[87] "Huns."—Ed. 1786.

[88] "Slaughter'd by our Rifle-guns."—Ed. 1786.

[89] "Proud of his soldiership, Burgoyne rated himself higher yet in his character as an author."—Trevelyan. He was a voluminous letter-writer, and his vivid and interesting letters, of which great numbers have been preserved, throw much light upon the period.

[90] This expression belongs to Burgoyne rather than Howe. "Burgoyne took no pains to hide them [his sentiments] in any company. He exclaimed to the first colonist whom he met ... 'Let us get in and we will soon find elbow-room.' The saying caught the public ear, and the time was not far distant when its author learned to his cost that it is more easy to coin a phrase than to recall it from circulation."—Trevelyan, Am. Rev.

[91] "School-boy army."—Ed. 1786.

[92] The first detachment of troops, which left Boston on the night of April 18th, consisted of 800 men; the reinforcements that met them just beyond Lexington consisted of 1,200 men. "On this eventful day, the British lost 273 of their number, while the Americans lost 93."—Fiske's American Revolution.

[93] Lord Percy was at the head of the reinforcements which rescued the British regulars on their retreat from Concord and Lexington, and it was under his leadership that the disastrous retreat was continued to Boston.

[94] "I believe the fact, stripped of all coloring," Washington wrote six weeks later on, "to be plainly this: that if the retreat had not been as precipitate as it was (and God knows it could not have been more so), the ministerial troops must have surrendered or been totally cut off."—Trevelyan's American Revolution.

[95] "In this battle, in which not more than one hour was spent in actual fighting, the British loss in killed and wounded was 1,054.... The American loss, mainly incurred at the rail fence and during the hand-to-hand struggle at the redoubt, was 449."—Fiske's American Revolution.

[96] Burgoyne, in one of his letters, declares that "a pound of fresh mutton could only be bought for its weight in gold."

[97] Gage's inertness and procrastination were a constant source of ridicule both in England and America. No man was ever more severely criticised. Hume even branded him as a contemptible coward.


THE SILENT ACADEMY[98]

Subjected to despotic sway,
Compelled all mandates to obey,
Once in this dome I humbly bowed,
A member of the murmuring crowd,
Where Pedro Blanco held his reign,
The tyrant of a small domain.
By him a numerous herd controuled,
The smart, the stupid, and the bold,
Essayed some little share to gain
Of the vast treasures of his brain;
Some learned the Latin, some the Greek,
And some in flowery style to speak;
Some writ their themes, while others read,
And some with Euclid stuffed the head;
Some toiled in verse, and some in prose,
And some in logick sought repose;
Some learned to cypher, some to draw,
And some began to study law.
But all is ruined, all is done,
The tutor to the shades is gone,
And all his pupils, led astray,
Have each found out a different way.
Some are in chains of wedlock bound,
And some are hanged and some are drowned;
Some are advanced to posts and places,
And some in pulpits screw their faces;
Some at the bar a living gain,
Perplexing what they should explain;
To soldiers turned, a bolder band
Repel the invaders of the land;
Some to the arts of physic bred,
Despatch their patients to the dead;
Some plough the land, and some the sea,
And some are slaves, and some are free;
Some court the great, and some the muse,
And some subsist by mending shoes—
While others—but so vast the throng,
The Cobblers shall conclude my song.

[98] In the 1786 edition the title is "The Desolate Academy." In place of the first six lines above, the 1786 edition had the following:

"Subjected to despotic rule
Once in this dome I went to school,
Where Pedro Passive held his reign,
The tyrant of a small domain."

LINES TO A COASTING CAPTAIN[99]

Shipwrecked and Nearly Drowned on Hatteras Shoals

So long harassed by winds and seas,
'Tis time, at length, to take your ease,
Change ruffian waves for quiet groves[100]
And war's loud blast for sylvan loves.
In all your rounds, 'tis passing strange
No fair one tempts you to a change—
Madness it is, you must agree,
To lodge alone 'till forty-three.
Old Plato said, no blessing here
Could equal Love—if but sincere;
And writings penn'd by heaven, have shown
That man can ne'er be blest alone.
O'er life's meridian have you pass'd;
The night of death advances fast!
No props you plant for your decline,
No partner soothes these cares of thine.
If Neptune's self, who ruled the main,
Kept sea-nymphs there to ease his pain;
Yourself, who skim that empire o'er,
Might surely keep one nymph on shore.
Myrtilla fair, in yonder grove,
Has so much beauty, so much love,
That, on her lip, the meanest fly
Is happier far than you or I.

[99] In the 1786 edition the title is "The Sea-Faring Bachelor;" in 1795 it was changed to "Advice to a Friend."

[100]

"And seek a bride—for few can find
The sea a mistress to their mind."—Ed. 1786.

TO THE AMERICANS[101]

On the Rumoured Approach of the Hessian Forces,
Waldeckers, &c. (Published 1775)

The blast of death! the infernal guns prepare—
"Rise with the storm and all its dangers share."

Occasioned by General Gage's Proclamation that the Provinces were
in a state of Rebellion, and out of the King's protection.[102]

Rebels you are—the British champion[103] cries—
Truth, stand thou forth!—and tell the wretch, He lies:—
Rebels!—and see this mock imperial lord
Already threats these rebels with the cord.[104]
The hour draws nigh, the glass is almost run,
When truth will shine, and ruffians[105] be undone;
When this base miscreant[106] will forbear to sneer,
And curse his taunts and bitter insults here.[107]
If to controul the cunning of a knave,
Freedom respect, and scorn the name of slave;
If to protest against a tyrant's laws,
And arm for vengeance in a righteous cause,
Be deemed Rebellion—'tis a harmless thing:
This bug-bear name, like death, has lost its sting.
Americans! at freedom's fane adore!
But trust to Britain, and her flag,[108] no more;
The generous genius of their isle has fled,
And left a mere impostor in his stead.
If conquered, rebels (their Scotch records show),[109]
Receive no mercy from the parent [A]foe;[110]
Nay, even the grave, that friendly haunt of peace,
(Where Nature gives the woes of man to cease,)
Vengeance will search—and buried corpses there
Be raised, to feast the vultures of the air—
Be hanged on gibbets, such a war they wage—
Such are the devils that swell our souls with rage![111]
If Britain conquers, help us, heaven, to fly:
Lend us your wings, ye ravens of the sky;—
If Britain conquers—we exist no more;
These lands will redden with their children's gore,
Who, turned to slaves, their fruitless toils will moan,
Toils in these fields that once they called their own!
To arms! to arms! and let the murdering sword
Decide who best deserves the hangman's cord:
Nor think the hills of Canada too bleak
When desperate Freedom is the prize you seek;
For that, the call of honour bids you go
O'er frozen lakes and mountains wrapt in snow:[112]
No toils should daunt the nervous and the bold,
They scorn all heat or wave-congealing cold.
Haste!—to your tents in iron fetters bring
These slaves, that serve a tyrant and a king;[113]
So just, so virtuous is your cause, I say,
Hell must prevail if Britain gains the day.

[A] After the battle of Culloden: See Smollett's History of England.—Freneau's note.

[101] The first trace that I can find of this poem is in the Oct. 18, 1775, issue of Anderson's Constitutional Gazette, where it has the title, "Reflections on Gage's Letter to Gen. Washington of Aug. 13." It was published in the 1786 edition with the title, "On the Conqueror of America shut up in Boston. Published in New York, August 1775." The 1795 edition changed the title to "The Misnomer." I have followed the title and text of the 1809 edition.

[102] General Gage's proclamation, issued June 12, 1775, was as follows: "Whereas the infatuated multitudes, who have long suffered themselves to be conducted by certain well-known incendiaries and traitors, in a fatal progression of crimes against the constitutional authority of the state, have at length proceeded to avowed rebellion, and the good effects which were expected to arise from the patience and lenity of the king's government have been often frustrated, and are now rendered hopeless by the influence of the same evil counsels, it only remains for those who are intrusted with the supreme rule, as well for the punishment of the guilty as the protection of the well-affected, to prove that they do not bear the sword in vain."

[103] "The hopeful general."—Constitutional Gazette.

[104] On June 11, Washington had written Gage, among other things, "that the officers engaged in the cause of liberty and their country, who by the fortune of war had fallen into your hands, have been thrown indiscriminately into a common gaol appropriated for felons," and threatening retaliation in like cases, "exactly by the rule you shall observe towards those of ours now in your custody." To this Cage replied, on the 13th: "Britons, ever pre-eminent in mercy, have outgone common examples, and overlooked the criminal in the captive. Upon these principles your prisoners, whose lives, by the law of the land, are destined to the cord, have hitherto been treated with care and kindness," &c.—Duyckinck.

[105] "Gage shall be."—Gazette.

[106] "Black monster."—Gazette.

[107] The Gazette version adds here the lines,

"Nay, with himself, ere freedom sent to quell
Had seen the lowest lurking place of hell."

[108] "British clemency."—Ed. 1786.

[109] "Their past records show."—Ed, 1786. "Gage already lets us know."—Gazette.

[110] "The viper foe."—Gazette.

[111] This and the preceding line not in the earlier versions. In place of them the Gazette has the lines:

"Spoil'd of their shrouds and o'er Canadia's plains
Be hung aloft to terrify in chains."

[112] The Gazette version ends the poem from this point as follows:

"Let Baker's head be snatch'd from infamy,
And Carleton's Popish scull be fixt on high,
And all like him o'er St. John's castle swing,
To show that freedom is no trifling thing."

[113] "Their tyrant of a king."—Ed. 1786.


THE VERNAL AGUE

Where the pheasant[114] roosts at night,
Lonely, drowsy, out of sight,[115]
Where the evening breezes sigh
Solitary, there stray I.
Close along the shaded stream,
Source of many a youthful dream,
Where branchy cedars dim the day,
There I muse, and there I stray.
Yet, what can please amid this bower,
That charmed the eye for many an hour!
The budding leaf is lost to me,
And dead the bloom on every tree.
The winding stream, that glides along,
The lark, that tunes her early song,
The mountain's brow, the sloping vale,
The murmuring of the western gale,
Have lost their charms!—the blooms are gone!
Trees put a darker aspect on,
The stream disgusts that wanders by,
And every zephyr brings a sigh.
Great guardian of our feeble kind!
Restoring Nature, lend thine aid!
And o'er the features of the mind
Renew those colours, that must fade,
When vernal suns forbear to roll,
And endless winter chills the soul.

[114] "Blackbird."—Ed. 1786.

[115] "In groves of half distinguish'd light."—Ib.


GENERAL GAGE'S CONFESSION[116]

Being the Substance of His Excellency's Last Conference with his
Ghostly Father, Father Francis

Compassion!—'tis a stranger to my heart,
Or if it comes—unwelcome guest depart,—
Boston, farewell, thy final doom is pass'd,
North hears my prayers, and I'm recall'd at last;[117]
Sailor on high thy canvas wings display,
Howl, ye west winds, and hurry me away;
Rise, boisterous clouds, and bellowing from on high,
Whisk me along, ye tyrants of the sky—
Quick! let me leave these friendless shores that shed
Ten thousand curses on my hated head.—
But why so swift, why ask I gales so strong,
Since conscience, cruel conscience, goes along?
Must conscience rack my bosom o'er the deep?
I live in hell while she forbears to sleep;
Come, Father Francis, be my heart display'd,
My burden'd conscience asks thy pious aid;
Come, if confession can discharge my sin,
I will confess till hell itself shall grin,
And own the world has found in me again
A second Nero; nay, another Cain.
Friar
Why swells thy breast with such distressing woe?
Your honour surely has the sense to know
Your sins are venial—trust me when I say
Your deepest sins may all be purged away.—
But if misfortunes rouse this nightly grief,
Sure Friar Francis can afford relief:
I thought e're this that leaders of renown
Would scorn to bow to giddy fortune's frown;
See yon bright star (the dewy eve begun)
Walks his gay round and sparkles in the sun;
Faints not, encircled by the ambient blaze,
Tho' pestering clouds may sometimes blunt his rays;
But come, confession makes the conscience light,
Confess, my son, and be absolv'd this night.
Gage
First of the first, I tell it in your ear
(For tho' we whisper, heaven, you know, can hear)
This faultless country ne'er deserv'd my hate;
Just are its pleas; unmerited its fate.
When North ordained me to this thankless place,
My conscience rose and star'd me in the face,
And spite of all I did to quench its flame,
Convinc'd me I was wrong before I came.—
But what, alas, can mortal heroes do,
They are but men, as sacred writings shew,—
Tho' I refus'd, they urged me yet the more,
Nay, even the king descended to implore,
And often with him in his closet pent,
Was plagu'd to death to rule this armament;
Who could a monarch's favourite wish deny?
I yielded just for peace—ay, faith did I—
If this be sin, O tell me, reverend sage,
What will, alas, become of guilty Gage?
Friar
If this be sin—'tis sin, I make no doubt,
But trust me, honour'd sir, I'll help you out,
Even tho' your arms had rag'd from town to town,
And mow'd like flags these rebel nations down,
And joyful bell return'd the murdering din,
And you yourself the master butcher been,—
All should be well—from sins like this, I ween,
A dozen masses shall discharge you clean;
Small pains in purgatory you'll endure,
And hell, you know, is only for the poor,
Pay well the priest and fear no station there,
For heaven must yield to vehemence of prayer.
Gage
Heaven grant that this may be my smallest sin;
Alas, good friar, I'm yet deeper in—
Come round my bed, with friendly groans condole,
To gratify my paunch, I've wrong'd my soul;
Arms I may wield and murder by command,
Spread devastation thro' a guiltless land,
Whole ranks to hell with howling cannon sweep—
But what had I to do with stealing sheep?[118]
I've read my orders, conn'd them o'er with care,
But not a word of stealing sheep is there;
Come, holy friar, can you make a shift
To help a sinner at so dead a lift?
Or must I onward to perdition go,
With theft and murder to complete my woe?
Friar
Murder—nay, hold!—your honour is too sad,
Things are not yet, I hope, become so bad,
Murder, indeed—you've stole, and that I know,
But, sir, believe me, you've not struck a blow;
Some few Americans have bled, 'tis true,
But 'twas the soldiers killed them, and not you.
Gage
Well said, but will this subtile reasoning stand?
Did not the soldiers murder by command,
By my command?—Friar, they did, I swear,
And I must answer for their deeds, I fear.
Friar
Let each man answer for his proper deed,
From sins of murder I pronounce you freed,
And this same reasoning will your honour keep
From imputations of purloining sheep:
Wallace for this to Rome shall post away,
And for this crying sin severely pay,
And tho' his zeal may think his penance slight,
Hair cloth and logs shall be his bed at night,
Coarse fare by day—till his repeated groans
Convince the world he for this sin atones.
Gage
Alas, poor Wallace, how I pity thee!—
But let him go—'tis better him than me;
Yes, let him harbour in some convent there,
And fleas monastic bite him till he swear;
But, friar, have you patience for the rest?
Half my transgressions are not yet confest.
Friar
Not half!—you are a harmless man, I'm told—
Pray, cut them short—the supper will be cold.
Gage
Some devil, regardless of exalted station,
In evil hour assail'd me with temptation,
To issue forth a damned proclamation,
What prince, what king, from Belzebub is free,
He tempted Judas, and has tempted me!
This, this, O friar, was a deadly flaw,
This for the civil founded martial law,[119]
This crime will Gage to Lucifer consign,
And purgatory must for this be mine.
Next—and for this I breathe my deepest sigh,
Ah cruel, flinty, hard, remorseless I!—
How could I crowd my dungeons dark and low
With wounded captives of our injur'd foe?
How could my heart, more hard than hardened steel,
Laugh at the pangs that mangled captives feel?
Why sneer'd I at my fellow men distrest,
Why banished pity from this iron breast!
O friar, could heaven approve my acting so,
Heaven still to mercy swift, to vengeance slow?—
O no—you say, then cease your soothing chat,
Cowards are cruel, I can instance that.—
But hold! why did I, when the fact was done,
Deny it all to gallant Washington?
Why did I stuff the epistolary page
With vile invectives only worthy Gage?[120]
Come, friar, help—shall I recant and say
I writ my letter on a drunken day?
How will it sound, if men should chance to tell
A drunken hero can compose so well?
Friar
Your fears are groundless, give me all the blame,
I writ the letter, you but sign'd your name,
Nor let the proclamation cloud your mind,
'Twas I compos'd it and you only sign'd.—
I, Friar Francis—papist tho' I be,
You private papists can't but value me;
Your sins in Lethe shall be swallowed up,
I'll clear you, if you please, before we sup.
Gage
Nay, clear me not—tho' I should cross the brine,
And pay my vows in distant Palestine,
Or land in Spain, a stranger poor and bare,
And rove on foot a wretched pilgrim there,
And let my eyes in streams perpetual flow,
Where great Messiah dy'd so long ago,
And wash his sacred footsteps with my tears,
And pay for masses fifty thousand years,
All would not do—my monarch I've obey'd,
And now go home, perhaps to lose my head;—
Pride sent me here, pride blasted in the bud,
Which, if it can, will build its throne in blood,
With slaughter'd millions glut its tearless eyes,
And make all nature fall that it may rise;—
Come, let's embark, your holy whining cease,
Come, let's away, I'll hang myself for peace:
So Pontius Pilate for his murder'd Lord
In his own bosom sheath'd the deadly sword—
Tho' he confess'd and wash'd his hands beside,
His heart condemn'd him and the monster dy'd.

[116] "General Gage's Confession" was printed in pamphlet form in 1775. As far as I can ascertain, there exists but a single copy of this publication, that in the possession of the Library Company of Philadelphia. A manuscript note upon this copy, unquestionably the handwriting of Freneau, is as follows: "By Gaine. Published October 25, 1775." The poem was manifestly written after Gage's recall. The poet never reprinted it.

[117] On July 28, 1775, George III. wrote to Lord North: "I have desired Lord Dartmouth to acquaint Lt. G. Gage that as he thinks nothing further can be done this campaign in the province of Massachusetts Bay that he is desired instantly to come over, that he may explain the various wants for carrying on the next campaign." "It was a kindly pretext devised to spare the feelings of an unprofitable but a faithful and a brave servant."—Trevelyan. General Gage embarked at Boston for England, Oct. 12, 1775.

[118] The scarcity of provisions in the British camp during the siege of Boston has been already alluded to. "When marauding expeditions," says Bancroft, "returned with sheep and hogs and cattle captured from islands, the bells were rung as for victory."

[119] Alluding to the proclamation of June 12, five days before Bunker Hill, which established martial law throughout Massachusetts and proscribed Hancock and Samuel Adams. By this proclamation, all who were in arms about Boston, every member of the State Government and of the Continental Congress, were threatened with condign punishment as rebels and traitors.

[120] Washington had written to Gage, remonstrating against the cruel treatment of certain American officers, who were denied the privileges and immunities due their rank. Almost the last official act of Gage was to reply through Burgoyne in a letter addressed to "George Washington, Esqr.," that "Britons, ever pre-eminent in mercy, have overlooked the criminal in the captive. Your prisoners, whose lives by the law of the land are destined to the cord, have hitherto been treated with care and kindness;—indiscriminately, it is true, for I acknowledge no rank that is not derived from the King."


THE DISTREST SHEPHERDESS[121]

or, Mariana's Complaint for the Death of Damon

Written 1775

What madness compell'd my dear shepherd to go
To the siege of Quebec, and distract me with woe!
My heart is so full, it would kill me to tell
How he died on the banks of the river Sorel.
O river Sorel! Thou didst hear him complain,
When dying he languish'd, and called me in vain!
When, pierc'd by the Briton he went to repel,
He sunk on the shores of the river Sorel.
O cruel misfortune, my hopes to destroy:
He has left me alone with my Colin, his boy;
With sorrow I see him, with tears my eyes swell;
Shall we go, my sweet babe, to the river Sorel?
But why should I wander, and give him such pain?
My Damon will ne'er see his Colin again:
To wander so far where the wild Indians dwell,
We should faint ere we came to the river Sorel.
But even to see the pale corpse of my dear
Would give me such rapture, such pleasure sincere!
I'll go, my dear boy, and my grief I will tell
To the willows that grow by the river Sorel.
How shall I distinguish my shepherd's dear grave
Amidst the long forest that darkens the wave:—
Perhaps they could give him no tomb when he fell;
Perhaps he is sunk in the river Sorel.
He was a dear fellow!—O, had he remain'd!
For he was uneasy whene'er I complain'd;
He call'd me his charmer, and call'd me his belle,
What a folly to die on the banks of Sorel!
Then let me remain in my lonely retreat;
My shepherd departed I never shall meet—
Here's Billy O'Bluster—I love him as well,
And Damon may stay at the river Sorel.