genius show,
 Dismiss a legate to the world below,
 Sir Belzebub, for aid like thine we sue,
 Send up the damned and let them help me too."

[75]

A life like mine is of such mighty worth,
 I'll wrong my king if I should sally forth.

[76] This and the following line is not in edition of 1775.

[77] Some trophy of my tedious victory.—Ed. 1775.

[78] The Lordship of a manor I would scorn.—Ed. 1775.

[79] In place of the next eight lines, the edition of 1775 has the following:

"Let heaven's broad concave to the center ring,
 And Imps from hell their swifter vengeance wing;
 May heaven, if so the righteous judgment pass,
 Change earth to steel, the sky to solid brass."

[80] Let hell-cats darting from some blackguard sphere.—Ed. 1786.

[81] This and the four following lines not found in the edition of 1775.

[82] It shows they think their freedom lies at stake.—Ed. 1775.

[83] In the original edition these two lines read as follows:

"Like Captain Cook to Southern islands stray,
 And take new kings and kingdoms in my way."

[84] "Foreign clime."—Ed. 1775. "Negro clime."—Ed. 1786.

[85] This line, and the nine following, are not found in the edition of 1775.

THE MIDNIGHT CONSULTATIONS;[86]

OR, A TRIP TO BOSTON

First published in 1775

Small bliss is theirs whom Fate's too heavy hand
 Confines through life to some small square of land;
 More wretched they whom heaven inspires to roam,
 Yet languish out their lives and die at home.
 Heaven gave to man this wide extended round,5
 No climes confine him and no oceans bound;
 Heaven gave him forest, mountain, vale, and plain,
 And bade him vanquish, if he could, the main;
 But sordid cares our short-lived race confine,
 Some toil at trades, some labour in the mine,10
 The miser hoards, and guards his shining store,
 The sun still rises where he rose before—
 No happier scenes his earth-born fancy fill
 Than one dark valley, or one well-known hill.
 To other shores his mind, untaught to stray,15
 Dull and inactive, slumbers life away.
 But by the aid of yonder glimmering beam
 The pole star, faithful to my vagrant dream,
 Wild regent of my heart! in dreams convey
 Where the herded Britons their bold ranks display;20
 So late the pride of England's fertile soil,
 (Her grandeur heightened by successive toil)
 See how they sicken in these hostile climes,
 Themes for the stage, and subjects for our rhimes.
 What modern poet have the muses led25
 To draw the curtain that conceals the dead?
 What bolder bard to Boston shall repair,
 To view the peevish, half-starved spectres there?
 O thou wronged country! why sustain these ills?
 Why rest thy navies on their native hills?30
 See, endless forests shade the uncultured plain,
 Descend, ye forests, and command the main:
 A leafy verdure shades the mighty mast,
 And the tall oak bends idly to the blast,
 Earth's entrails teem with stores for your defence,35
 Descend and drag the stores of war from thence:
 Your fertile soil the flowing sail supplies,
 And Europe's arts in every village rise—
 No want is yours—Disdain unmanly fear,
 And swear no tyrant shall reign master here;40
 Know your own strength—in rocky desarts bred,
 Shall the fierce tiger by the dog be led,
 And bear all insults from that snarling race
 Whose courage lies in impudence of face?—
 No—rather bid the wood's wild native turn,45
 And from his side the unfaithful guardian spurn.
 Now, pleased I wander to the dome of state
 Where Gage resides, our western potentate—
 Chief of ten thousand, all a race of slaves,[87]
 Sent to be shrouded in untimely graves;[88]50
 Sent by our angry Jove, sent sword in hand
 To murder, burn, and ravage through the land.—
 You dream of conquest—tell me how or whence—
 Act like a man, and get you gone from hence;
 A madman sent you to this hostile shore55
 To vanquish nations, that shall spill your gore.—
 Go, fiends, and in a social league combined
 Destroy, distress, and triumph o'er mankind!—
 'Tis not our peace this murdering hand restrains,
 The want of power is made the monster's chains;60
 Compassion is a stranger to his heart,
 Or if it came, he bade the guest depart;
 The melting tear, the sympathising groan
 Were never yet to Gage or Jefferies[A] known;
 The seas of blood his heart fore-dooms to spill65
 Is but a dying serpent's rage to kill.
 What power shall drive these vipers from our shore,
 These monsters swoln with carnage, death, and gore!
 Twelve was the hour—congenial darkness reigned,
 And no bright star a mimic day-light feigned—70
 First, Gage we saw—a crimson chair of state
 Received the honour of his Honour's weight;
 This man of straw the regal purple bound,
 But dullness, deepest dullness, hovered round.
 Next Graves, who wields the trident of the brine,75
 The tall arch-captain of the embattled line,
 All gloomy sate—mumbling of flame and fire,
 Balls, cannon, ships, and all their damned attire;
 Well pleased to live in never-ending hum,
 But empty as the interior of his drum.80
 Hard by, Burgoyne assumes an ample space,
 And seemed to meditate with studious face,
 As if again he wished our world to see
 Long, dull, dry letters, writ to General Lee—
 Huge scrawls of words through endless circuits drawn85
 Unmeaning as the errand he's upon.—
 Is he to conquer—he subdue our land?—
 This buckram hero, with his lady's hand?
 By Cesars to be vanquished is a curse,
 But by a scribbling fop—by heaven, is worse![89]90
 Lord Piercy seemed to snore—but may the Muse
 This ill-timed snoring to the peer excuse;
 Tired was the long boy of his toilsome day,
 Full fifteen miles he fled—a tedious way;
 How could he then the dews of Somnus shun,95
 Perhaps not used to walk—much less to run.
 Red-faced as suns, when sinking to repose,
 Reclined the infernal captain of the Rose,[B]
 In fame's proud temple aiming for a niche,
 With those who find her at the cannon's breech;100
 Skilled to direct the cannonading shot,
 No Turkish rover half so murdering hot,
 Pleased with base vengeance on defenceless towns,
 His heart was malice—but his words were, Zounds!
 Howe, vexed to see his starving army's doom,105
 In prayer, besought the skies for elbow room—[90]
 Small was his stock, and theirs, of heavenly grace,
 Yet just enough to ask a larger place.—
 He cursed the brainless minister that planned
 His bootless errand to this hostile land,110
 But, awed by Gage, his bursting wrath recoiled,
 And in his inmost bosom doubly boiled.
 These, chief of all the tyrant-serving train,
 Exalted sate—the rest (a pensioned clan),
 A sample of the multitude that wait,115
 Pale sons of famine, at perdition's gate,
 North's friends down swarming (so our monarch wills),
 Hungry as death, from Caledonian hills;
 Whose endless numbers if you bid me tell,
 I'll count the atoms of this globe as well,—120
 Knights, captains, 'squires—a wonder-working band,
 Held at small wages 'till they gain the land,
 Flocked pensive round—black spleen assailed their hearts,
 (The sport of plough-boys, with their arms and arts)
 And made them doubt (howe'er for vengeance hot)125
 Whether they were invincible or not.
 Now Gage upstarting from his cushioned seat
 Swore thrice, and cried—"'Tis nonsense to be beat!
 Thus to be drubbed! pray, warriors, let me know
 Which be in fault, myself, the fates, or you—130
 Henceforth let Britain deem her men mere toys—
 Gods! to be frightened thus by country boys;
 Why, if your men had had a mind to sup,
 They might have eat that scare-crow[91] army up—
 Three thousand to twelve hundred thus to yield,135
 And twice five hundred stretched upon the field!—[92]
 O shame to Britain, and the British name,
 Shame damps my heart, and I must die with shame—
 Thus to be worsted, thus disgraced and beat!—
 You have the knack, Lord Piercy,[93] to retreat,140
 The death you escaped my warmest blood congeals,
 Heaven grant me, too, so swift a pair of heels—[94]
 In Chevy-Chace, as, doubtless, you have read,
 Lord Piercy would have sooner died than fled—
 Behold the virtues of your house decay—145
 Ah! how unlike the Piercy of that day!"
 Thus spoke the great man in disdainful tone
 To the gay peer—not meant for him alone—
 But ere the tumults of his bosom rise
 Thus from his bench the intrepid peer replies:150
 "When once the soul has reached the Stygian shore,
 My prayer book says, it shall return no more—
 When once old Charon hoists his tar-blacked sail,
 And his boat swims before the infernal gale,
 Farewell to all that pleased the man above,155
 Farewell to feats of arms, and joys of love!
 Farewell the trade that father Cain began,
 Farewell to wine, that cheers the heart of man;
 All, all farewell!—the pensive shade must go
 Where cold Medusa turns to stone below,160
 Where Belus' maids eternal labours ply
 To drench the cask that stays forever dry,
 And Sysiphus, with many a weary groan,
 Heaves up the mount the still recoiling stone!
 "Since, then, this truth no mortal dares deny,165
 That heroes, kings—and lords, themselves, must die,
 And yield to him who dreads no hostile sword,
 But treats alike the peasant and the lord;
 Since even great George must in his turn give place
 And leave his crown, his Scotchmen, and his lace,—170
 How blest is he, how prudent is the man
 Who keeps aloof from fate—while yet he can;
 One well-aimed ball can make us all no more
 Than shipwrecked scoundrels on that leeward shore.
 "But why, my friends, these hard reflections still175
 On Lexington affairs—'tis Bunker's hill—
 O fatal hill!—one glance at thee restrains
 My once warm blood, and chills it in my veins—
 May no sweet grass adorn thy hateful crest
 That saw Britannia's bravest troops distrest—180
 Or if it does—may some destructive gale
 The green leaf wither, and the grass turn pale—
 All moisture to your brow may heaven deny,
 And God and man detest you, just as I;—
 'Tis Bunker's hill, this night has brought us here,185
 Pray question him who led your armies there,
 Nor dare my courage into question call,
 Or blame Lord Piercy for the fault of all."
 Howe chanced to nod while heathenish Piercy spoke,
 But as his Lordship ceased, his Honour awoke,190
 (Like those whom sermons into sleep betray)
 Then rubbed his eyes, and thus was heard to say:
 "Shall those who never ventured from the town,
 Or their ships' sides, now pull our glory down?
 We fought our best—so God my honour save!—195
 No British soldiers ever fought so brave—
 Resolved I led them to the hostile lines,
 (From this day famed where'er great Phœbus shines)
 Firm at their head I took my dangerous stand,
 Marching to death and slaughter, sword in hand,200
 But wonted Fortune halted on her way,
 We fought with madmen, and we lost the day—
 Putnam's brave troops, your honours would have swore
 Had robbed the clouds of half their nitrous store,
 With my bold veterans strewed the astonished plain,205
 For not one musquet was discharged in vain.—
 But, honoured Gage, why droops thy laurelled head?—
 Five hundred foes we packed off to the dead.—[95]
 Now captains, generals, hear me and attend!
 Say, shall we home for other succours send?210
 Shall other navies cross the stormy main?—
 They may, but what shall awe the pride of Spain?
 Still for dominion haughty Louis pants—
 Ah! how I tremble at the thoughts of France.—
 Shall mighty George, to enforce his injured laws,215
 Transport all Russia to support the cause?—
 That allied empire countless shoals may pour
 Numerous as sands that strew the Atlantic shore;
 But policy inclines my heart to fear
 They'll turn their arms against us when they're here—220
 Come, let's agree—for something must be done
 Ere autumn flies, and winter hastens on—
 When pinching cold our navy binds in ice,
 You'll find 'tis then too late to take advice."
 The clock strikes two!—Gage smote upon his breast,225
 And cried,—"What fate determines, must be best—
 But now attend—a counsel I impart
 That long has laid the heaviest at my heart—
 Three weeks—ye gods!—nay, three long years it seems
 Since roast-beef I have touched except in dreams.230
 In sleep, choice dishes to my view repair,
 Waking, I gape and champ the empty air.—
 Say, is it just that I, who rule these bands,
 Should live on husks, like rakes in foreign lands?—[96]
 Come, let us plan some project ere we sleep,235
 And drink destruction to the rebel sheep.
 "On neighbouring isles uncounted cattle stray,
 Fat beeves and swine, an ill-defended prey—
 These are fit visions for my noon day dish,
 These, if my soldiers act as I would wish,240
 In one short week should glad your maws and mine;
 On mutton we will sup—on roast beef dine."
 Shouts of applause re-echoed through the hall,
 And what pleased one as surely pleased them all;
 Wallace was named to execute the plan,245
 And thus sheep-stealing pleased them to a man.
 Now slumbers stole upon the great man's eye,
 His powdered foretop nodded from on high,
 His lids just opened to find how matters were,
 Dissolve, he said, and so dissolved ye are,250
 Then downward sunk to slumbers dark and deep,—
 Each nerve relaxed—and even his guts asleep.[97]

[A] An inhuman, butchering English judge in the time of Charles the first.—Freneau's note.

[B] Capt. Wallace.—Freneau's note. Sir James Wallace was a prominent naval officer during the Revolution. In 1774-5 he commanded the Rose, a 20-gun frigate, and greatly annoyed the people of Rhode Island by his detention of shipping and his seizure of private property. His severity and activity made him greatly detested by the colonists during the entire Revolution.

Epilogue

What are these strangers from a foreign isle,
 That we should fear their hate or court their smile?—
 Pride sent them here, pride blasted in the bud,255
 Who, if she can, will build her throne in blood,
 With slaughtered millions glut her tearless eyes,
 And bid even virtue fall, that she may rise.
 What deep offence has fired a monarch's rage?
 What moon-struck madness seized the brain of Gage?260
 Laughs not the soul when an imprisoned crew
 Affect to pardon those they can't subdue,
 Though thrice repulsed, and hemmed up to their stations,
 Yet issue pardons, oaths, and proclamations!—
 Too long our patient country wears their chains,265
 Too long our wealth all-grasping Britain drains.
 Why still a handmaid to that distant land?
 Why still subservient to their proud command?
 Britain the bold, the generous, and the brave
 Still treats our country like the meanest slave,270
 Her haughty lords already share the prey,
 Live on our labours, and with scorn repay;—
 Rise, sleeper, rise, while yet the power remains,
 And bind their nobles and their chiefs in chains:
 Bent on destructive plans, they scorn our plea,275
 'Tis our own efforts that must make us free—
 Born to contend, our lives we place at stake,
 And rise to conquerors by the stand we make.—
 The time may come when strangers rule no more,
 Nor cruel mandates vex from Britain's shore,280
 When commerce may extend her shortened wing,
 And her rich freights from every climate bring,
 When mighty towns shall flourish free and great,
 Vast their dominion, opulent their state,
 When one vast cultivated region teems285
 From ocean's side to Mississippi streams,
 While each enjoys his vineyard's peaceful shade,
 And even the meanest has no foe to dread.
 And you, who, far from Liberty detained,
 Wear out existence in some slavish land—290
 Forsake those shores, a self-ejected throng,
 And armed for vengeance, here resent the wrong:
 Come to our climes, where unchained rivers flow,
 And loftiest groves, and boundless forests grow.
 Here the blest soil your future care demands;295
 Come, sweep the forests from these shaded lands,
 And the kind earth shall every toil repay,
 And harvests flourish as the groves decay.
 O heaven-born Peace, renew thy wonted charms—
 Far be this rancour, and this din of arms—300
 To warring lands return, an honoured guest,
 And bless our crimson shore among the rest—
 Long may Britannia rule our hearts again,
 Rule as she ruled in George the Second's reign,
 May ages hence her growing grandeur see,305
 And she be glorious—but ourselves as free!

[86] Text from the edition of 1809. The poem was first published in New York in 1775 by Anderson, under the title, "A Voyage to Boston, a poem," and a second edition was printed the same year in Philadelphia for William Woodhouse. The revision of the poem in the 1786 edition of Freneau's works mentions that the poem was published in September, 1775. This is evidently a mistake. In the issue of October 21, of Anderson's Constitutional Gazette, appears the advertisement, "This day is published & to be sold by the printer, 'A Voyage to Boston: a Poem.'" The copy of the poem in possession of the Library Company, Philadelphia, has endorsed upon it, "published in October, 1775." This earliest version, only a fragment of which was given in the various editions of the poet's works, has never before been reprinted. It is as follows:

A VOYAGE TO BOSTON, A POEM

Argument

Introductory reflections. A traveller undertakes a voyage to Boston: arrives in a river of Massachusetts: has there a sight of the native Genius of North-America, who presents him with a mantle, and acquaints him with its virtue of rendering the wearer invisible; desires him to visit the town in that state and remark the transactions there. Accordingly he arrives at General Gage's mansion, where are several other ministerial tools sitting in council. The striking similarity of Gage's temper and conduct to that of Hernando Cortez. Some account of Cortez, and his horrid devastations in Mexico, &c. The traveller enters their junto, and gives an account of the chief members of it, viz., General Gage, Admiral Greaves, General Burgoyne, Lord Percy, General Howe, Capt. Wallace, and a numerous fry of dependents and needy favourites waiting for posts and estates in America, as soon as they shall have compelled us to resign our liberties: General Gage's surprize at their several defeats in New-England, and questions his leaders thereupon. Lord Percy's answer: Greaves's reply to that nobleman: Gage's raillery upon Percy for his nimble retreat on April 19, 1775. Percy's defence of his conduct on that day, and the reason of his activity; and desires them to forget Lexington for the present, and turn their eyes to the late loss at Bunker's Hill. General Howe's speech concerning that action. Burgoyne's harrangue, with his invectives against Colonel Grant, who "pledged himself for the general cowardice of all America:" Gage's brief reply; and communicates his intention of purloining cattle from the islands, and plans that right honourable exploit; but being overcome by sleep, dismisses his counsellors. The cutting down the Liberty Tree in Boston, and untimely end of one of the wretches employed in that sneaking affair. Distresses of the imprisoned citizens in Boston. Dissection of a Tory. The traveller leaves Boston, and visits the Provincial Camp; meets the Genius of America again on the way and resigns the mantle, whereby he again becomes visible; arrives at the camp. View of the Rifle-men, Virginians, &c. Speech of an American soldier; his determined resolution, which is that of all America, to defend our rights and privileges. Grief that he must fight against our own nation. Mention of Carleton and Johnson; concludes with a melancholy recital of our present distractions, and sincere hope of reconcilation with Great Britain before a wicked ministry render it too late. Conclusion.

How curs'd the man whom fate's unhappy doom
 Confines, unluckly, to his native home,
 How doubly curs'd by cross grain'd stars is he,
 Whom fate ties down, tho' struggling to be free!
 Heaven gave to man this vast extended round.
 No climes confine him and no oceans bound;
 Heaven gave him forest, mountain, vale and plain,
 And bade him vanquish, if he could, the main:
 Then, miser, hoard and heap thy riches still,
 View the sun rise above thy well known hill,
 Vile as the swine, enjoy thy gloomy den,
 Sweat in the compass of a squalid pen,
 'Till sick of life, on terms with death agree,
 And leave thy fortune, not thy heart, to me.
 So mus'd the bard who this rough verse indites,
 Asserting freedom, and his country's rights:
 Nor mus'd in vain; the fruitful musings brought
 To practice what in theory he thought;
 And gave desire, a keen desire, to roam
 A hundred or two hundred leagues from home.
 Where should he go? The eastern hills reply,
 Come, pensive traveller, with thy tearful eye,
 Come, and fair Boston from our summit see,
 No city sits so widow-like as she;
 Her trading navies spread their sails no more,
 Remotest nations cease to seek her shore,
 Deep are her weeds—in darkest sable clad,
 O come and view the Queen of all that's sad,
 Long are her nights, that yield no chearful sound,
 Like endless nights in tombs below the ground,
 Low burns her lamp before th' insulting rout;
 See, the lamp dies, and every light goes out!
 O Britain come, and, if you can, relent
 This rage, that better might on Spain be spent.
 Touch'd with the mountain's melancholy prayer
 (Perhaps a mountain or Dame Fancy there)
 Could I refuse, since mutual grief endears,
 To seek New Albion's Lady all in tears?
 But doubts perplexing hover'd o'er my mind,
 Whether to chuse the aid of horse or wind;
 That suits the best with bards of place and state,
 This must be needy Rhymers compensate,
 Since Jove his ancient bounty has deny'd,
 And grants no modern Pegasus to ride.
 Dark was the night, the winds tempestuous roar'd
 From western skies, and warn'd us all aboard;
 Spread were the sails, the nimble vessel flies
 O'er Neptune's bosom and reflected skies;
 Nor halt I here to tell you how she roves
 O'er Tython's chambers and his coral groves.
 Let some prose wand'rer long-sun journals keep,
 I haste me, like the vessel, o'er the deep;
 Nor tire you with descriptions of the coast,
 New mountains gain'd or hills in æther lost,—
 The muse can only hint at scenes like these,
 Not stop to spend her poem in their praise:
 Three days we cut the brine with steady prore,
 The fourth beheld as on New Albion's shore.
 Guard me, ye heavens, shield this defenceless head,
 While travelling o'er these sanguine plains of dead;
 Nor only me, may heaven defend us all
 From the harsh rigour of King George's ball.
Far in the depth of an aspiring wood,
 Where roll'd its waves a silver winding flood,
 Our weary vessel urg'd its darksome way,
 And safely anchor'd in a shady bay.
 Landing, I left the weather-beaten crew,
 And pensive rov'd as home-sick travellers do;
 When all at once before my wand'ring eyes,
 The Genius of the river seem'd to rise;
 Tall and erect, untaught by years to bow,
 But not a smile relax'd his clouded brow:
 His swarthy features vengeful deeds forebode,
 Terror march'd on before him as he trode;
 His rattling quiver at his shoulder hung,
 His pointed spear and glitt'ring helmet rung;
 The tall oaks trembled at the warlike shade,
 When thus the Genius of the water said:
 "O curious stranger, come from far to see
 What grieves us all, but none so much as me!
 The free-born Genius of the woods am I,
 Who scorn to dwell in lands of slavery;
 I, tho' unseen, command the heart to dare,
 And spread the soul of freedom thro' the air,
 That each may taste and value if he can,
 This sovereign good that constitutes the man:
 Here, in the center of tyrannic sway,
 I spread my spirit and forbid dismay,
 To every bosom dart may influence round,
 Like the sun beams that fructify the ground;
 But waft a timorous and ignoble breath
 Where conscience, conscience bids them shrink at death.
 "O stranger, led by Heaven's supreme decree,
 Go, view the dire effects of tyranny,
 Strait to the town direct thy fated way,
 But heark attentive, listen and obey,
 I to thy care commit this magic vest,
 To guard thee 'midst yon' spires, a viewless guest;
 Whene'er its wreathy folds thy limbs embrace,
 No mortal eye thy roving step shall trace;
 Unseen as ghosts that quit the clay below,
 Yet seeing all securely thou shalt go.
 There watch the motions of the hostile lines,
 Observe their counsels, watch their deep designs;
 Trace all their schemes, the lawless strength survey
 Of licens'd robbers howling for their prey."
So spoke the Genius of the shaded wave,
 And then the vest of wondrous virtue gave,
 Which scarce my limbs enwrapt, when I began
 To move as ne'er before did mortal man.
 Light as the air, as free as winds I stray'd,
 Pierc'd firmest rocks and walls for prisons made,
 Soar'd high, nor ask'd the feeble aid of art,
 And trac'd all secrets but the human heart.
 Then to the town I held my hasty course,
 To Boston's town subdu'd by lawless force;
 Close by a centinel I took my stride,
 The wretch ne'er saw me tho' I graz'd his side:
 But for my vest, what pains had been my lot.
 What gibes, what sneers, reproaches, and what not?
 Or in their place the robbers had constrained
 To turn a Tory, which my heart disdained.
Now stalk'd I on towards the dome of state,
 Where Gage resides, our western Potentate,
 A second Cortez,[a] sent by heaven's command,
 To murder, rage, and ravage o'er our land;
 A very Cortez—what's the difference?
 He wants his courage and he wants his sense;
 E'en Cortez would our tyrant's part disdain.
 That murder'd strangers; this his countrymen;
 In all the rest resemblance so exact,
 No glass Venetian could more true reflect.
 In all their rest, congenial souls combin'd,
 The scourge, the curse and scandal of our kind.
Cortez was sent by Spain's black brotherhood,
 Whose faith is murder, whose religion blood;
 Sent unprovok'd, with his Iberian train,
 To fat the soil with millions of the slain:
 Poor Mexico! arouse thy sanguine head,
 Peru, disclose thy hosts of murder'd dead!
 Let your vast plains all white with human bones,
 That bleeding lie, and ask sepulchral stones,
 Force a dumb voice and echo to the sky,
 The blasting curse of papal tyranny;
 And let your rocks, and let your hills proclaim,
 That Gage and Cortez' errand is the same.
Say then what cause this murd'rous band restrains?
 The want of power is made the monster's chains,
 The streams of blood his heart foredooms to spill,
 Is but a dying serpent's rage to kill:
 What power shall drive this serpent from our shore,
 This scorpion, swoln with carnage, death, and gore?
 Twelve was the hour,—infernal darkness reign'd,
 Low hung the clouds, the stars their light restrain'd:
 High in the dome a dire assembly sat,
 A stupid council on affairs of state;
 To their dim lamps I urg'd my fearless way,
 And marching 'twixt their guards without delay,
 Step'd boldly in, and safely veil'd from view,
 Stood in the center of the black-guard crew.
 First, Gage was there—a mimic chair of state,

[a] Hernando Cortez, one of the original conquerors of Spanish America, who depopulated many provinces, and slew several millions of the natives of this continent. See Father Barthol. Du Casis's History.—Freneau's note.

Here follow lines 72-131 above, with the following variations: line 75, "trident of the sea"; 76, "of artillery"; 79, "everlasting hum"; 80, "But senseless as the echo of a drum"; 81, "his ample chair supplies"; 82, "in studious guise"; 83, "to grant the world to see"; 87-90,

"His arm and pen of equal strength we call,
 This kills with dullness, just like that with hall."

91, "O conscious muse"; 93, "the Hero"; 95, "How should"; 97, "as Sol descending to repose"; 98, "the furious Captain"; 100, "'mongst those who find it"; 104, "His forked tongue hiss'd nothing else but Zounds!"; 105, "his army's fatal doom"; 106, "Ceas'd to beseech"; 107-108,

"(How could the skies refuse the pious man
 When half the pray'r was blood! and death! and damn!)"

110, "sleeveless errand to a distant land"; 113, "the Pandemonian crew"; 114, "a pension'd few"; 116, "In dreams of Indian gold and Indian state;" 118, "hungry as hell"; 121, "a secondary band"; 123, "assail'd the crowd"; 124, "Black as the horrors of a wintry cloud"; 125, "for doubts had place to grow"; 126, "or no"; 127-131,

Gage starts, rebounding from his ample seat,
 Swears thrice, and cries—"Ye furies, are we beat?
 Thrice are we drubb'd?—Pray gentles let me know,
 Whether it be the fault of fate or you?"
 He ceas'd, the anger flash'd from both his eyes,
 While Percy to his query thus replies,—
 "Let gods and men attest the words I say,
 Our soldiers flinch'd not from the dubious fray,
 Had each a head of tempered steel possest,
 A heart of brass, and admantine breast,
 More courage ne'er had urg'd them to the fray,
 More true-born valour made them scorn dismay."
 "Whoe'er," said Greaves, "their cowardice denies,
 Or Lord, or Knight, or 'Squire. I say he lies:
 How could the wretches help but marching on,
 When at their backs your swords were ready drawn,
 To pierce the man that flinch'd a single pace,
 From all hell's light'ning blazing in his face?
 Death on my life! My Lord, had I been there,
 I'd sent New-England's army thro' the air,
 Wrench'd their black hearts from this infernal brood,
 And turn'd their streams to Oliverian blood.

Here follow lines 131-200 above, with the following variations: 131, "but toys"; 132, "to be conquer'd thus"; 134, "this play-thing army"; 135, "Five thousand to five hundred"; 136, "And fourteen hundred"; 139, "Indeed," cries Gage, "'tis twice we have been beat"; 141, "You 'scap'd my very blood"; 147, "So spoke the Hero"; 148, "The brilliant Peer replies"; 149, 150, not in the original version; 151, "old Styx's shore"; 153, "his sable sail"; 154, "the lazy gale"; 157, "Farewell Quadrille, that helps out life's short span"; following 158,

"Farewell my steeds that stretch across the plain,
 More swift than navies bounding o'er the main."

160, "dull Medusa"; 163, 164, not in original version; 165-168,

"Since then, this truth is by mankind confess'd,
 That ev'ry Lord must yet be Pluto's guest."

170, "And leave his coursers starting for the race"; 172, "aloof from Styx"; 174, "Than leaky vessels;" 177, "thy ghastly sight restrains;" following 178,

"May no gay flowers or vernal blooming tree
 Scent thy vile air or shade the face of thee!"

180, "nodded o'er Britannia's troops"; 183, "to your breast"; 185, "has fix'd us here"; 186, "Pray query"; 189, "fluent Percy"; 194, "our conduct down"; 196, "more brave"; 199, "my bloody stand." In place of lines 201-208, the 1775 version has the following:

'Till met the strength of each opposing force,
 Like blazing-stars in their etherial course
 That all on fire with rapid swiftness fly,
 Then clash and shake the concave of the sky.
 Twice we gave way, twice shunn'd the infernal rout,
 And twice you would have cry'd all hell's broke out.
 They fought like those who press for death's embrace,
 And laugh the grizly monarch in the face.
 Putnam's brave troops, your honor would have swore,
 Had robb'd the clouds of half their sulph'rous store,
 Call'd thunder down whence Jove his vengeance spreads,
 And drove it mix'd with lightning on our heads!
 What tho' Cop's-hill its black artillery play'd,
 Clouding the plains in worse than Stygian shade;
 Tho' floating batteries rais'd their dismal roar,
 Tho' all the navy bellow'd from the shore,
 They roar'd in vain, death claim'd from them no share,
 But helpless, spent their force in empty air.
 Alas! what scenes of slaughter I beheld,
 What sudden carnage flush'd the glutted field!
 Heaven gave the foe to thin my warlike train,
 For not a musket was discharg'd in vain;
 Yes, that short hour, while heaven forbore to smile,
 Made many widows in Britannia's isle,
 And shewing all what power supreme can do,
 Gave many orphans to those widows too.
 But Gage arouse, come lift thy languid head,
 Full fifty foes we pack'd off to the dead:
 Who feeling death, from their hot posts, withdrew,
 And Warren with the discontented crew—
 Blest be the hand that laid his head so low,
 Not fifty common deaths could please me so—
 But to be short, so quick our men came in,
 The hostile army was so very thin;
 We fix'd our bay'nets and resum'd the fray,
 Then forc'd their lines and made the dogs give way."
 Next rose Burgoyne and rais'd his brazen voice,
 And cry'd, "We have no reason to rejoice.
 Warren is dead—in that we all agree,
 Not fate itself is half so fix'd as he;
 But my suspecting heart bids me foredoom
 A thousand Warrens rising in his room—
 Heaven knows I left my native country's air,
 In full belief of things that never were;
 Deceiv'd by Grant, I've sail'd thus far in vain,
 And like a fool may now sail back again—
 Grant call'd them cowards—curse the stupid ass,
 Their sides are Iron and their hearts are brass—
 Cowards he said, and lest that should not do,
 He pawn'd his oath and swore that they were so:
 O, were he here, I'd make him change his note,
 Disgorge his lie or cut the rascal's throat.

Here follow lines 209-252 above, with the following variations: 209, "But Captains"; 213, 214, not in original version; 215, "to make his law obey'd"; 216, "ten thousand Russians to our aid"; 218, "form the ocean shore"; 219, "commands my heart"; 225, "strikes three"; 230, "I've eat no fresh provision, but in dreams"; 231, "to my eyes"; 232, "and chew"; 235, "hold a council"; 236, "some consultation how to filch their sheep"; 237, "Unnumbered cattle"; 238, "sheep an undefended prey"; 239, "fit victims"; 240, "if the Gods would act"; 241, "shall glad your hearts"; 242, "on beef we'll dine"; 247, "the chieftain's eye"; 251, 252, "to dullest slumbers deep, And in his arms embrac'd the powers of sleep."

In Boston's southern end there stands a tree
 Long sacred held to darling Liberty;
 Its branching arms with verdant leaves were crown'd,
 Imparting shade and grateful coolness round:
 To its fam'd trunk, invisible as air,
 I from the sleepy council did repair.
 And at its root, fair Freedom's shrine, I paid
 My warmest vows, and blest the virtuous shade.
 Now shin'd the gay fac'd sun with morning light.
 All Nature joy'd exulting at the sight,
 When swift as wind, to vent their base-born rage,
 The Tory Williams[b] and the Butcher Gage
 Rush'd to the tree, a nameless number near,
 Tories and Negroes following in the rear—
 Each, axe in hand, attack'd the honour'd tree,
 Swearing eternal war with Liberty;
 Nor ceas'd their strokes, 'till each repeated wound
 Tumbled its honours headlong to the ground;
 But e'er it fell, not mindless of its wrong,
 Aveng'd it took one destin'd head along.
 A Tory soldier on its topmost limb—
 The Genius of the shade look'd stern at him,
 And mark'd him out that self same hour to dine,
 Where unsnuff'd lamps burn low at Pluto's shrine,
 Then tripp'd his feet from off their cautious stand;
 Pale turn'd the wretch—he spread each helpless hand,
 But spread in vain, with headlong force he fell,
 Nor stopp'd descending 'till he stopp'd in Hell.
Next, curious to explore, I wander'd where
 Our injur'd countrymen imprison'd are,
 Some closely coop'd in the unwelcome town;
 Some in dark dungeons held ignobly down;
 Gage holds them there, and all recess denies,
 For 'tis in these the coward's safety lies;
 Were these once out, how would our troops consign
 Each licens'd robber to the gulphy brine,
 Or drive them foaming to the ships for aid,
 To beg of stormy Greaves to cannonade,
 And midnight vengeance point, like Vandeput,
 Voiding his hell-hounds to their devilish glut.
 A deed like that the muse must blush to name,
 And bids me stamp a coward on thy fame;
 Rage, ruffian, rage, nor lay thy thunder down,
 'Till all our Tories howl and flee the town.
 What is a Tory? Heavens and earth reveal!
 What strange blind monster does that name conceal?
 There! there he stands—for Augury prepare,
 Come lay his heart and inmost entrails bare,
 I, by the forelock, seize the Stygian hound;
 You bind his arms and bind the dragon down.
 Surgeon, attend with thy dissecting knife,
 Aim well the stroke that damps the springs of life,
 Extract his fangs, dislodge his teeth of prey,
 Clap in your pincers, and then tear away.—
 Soldier, stand by, the monster may resist.
 You draw your back-sword, and I'll draw my fist.
 Lo! mixt with air his worthless ghost has fled;
 Surgeon, his paleness speaks the monster dead;
 Part, part the sutures of his brazen scull,
 Hard as a rock, impenetrably dull.
 Hold out his brain, and let his brethren see
 That tortoise brain, no larger than a pea—
 Come, rake his entrails, whet thy knife again,
 Let's see what evils threat the next campaign,
 If ministerial force shall prove too great,
 Or if the Congress save their mighty freight:
 See on his breast, deep grav'd with iron pen,
 "Passive obedience to the worst of men."
 There to his lights direct thy searching eyes,
 "Slavery I love, and freedom I despise."
 View next his heart, his midriff just above,
 "To my own country I'll a traitor prove."
 Hard by his throat, for utterance meant, I spy,
 "I'll fight for tyrants and their ministry."
 His crowded guts unnumber'd scrawls contain,
 The scandal of our country and the bane;
 His bleeding entrails shew some great design,
 Which shall abortive prove, as I divine;
 But, freedom lost, nor danger do I see,
 If we can only with ourselves agree.
 How like St. George, invincible I stand,
 This home bred dragon stretch'd beneath my hand!
 Here may he lie, and let no traveller dare
 The grass green hillock o'er his carcase rear,
 Or heap up piles of monumental stones,
 To shield from Phœbus and the stars his bones.
 This feat perform'd, I girt my magic gown,
 And march'd, unlicens'd, from the guarded town.
 To our fam'd camp I held my eager course,
 Curious to view the courage and the force
 Of those, whose hearts are flush'd with freedom's flame,
 Who yet stand foremost in the field of fame,
 And deeply griev'd with their departing laws,
 Arm in conviction of a righteous cause.
 But e'er I reach'd the great encampment's bound
 The friendly Genius on the way I found;
 Graceful he smil'd his azure locks he shook,
 While from his lips these flowing accents broke:
 "O mortal! guided by the fates and me,
 To view what thousands wish in vain to see;
 Now to my care the magic vest restore,
 Chearful return to what thou wast before,
 I to the shades this wond'rous mantle bear,
 And hang it safe in Fancy's temple there;
 Nor let its loss provoke thee to repine,
 The vest was Jove's, the will to lend it mine."
 So said the God, and blending with the light,
 I walk'd conspicuous and reveal'd to sight,
 No more impervious to the human view,
 But seeing all, and seen by others too.
 Now throngs on throngs on ev'ry side surround,
 Beneath the burthen groans the heaving ground,
 Those fam'd afar to drive the deadly shot,
 With truest level to the central spot;
 Those whom Virginia's vast dominion sends,
 From her chaste streams and intervening lands,
 And those who conscious of their country's claim,
 From Pennsylvania's happy climate came.
 These, and ten thousand more were scatter'd round
 In black battalions on the tented ground,
 Prepar'd, whene'er the trumpet's iron roar
 Should summon forth to all the woes of war,
 To hear with joy the loud alarming call,
 And rush perhaps to their own funeral.
 Just in the center of the camp arose
 An elm, whose shade invited to repose;
 Thither I rov'd, and at the cool retreat
 A brave, tho' rough-cast, soldier chanc'd to meet:
 No fop in arms, no feather on his head,
 No glittering toys the manly warrior had,
 His auburne face the least employ'd his care,
 He left it to the females to be fair;
 And tho't the men, whom shining trifles sway,
 But pageant soldiers for a sun-shine day.
 Marking my pensive step, his hand he laid
 On his hard breast, and thus the warrior said:
 "Stranger, observe, behold these warlike fields,
 Mark well the ills, that civil discord yields:
 No crimes of our's this vengeful doom require,
 Our city ravag'd and our towns on fire,
 Troops pour'd on troops to Britain's lasting shame,
 That threaten all with universal flame;
 These are the kings, the monarchs of the sea,
 Exerting power in lawless tyranny,
 These, hot for power, and burning for command,
 Would rule the ocean and subject the land;
 But while this arm the strength of man retains,
 While true-born courage revels through my veins,
 I'll spill my blood yon' hostile force to quell,
 And lawless power by lawful strength repel;
 This rough, black cannon shall our cause defend,
 This black, rough cannon is my truest friend.
 This, arm'd with vengeance, belching death afar,
 Confus'd their thousands marching to the war:
 Yet, deeply griev'd, the tears bedew my eyes,
 For this, the greatest of calamities;
 That our keen weapons, meant for other ends,
 Should spend their rage on Britons, once our friends;
 But Liberty!—no price hast thou below,
 And e'en a Briton's life for thee must go.
 Come, then, my weapons, rise in Freedom's aid,
 Her steps attend and be her call obey'd;
 Let Carleton arm his antichristian might,
 And sprinkle holy-water 'ere he fight,
 And let him have, to shield his limbs from hurt,
 St. Stephen's breeches,[c] and St. Stephen's shirt,[c]
 Don Quixote's sword, the valiant knight of Spain,
 Which now may grace a madman's side again,
 St. Bernard's hose,[c] and lest we give too few,
 John Faustus' cap, and Satan's cloven shoe;
 (These precious relicks may defend their backs,
 And good Guy Johnson should, I think, go snacks)
 Nay, let him, ere the clashing armies cope,
 Procure a pardon from his friend the Pope,
 That if his soul should be dislodg'd from hence,
 Heaven may with all his scarlet sins dispense,
 And place him safe beyond the reach of ball,
 Where Abrah'm's bosom may be had for all.
 Some powerful cause disarms my heart of fear,
 And bids me bring some future battle near,
 When crowds of dead shall veil the ghastful plain,
 And mighty Lords like Percy, fly again;
 When every pulse with treble force shall beat
 And each exert his valour to retreat.
 And each shall wish his stature may be made,
 Long as it seems at Sol's descending shade:
 So tallest trees that tour toward the skies,
 From simple acorns take their humble rise.
 To see from death their boasted valour shrink,
 And basely fly, has sometimes made me think,
 The true great heart is often found remote
 From the gay trappings of a scarlet coat.
 Stranger, in pity lend one pensive sigh,
 For all that dy'd and all that yet may die,
 If wars intestine long their rage retain,
 This land must turn a wilderness again.
 While civil discord plumes her snaky head,
 What streams of human gore most yet be shed,
 With sanguine floods shall Mystick's waves be dy'd,
 And ting'd the ocean, with her purple tide;
 Enough.—The prospect fills my heart with woe;
 Back to the heart my freezing spirits flow,
 No more remains; no more than this, that all
 Must fight like Romans, or like Romans fall:
 O heaven-born peace, renew thy wonted charms,
 Where Neptune westward spreads his aged arms;
 To hostile lands return an honour'd guest,
 And bless our crimson shores among the rest;
 'Till then may heaven assert our injur'd claims,
 And second every stroke Columbia aims,
 Direct our counsels and our leaders sway,
 Confound our foes and fill them with dismay.
 So shall past years, those happy years, return,
 And war's red lamp in Boston cease to burn:
 Hear and attest the warmest wish I bring,
 God save the Congress and reform the King!
 Long may Britannia rule our hearts again,
 Rule as she rul'd in George the Second's reign;
 May ages hence her growing empire see,
 And she be glorious, but ourselves be free,
 In that just scale an equal balance hold,
 And grant these climes a second age of gold."
He ceas'd, and now the sun's declining beam
 With fainter radiance shot a trembling gleam,
 The thickening stars proclaim'd the day expir'd,
 And to their tented mansions all retir'd.

[b] A notable Tory in Boston.—Freneau's note.

[c] Certain well known relicks among the Papists.—Freneau's note.