THE WAR OF 1812
1809-1815
THE WAR OF 1812
1809-1815
ON THE SYMPTOMS OF HOSTILITIES.[199]
1809
But will they once more be engaged in a war,
Be fated to discord again?
A peace to the nations will nothing restore
But the challenge of death and a deluge of gore!
A modern crusade
Is undoubtedly made:--
With treaties rejected, and treaties renew'd,
A permanent treaty they never conclude.
And who is to blame? we submissively ask--
Did nature predestine this curse to mankind;
Or is it the cruel detestable task
That tyrants impose, with their minions combined?
We are anxious to know
The source of our wo
In a world where the blessings of nature abound
Why discord, the bane of her blessings, is found.
Must our freedom, our labors, our commerce, our all
Be tamely surrender'd, to tyrants convey'd;
Must the flag of the country disgracefully fall,
To be torn by the dogs of the slaughtering trade?
Does no one reply,
With a tear in his eye,
It must be the case, if we do not resent
What monarchs have menaced and tyranny meant.
Not a ship, or a barque, that departs from the shore
But her cargo is plunder'd, her sailors are slain,
Or arriving in England, we see them no more,
Condemn'd in the court of deceit and chicane,
Where their wicked decrees
And their costs and their fees
Have ruin'd the merchant--mechanics half fed,
And sailors uncaptured are begging their bread.
To reason with tyrants is surely absurd;
To argue with them is to preach to the deaf:
They argue alone by the length of the sword;
Their honor the same as the word of a thief.
In such to confide
When a cause they decide,
Is the wolf and the lamb (if the tale we recall)
Where the weakest and meekest must go to the wall.
But an englishman's throat is expanded so wide
Not the ocean itself is a mess for his maw:
And missions there are, and a scoundrel employ'd
To divide, and to rule by the florentine law[A]:
New-England must join
In the knavish design,
As some have predicted to those who believe 'em;
--The event is at hand--may the devil deceive 'em.
[A] Nicholas Machiavel's maxim, _divide et impera_; divide and
govern. He was a native of Florence, in Italy.--_Freneau's
note._
With an empire at sea and an empire on land,
And the system projected, monopolization,
The western republic no longer will stand
Than answers the views of a desperate nation,
Who have shackled the east,
Made the native a beast,
And are scheming to give us--the matter is clear--
A man of their own for the president's chair,
Then arouse from your slumbers, ye men of the west,
Already the indian his hatchet displays;
Ohio's frontier, and Kentucky distrest;
The village, and cottage, are both in a blaze:--
Then indian and english
No longer distinguish,
They bribe, and are bribed, for a warfare accurst;
Of the two, we can hardly describe which is worst.
In the court of king Hog was a council convened,
In which they agreed we are growing too strong:
They snuffled and grunted, and loudly complained
The sceptre would fall, if they suffer'd it long;
To cut up our trade
Was an object, they said,
The nearest and dearest of all in their view;
Not a fish should be caught if old England said, No!
Then arouse from your slumbers, ye men of the west,
A war is approaching, there's room to suppose;
The rust on your guns we abhor and detest,
So brighten them up--we are coming to blows
With the queen of the ocean
The prop of devotion,
The bulwark of all that is truly divine;
A motto she often has put on her sign.
[199] The poems in this section are all from the edition of 1815.
LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. JEFFERSON,
On his retirement from the Presidency of the United States.--1809.
Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores--_Hor._
To you, great sir, our heartfelt praise we give,
And your ripe honors yield you--while you live.
At length the year, which marks his course, expires,
And Jefferson from public life retires;
That year, the close of years, which own his claim,
And give him all his honors, all his fame.
Far in the heaven of fame I see him fly,
Safe in the realms of immortality:
On Equal Worth his honor'd mantle falls,
Him, whom Columbia her true patriot calls;
Him, whom we saw her codes of freedom plan,
To none inferior in the ranks of man.
When to the helm of state your country call'd
No danger awed you and no fear appall'd;
Each bosom, faithful to its country's claim,
Hail'd Jefferson, that long applauded name;
All, then, was dark, and wrongs on wrongs accrued
Our treasures wasted, and our strength subdued;
What seven long years of war and blood had gain'd,
Was lost, abandon'd, squander'd, or restrain'd:
Britania's tools had schemed their easier way,
To conquer, ruin, pillage, or betray;
Domestic traitors, with exotic, join'd,
To shackle this last refuge of mankind;
Wars were provoked, and France was made our foe,
That George's race might govern all below,
O'er this wide world, uncheck'd, unbounded, reign,
Seize every clime, and subjugate the main.
All this was seen--and rising in your might,
By genius aided, you reclaim'd our right,
That Right, which conquest, arms, and valor gave
To this young nation--not to live a slave.
And what but toil has your long service seen?
Dark tempests gathering over a sky serene--
For wearied years no mines of wealth can pay,
No fame, nor all the plaudits of that day,
Which now returns you to your rural shade,
The sage's heaven, for contemplation made,
Who, like the Roman, in their country's cause
Exert their valor, or enforce its laws,
And late retiring, every wrong redress'd,
Give their last days to solitude and rest.
This great reward a generous nation yields--
Regret attends you to your native fields;
Their grateful thanks for every service done,
And hope, your thorny race of care is run.
From your sage counsels what effects arise!
The vengeful briton from our waters flies;
His thundering ships no more our coasts assail,
But seize the advantage of the western gale.
Though bold and bloody, warlike, proud, and fierce,
They shun your vengeance for a Murdered Pearce,
And starved, dejected, on some meagre shore,
Sigh for the country they shall rule no more.
Long in the councils of your native land,
We saw you cool, unchanged, intrepid, stand:
When the firm Congress, still too firm to yield,
Stay'd masters of the long contested field,
Your wisdom aided, what their counsels framed--
By you the murdering savages were tamed--
That Independence we had sworn to gain,
By you asserted (nor Declared in vain)
We seized, triumphant, from a tyrant's throne,
And Britain totter'd when the work was done.
You, when an angry faction vex'd the age,
Rose to your place at once, and check'd their rage;
The envenom'd shafts of malice you defied,
And turn'd all projects of revolt aside:--
We saw you libell'd by the worst of men,
While hell's red lamp hung quivering o'er his pen,
And fiends congenial every effort try
To blast that merit which shall never die--
These had their hour, and traitors wing'd their flight,
To aid the screechings of distracted night.
Vain were their hopes--the poison'd darts of hell,
Glanced from your flinty shield, and harmless fell.
All this you bore--beyond it all you rose,
Nor ask'd despotic laws to crush your foes.
Mild was your language, temperate though severe;
And not less potent than Ithuriel's spear
To touch the infernals in their loathsome guise,
Confound their slanders and detect their lies.
All this you braved--and, now, what task remains,
But silent walks on solitary plains:
To bid the vast luxuriant harvest grow,
The slave be happy and secured from wo--
To illume the statesmen of the times to come
With the bold spirit of primeval Rome;
To taste the joys your long tried service brings,
And look, with pity, on the cares of kings:--
Whether, with Newton, you the heavens explore,
And trace through nature the creating power,
Or, if with mortals you reform the age,
(Alike, in all, the patriot and the sage)
May peace and soft repose, attend you, still,
In the lone vale, or on the cloud-capp'd hill,
While smiling plenty decks the abundant plain,
And hails Astrea to the world again.
ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR,
AND AMERICAN WRONGS.
Americans! rouse at the rumors of war,
Which now are distracting the hearts of the nation,
A flame blowing up, to extinguish your power
And leave you, a prey, to another invasion;
A second invasion, as bad as the old,
When, northward or southward, wherever they stroll'd
With heart and with hand, a murdering band
Of vagrants, came over to ravage your land:
For liberty's guard, you are ever array'd
And know how to fight, in the sun or the shade.
Remember the cause that induced you to rise
When oppression advanced, with her king-making host,
Twas the cause of our nation that bade you despise
And drive to destruction all England's proud host,
Who, with musket and sword, under men they adored,
Rush'd into each village and rifled each shade
To murder the planter, and ravish the maid.
What though you arose, and resolved to be free,
With spirit to humble all Europe combining,
You had soon bit the dust or been drown'd in the sea
By the slaves of a king, and a court all designing,
Had not liberty swore she would cover your shore,
Her colors display'd, and with vengeance repaid
The myriads that came from a blood-thirsty isle
Our groves, and our streams, and our beds to defile.
Our churches defaced, by a merciless foe,
Or made the poor captive's distress'd habitation:
The prison-ship, fraught with its cargo of wo,
Where thousands were starved, without shame or compassion;
All these, and yet more, were the evils we bore
From a motherly dame, Great Britain her name,
From a nation, that once we accounted our friends,
Who would shackle the country, that freedom defends.
All true-born americans! join, as of old;
For freedom's defence, be your firm resolution;
Whoever invades you by force, or with gold,
Alike is a foe to a free constitution:
Unite to pull down that imposture, a crown;
Oppose it at least, tis a mark of the beast:
All tyranny's engines again are at work
To make you as poor and as base as the turk.
Abandon'd to all the intrigues of a knave,
Abounding with sharpers of every description,
They would plunder our towns, and prohibit the wave;
Their treaties of commerce are all a deception:
Not a ship do we send but they rob without end;
With their law of blockade they have ruin'd our trade;
The shops of mechanics at midnight they burn
That home manufactures may cease to be worn.
Look round the wide world; and observe with a sigh,
Wherever a monarch presides o'er a nation,
Sweet nature appears with a tear in her eye,
And the mantle of sorrow enshrouds the creation.
The ocean is chain'd, all freedom restrain'd,
The soil is resign'd to the pests of mankind,
To royals and nobles, the guard of the throne,
And the slaves they have bribed, to make freedom their own.
All hail to the nation, immortal and great,
Who, rising on bold philosophical pinion,
Reforms, and enlightens, and strengthens the state,
Not places her weal in excess of dominion.
What reason can do she intends to pursue;
And true to the plan, on which she began,
Will the volume unfold she to freedom assign'd,
Till tyrants are chased from the sight of mankind.
Since the day we declared, they were masters no more,
The day we arose from the colony station,
Has England attack'd us, by sea and by shore,
In war by the sword, as in peace by vexation;
Impressment they claim'd, till our seamen, ashamed,
Grew sick of our flag, that against the old hag
Of Britain, no longer their freedom protected
But left them, like slaves, to be lash'd and corrected.
Old Rome, that in darkness so long had been lost,
Since on her republic bright freedom was shining:
The warmth of her spirit congeal'd in a frost,
Under tyrants and popes, many centuries, pining:
At the close of the page, who can bridle his rage
To see her return to the fetters she broke,
When tyranny sicken'd, and liberty spoke:
What an image of clay have they thrown in her way!
The king and the priest on her carcass will feast;
When these are allied, the world they divide;
The nations they plunder, the nations they kill,
And bend all the force of the mind to their will:
Not the spirit to rise, or the strength to command,
But friars and monks--and the scum of the land.--
No more of your Nero's or Caesars complain,
Leave Brutus and Cato, and take them again.
But reason, that sun, whose unquenchable ray
Progressive, has dawn'd on the night of the mind,
From the source of all good, may hereafter display,
And man a more dignified character find:
As far as example and vigor can go,
As long as forbearance and patience will do,
The western republic will carry it through--:
May order and peace through the nations increase,
And murder, and plunder, and tyranny cease:
May justice and honor through empires prevail
And all the bad passions weigh light in the scale,
Till man is the being that nature at first
Placed here, to be happy, and not to be cursed.
Approaching, at hand, in the progress of time,
An era will come, to begin its career,
When freedom reviving, and man in his prime,
His rights will assert, and maintain without fear
Of that cunning, bold race, who our species disgrace;
On the blood of a nation who make calculation
To rise into splendor and fill a high station;
Nay, climb to the throne on a villanous plan
To plunder his substance, and trample on man.
ON THE BRITISH COMMERCIAL DEPREDATIONS.
As gallant ships as ever ocean stemm'd--
A thousand ships are captured, and condemn'd!
Ships from our shores, with native cargoes fraught,
And sailing to the very shores they ought:
And yet at peace!--the wrong is past all bearing;
The very comets[A] are the war declaring:
Six thousand seamen groan beneath your power,
For years immured, and prisoners to this hour:
[A] A large comet appeared for several months, about this
time.--_Freneau's note._
Then England come! a sense of wrong requires
To meet with thirteen stars your thousand fires;
On your own seas the conflict to sustain,
Or drown them, with your commerce in the main!
True do we speak, and who can well deny,
That England claims all water, land, and sky
Her power expands--extends through every zone,
Nor bears a rival--but must rule alone.
To enforce her claims, a thousand sails unfurl'd
Pronounce their home the cock-pit of the world;
The modern Tyre, whose fiends and lions prowl,
A tyrant navy, which in time must howl.[B]
Heaven send the time--the world obeys her nod:
Her nods, we hope, the sleep of death forbode;
Some mighty change, when plunder'd thrones agree,
And plunder'd countries, to make commerce free.
[B] Howl, ye ships of Tarshish, &c.--Ezekiel.--_Freneau's note._
TO AMERICA:
On the English Depredations on the American Coast.
When Alfred held the english throne,
And England's self was little known,
Yet, when invaded by the Dane,
He early faced them on the main.
That scythian race who ruled the sea--
He soon pronounced their destiny;
To leave his isle, to sheath the sword;
Disgraced, defeated, and abhorr'd.
So now, these worse than danes appear
To do their deeds of havoc here--
For all they did in seasons past,
The day of grief must come at last.
For plains, yet white with human bones,
For murders past, no prayer atones;
For ruin spread in former years,
Not even the mitred clergy's tears.
Let us but act the part we ought,
And tyrants will be dearly taught
That they, who aid a country's claim,
Fight not for ribands, or a name.
Still hostile to the rights of man,
A deadly war, the english plan;
The gothic system will prevail,
To ruin where they can assail;
A war, where seas of blood may flow
To ornament their scenes of wo.
O Washington! thy honored dust
The foe will not profane, we trust;
Or if they do, will vengeance sleep,
Or fail to drive them to the deep?
For shores well known, they shape their course,
An english fleet, with all its force;
A british fleet may soon appear
To ravage all we counted dear.
Advancing swift, by beat of drum,
Half England's dregs, or Scotland's scum;
With these unite the indian tribes,
Now hostile made by force of bribes--
And they will dare the eagle's frown,
Though half his force can put them down.
The envenom'd foe, inured to war,
May scatter vengeance wide and far,
Unless, to assert our country's right,
All hearts resolve, all hands unite.
Let party feuds be hush'd, forgot,
Past discord from the memory blot,
And Britain, from our coasts repell'd,
Shall rue the day she took the field.
The dart, to assail the english power,
In time must reach that hostile shore,
And red with vengeance, on its way,
Their naval power in ruins lay.
The western world a blow must deal
To let them know, and make them feel
That much too long a plundering hag
Has mortified all Europe's flag.
By wars and death while despots thrive
What pity one remains alive!
By them the seeds of war are sown,
By them, our lives are not our own.
Their deadly hate to freedom's growth,
To reason's light--that spurns them both,
That deadly hate predicts our doom,
And digs the pit for freedom's tomb.
Be not deceived--the league of kings,
Confederate crowns, this warfare brings;
These send their hosts to forge our chains,
Harass our shores, renew their reigns.
At Pilnitz they who join'd to swear
And wage with France wide wasting war
Till freedom should her claims recall,
And Louis reign, or myriads fall;
At Pilnitz, with decided aim,
They form'd their schemes to blast our fame:
And, faithful now to what they swore,
Would, kings dismiss'd and thrones, restore.
Ye hearts of steel, observe these hosts!
The odious train my soul disgusts;
They rise upon the vultures wings
To prop the tottering cause of kings.
Observe them well--through every grade
They exercise the robber's trade;
They sail upon a plundering scheme,
They march, to give you sword and flame.
And burn you must, if, slow to act,
You wait to see your cities sack'd,
Yourselves enslav'd, and all things lose
That labor earns or wealth bestows;
If slow to send your heated balls,
Indignant, through their wooden walls.
O may you see their squadrons yield
Their legions sink on every field;
And new Burgoynes, to slaughter bred,
Burgoynes, once more, in fetters led.
And may you see all foreign power
Forever banish'd from your shore,
And see disheartened tyrants mourn,
And Britain to her hell return.
THE SUTTLER AND THE SOLDIER.
"Who would refuse this cheering draught?"
The suttler said, and saying, laugh'd
The soldier, then, the liquor quaff'd,
And felt right bold.
The suttler soon foresaw the rest,
And thus the son of Mars address'd,
"This brandy is the very best
Of all I've sold.
"The journey you are bound to go,
In former times, I travell'd too,
When Arnold march'd, with lord knows who,
To seize Quebec.
"And if he fail'd in that assault,
It was not, sure, the brandy's fault;
The best, at times, may make a halt,
Ay, break his neck.
"Now hear a dotard of your trade:--
Of old I lived by flint and blade,
But, disregarded, and decay'd,
I'm nothing now.
"This leaky shed is not my own,
And here I stay, unheard, unknown,
Poor Darby, and without a Joan,
Nor horse, nor cow.
"But mend your draught--I have more to say:--
You now are young, and under pay;
Be warn'd by me, whose hairs are grey;
The time will come
"When you may find this trade of arms,
The march, that now your bosom warms,
Has little but illusive charms,
Mere beat of drum:
"But yet, in such a cause as this
I deem your ardor not amiss--
I know you are no hireling swiss;
Your country calls:
"And when she calls, you must obey;
For wages not--fig for the pay--
Tis honor calls you out this day
To face the balls.
"You have to go where George Provost
Has many a soldier made a ghost,
Where indians many a prisoner roast
Or seize their scalps.
"And what of that?--mere fate of war--
God grant you may have better fare--
Go, fight beneath a kinder star,
And scourge the whelps.
"They scarce are men--mere flesh and blood--
Mere ouran-outangs of the wood,
Forever on the scent of blood,
And deers at heart.
"When men, like you, approach them nigh,
They make a yell, retreat, and fly:
On equal ground, they never try
The warrior's art.
"Then dare their strength--at honor's call
Explore the road to Montreal,
To dine, perchance, in Drummond's hall,
Perhaps in jail.
"Of all uncertain things below
The chance of war is doubly so;
For this I saw, and this I know;--
Yet, do not fail.
"To live, for months on scanty fare,
To sleep, by night in open air,
To fight, and every danger share;
All these await.
"But bear them all!--wherever led,
And live contented, though half fed:--
A couch of straw, and canvas shed
Shall be your fate!
"And mind the mark--remember me--
When full of fight, and full of glee,
Be of your brandy not too free:--
Ay, mind the mark!
"Who drinks too much, the day he fights,
Calls danger near, and death invites
To dim, or darken all his lights;--
His noon is dark!
"It is a friend in a stormy day;
Then brandy drives all care away,
But, over done, it will betray
The wisest sage.
"Then strictly guard the full canteen--
Its power enlivens every scene,
And helps to keep the soul serene
When battles rage.
"This potent stuff, if managed well,
(And strong it is, the sort I sell)
Can every doubt and fear expel,
When prudence guides.
"Though mountains rise, or rocks intrude,
This nectar smooths the roughest road,
And cheers the heart, and warms the blood
Through all its tides.
"Then drink you this, and more," (he said,
And held the pitcher to his head)
"This drink of gods, when Ganymede
Hands round the bowl,
"Will nerve the arm, and bid you go
Where prowls the vagrant Eskimau,[A]
Where torpid winter tops with snow
The darkened pole,--"
[A] The savage inhabitants of Labrador, or
New-Britain.--_Freneau's note._
"Enough, enough!"--(the sergeant said)
"Now, suttler, he must go to bed--
See! topsy-turvy goes his head;
I hear him snort."
"Since I know where to get my pay
(The suttler answered rather gay)
No matter what I said or say--
I've sold my quart."
MILITARY RECRUITING
To a Recruit Fond of Segar Smoking
----Ex fumo dare lucem
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat--_Hor._
When first I arrived to the age of a man
And met the distraction of care,
As the day to a close rather sorrowful ran
Yet I smiled and I smoked my segar:
O, how sweet did it seem
What a feast, what a dream
What a pleasure to smoke the segar!
In vain did the din of the females assail
Or the noise of the carts in the street,
With a spanish segar and a pint of good ale
I found my enjoyment complete:
Old care I dismiss'd
While I held in my fist
The pitcher, and smoked the segar.
What a world are we in, if we do not retire,
And, at times, to the tavern repair
To read the gazette, by a hickory fire,
With a sixpence or shilling to spare,
To handle the glass
And an evening pass
With the help of a lively segar.
The man of the closet, who studies and reads,
And prepares for the wars of the bar;
The priest who harangues, or the lawyer who pleads,
What are they without the segar?
What they say may be right,
But they give no delight
Unless they have smoked the segar.
The farmer still plodding, who follows his plough,
A calling, the first and the best,
Would care not a fig for the sweat on his brow
If he smoked a segar with the rest:
To the hay-loft alone
I would have it unknown,
For there a segar I detest.
The sailor who climbs and ascends to the yard
Bespatter'd and blacken'd with tar,
Would think his condition uncommonly hard
If he did not indulge the segar,
To keep them in trim
While they merrily swim
On the ocean, to countries afar.
The soldier untry'd, in the midst of the smoke,
The havoc and carnage of war,
Would stand to his cannon, as firm as a rock,
Would they let him but smoke his segar:
Every gun in the fort
Should make its report
From the fire which illumes the segar.
Come then, to the tavern, ye sons of the sword,
No fear of a wound or a scar;
If your money is gone, your account will be scored
By the lady who tends at the bar:
And this I can say,
Not a cent need you pay
For the use of the social segar.
ON THE CAPTURE OF THE GUERRIERE,
Captain Dacres, August 19, 1812--by the Constitution, american frigate,
capt. Hull.
AN IRREGULAR ODE.
Long the tyrant of our coast
Reign'd the famous Guerriere;
Our little navy she defy'd,
Public ship and privateer:
On her sails in letters red,
To our captains were display'd
Words of warning, words of dread,
All, who meet me, have a care!
I am England's Guerriere.[A]
[A] Female warrior, or amazon.--_Freneau's note._
On the wide, Atlantic deep
(Not her equal for the fight)
The Constitution, on her way,
Chanced to meet these men of might:
On her sails was nothing said,
But her waist the teeth displayed
That a deal of blood could shed,
Which, if she would venture near,
Would stain the decks of the Guerriere.
Now our gallant ship they met--
And, to struggle with John Bull--
Who had come, they little thought,
Strangers, yet, to Isaac Hull:
Better, soon, to be acquainted:
Isaac hail'd the lord's anointed--
While the crew the cannon pointed,
And the balls were so directed
With a blaze so unexpected;
Isaac did so maul and rake her
That the decks of captain Dacres
Were in such a woful pickle
As if death, with scythe and sickle,
With his sling, or with his shaft
Had cut his harvest fore and aft.
Thus, in thirty minutes ended,
Mischiefs that could not be mended:
Masts, and yards, and ship descended,
All to David Jones' locker--
Such a ship in such a pucker!
Drink about to the Constitution!
She perform'd some execution
Did some share of retribution
For the insults of the year
When she took the Guerriere.
May success again await her,
Let who will again command her
Bainbridge, Rodgers, or Decatur--
Nothing like her can withstand her,
With a crew, like that on board her
Who so boldly call'd "to order"
One bold crew of english sailors,
Long, too long our seamen's jailors,
Dacre' and the Guerriere!
THEODOSIA
In the _Morning Star_.[200]
The fatal and perfidious barque!
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that angel form of thine!
The morning star, resplendent in the east,
May be our station, when from life released,
Tempestuous cape! how fatal proved the day
When from thy shores the faithless ship withdrew,
Yet, prosperous gales impell'd her on her way
Till the broad canvas vanish'd from the view.
Long on that height the pensive friends remain'd
Till ocean's curve conceal'd her from the eye,
And all was hope that she her port attain'd
Ere ten more suns illumed the morning sky.
Fond friends! false hope! no port beheld her come
With flowing sheet, to meet the pilot's sail:
No pilot met her on the Atlantic foam--
What could the pilot, or his art, avail?
Detested barque! nor art thou yet arrived--
Nor wilt thou come! three years are roll'd away!
You, Theodosia of her life deprived,
You sunk her from the cheerful beams of day!
Where dost thou rest, with her whose genius rose
Above her sex--for science so renown'd--
But does her spirit in the deep repose
Or find new mansions on celestial ground?
That soars above to heights unknown before,
Where all is joy, and life that never ends;
Where all is rapture, all admire, adore;
Immortal nature, with angelic friends.
Oh! shed no more the tears of sad regret;
The hymns of joy, the lofty verse prepare--
Her briny doom, the ingulphing wave forget
For Theodosia in the Morning Star.
[200] Theodosia, the brilliant and accomplished daughter of Aaron Burr,
embarked from Charleston, S. C., December 29, 1812, in the schooner
_Patriot_ for New York. The boat never was heard from afterwards. It
doubtless foundered off Cape Hatteras in the severe gale which sprang up
soon after the vessel had left the harbor.
IN MEMORY OF JAMES LAWRENCE, ESQUIRE,
Late commander of the United States frigate Chesapeake, who fell in the
action, with the british ship of war Shannon, June 1st. 1813
--Semper honoratum habebo--_Virg._
To lift his name to high renown
His native merits led the way;
His morning sun resplendent shone
Till clouds obscured the fading ray:
His country's voice his worth confess'd,
His country's tears disclose the rest,
In battle brave, his lofty mind
Aspired to all that fame relates
Of those, who on her page we find
Defenders of insulted states:
Of all who fought, or all who fell,
The noblest part he copied well.
For Lawrence dead, his Jersey mourns,
With tearful eye laments the day
When all the worth that men adorns
One fatal moment snatch'd away!
On honor's bed his doom he found,
In honor's cause, the deadly wound.
To what vast heights his mind aspired,
Who knew him best can best relate:--
A longer term the cause required
That urged him to an early fate:
But He, whose fires illumed his breast,
Knew what was right and what was best.
His country to her breast receives
His mangled form, and holds it dear;
She plants her marble, while she grieves,
Where all, who read, might drop a tear,
And say, while memory calls to mind
The chief, who with our worthies shined,
Here Lawrence rests, his country's pride,
On valor's decks who fought and died!
ON THE LAKE EXPEDITIONS
Where Niagara's awful roar
Convulsive shakes the neighboring shore,
Alarm'd I heard the trump of war,
Saw legions join!
And such a blast, of old, they blew,
When southward from st. Lawrence flew
The indian, to the english true,
Led by Burgoyne.
United, then, they sail'd Champlain,
United now, they march again,
A land of freedom to profane
With savage yell.
For this they scour the mountain wood;
Their errand, death, their object, blood:
For this they stem thy subject flood,
O stream Sorel!
Who shall repulse the hireling host,
Who force them back through snow and frost,
Who swell the lake with thousands lost,
Dear freedom? say!--
Who but the sons of freedom's land,
Prepared to meet the bloody band;
Resolved to make a gallant stand
Where lightnings play.
Their squadrons, arm'd with gun and sword,
Their legions, led by knight and lord
Have sworn to see the reign restored
Of George, the goth;
Whose mandate, from a vandal shore,
Impels the sail, directs the oar,
And, to extend the flames of war,
Employs them both.
THE BATTLE OF LAKE ERIE
September 10, 1813
"To clear the lake of Perry's fleet
And make his flag his winding sheet
This is my object--I repeat--"
--Said Barclay, flush'd with native pride,
To some who serve the british crown:--
But they, who dwell beyond the moon,
Heard this bold menace with a frown,
Nor the rash sentence ratified.
Ambition so bewitch'd his mind,
And royal smiles had so combined
With skill, to act the part assign'd
He for no contest cared, a straw;
The ocean was too narrow far
To be the seat of naval war;
He wanted lakes, and room to spare,
And all to yield to Britain's law.
And thus he made a sad mistake;
Forsooth he must possess the lake,
As merely made for England's sake
To play her pranks and rule the roast;
Where she might govern, uncontrol'd,
An unmolested empire hold,
And keep a fleet to fish up gold,
To pay the troops of George Provost.
The ships approach'd, of either side,
And Erie, on his bosom wide
Beheld two hostile navies ride,
Each for the combat well prepared:
The lake was smooth, the sky was clear,
The martial drum had banish'd fear,
And death and danger hover'd near,
Though both were held in disregard.
From lofty heights their colors flew,
And Britain's standard all in view,
With frantic valor fired the crew
That mann'd the guns of queen Charlotte.
"And we must Perry's squadron take,
And England shall command the lake;--
And you must fight for Britain's sake,
(Said Barclay) sailors, will you not?"
Assent they gave with heart and hand;
For never yet a braver band
To fight a ship, forsook the land,
Than Barclay had on board that day;--
The guns were loosed the game to win,
Their muzzles gaped a dismal grin,
And out they pulled their tompion pin,
The bloody game of war to play.
But Perry soon, with flowing sail,
Advanced, determined to prevail,
When from his bull-dogs flew the hail
Directed full at queen Charlotte.
His wadded guns were aim'd so true,
And such a weight of ball they threw,
As, Barclay said, he never knew
To come, before, so scalding hot!
But still, to animate his men
From gun to gun the warrior ran
And blazed away and blazed again--
Till Perry's ship was half a wreck:
They tore away both tack and sheet,--
Their victory might have been complete,
Had Perry not, to shun defeat
In lucky moment left his deck.
Repairing to another post,
From another ship he fought their host
And soon regain'd the fortune lost,
And down, his flag the briton tore:
With loss of arm and loss of blood
Indignant, on his decks he stood
To witness Erie's crimson flood
For miles around him, stain'd with gore!
Thus, for dominion of the lake
These captains did each other rake,
And many a widow did they make;--
Whose is the fault, or who to blame?--
The briton challenged with his sword,
The yankee took him at his word,
With spirit laid him close on board--
They're ours--he said--and closed the game.
ON THE CAPTURE
OF THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE ESSEX,
Of thirty-two guns, David Porter, esq. commander, in the neutral port
of Valparisso, on the coast of Chili, in South America, January, 1814,
by the british frigate Phoebe, capt. Hillyer, of forty-nine guns, and
the Cherub of thirty-two guns.
"All the devils were there, and hell was empty!"
From cruising near the southern pole
Where wild antarctic oceans roll,
With a gallant crew, a manly soul,
Heroic Porter came.
Then, weathering round the stormy cape,
And facing death in every shape,
Which Anson[A] hardly could escape,
(So says the page of fame.)
[A] See Lord Anson's voyage round the world between 1740 and
1744, by his chaplain, the rev. Richard Walter. The terrors
and dangers of a winter passage round Cape Horn into the
Western Ocean, are depicted in that work by a masterly hand,
who was witness to the scene.--_Freneau's note._
He made the high chilesian coast,
The Andes, half in vapor lost,
The Andes, topp'd with snow and frost,
Eternal winter's reign!
Then, to the rugged western gale,
He spread the broad columbian sail;
And, Valparisso, thy fair vale
Received him, with his men.
There, safely moor'd, his colors fly,
Columbia's standard waved on high;
The neutral port, his friends, were nigh;
So gallant Porter thought;
Nor deem'd a foe would heave in sight
Regardless of all neutral right;
And yet, that foe he soon must fight,
And fight them as he ought.
His Essex claim'd his fondest care,
With her he every storm could dare,
With her, to meet the blast of war,
His soul was still in trim:
In her he cruised the northern main,
In her he pass'd the burning line,
In her he all things could attain,
If all would act like him.
At length, two hostile ships appear,
And for the port they boldly steer--
The Phoebe first, and in her rear
The Cherub, all secure.
They loom'd as gay as for a dance,
Or ladies painted in romance--
Do, mind how boldly they advance.
Who can their fire endure?
The Phoebe mounted forty-nine--
All thought her on some grand design--
Does she alone the fight decline?
Say, Captain Hillyer, say?
The Cherub's guns were thirty-two--
And, Essex! full a match for you--
Yet to her bold companion true,
She hugg'd her close, that day.
Ye powers, that rule the southern pole!
Are these the men of English soul?
Do these, indeed, the waves control?
Are these the ocean's lords?
Though challenged singly to the fight
(As Porter, Hillyer, did invite)
These men of spunk, these men of might,
Refused to measure swords!
What, fight alone! bold Hillyer said--
I will not fight without my Aid--
The Cherub is for war array'd,
And she must do her share!
Now Porter saw their dastard plan--
To fight them both was surely vain;
We should have thought a man insane
That would so madly dare.
Then, hands on deck! the anchors weigh!
--And for the sea he left the bay,
A running fight to have that day,
And thus escape his foes.
But oh!--distressing to relate--
As round a point of land he beat
A squall from hell the ship beset,
And her maintopmast goes!
Unable to attain that end,
He turns toward the neutral friend,
And hoped protection they might lend,
But no protection found.
In this distress, the foe advanced--
With such an eye at Essex glanced!
And such a fire of death commenced
As dealt destruction round!
With every shot they raked the deck,
Till mingled ruin seized the wreck:
No valor could the ardor check
Of England's martial tars!
One hundred men the Essex lost:
But Phoebe found, and to her cost,
That Porter made them many a ghost
To serve in Satan's wars.
Oh, clouded scene!--yet must I tell
Columbia's flag, indignant, fell--
To Essex, now, we bid farewell;
She wears the english flag!
But Yankees she has none on board
To point the gun or wield the sword;
And though commanded by a lord
They'll have no cause to brag.
THE TERRIFIC TORPEDOES[201]
OR SIR THOMAS HARDY'S SOLILOQUY.
"Then traitor come! as black revenge excites,
Extinguish all our claims with all my lights!
But keen remorse, which vengeful furies lead,
Will act her part for this inhuman deed.
How will her vultures on your vitals prey!
How will her stings our every death repay!--
O nature! is all sympathy a jest;
Art thou a stranger to the human breast?
Has manly prowess quit the abandon'd stage,
Are midnight plots the order of the age?
"Where proud New-London holds her flaming guide
To steer Decatur through the darksome tide,
I stay too long! what station can I find
To shake distraction from a tortured mind!
"Then, traitor, come! your dark attack begin,
Renown'd inventor of the black machine:
But mark!--for when some future poet tells,
Or some historian on the subject dwells,
No word of praise shall meet the listening ear,
Disgustful story, to repeat or hear--
Was you, an infant, to a mother press'd,
Or did ferocious tigers give the breast--
Did nature in some angry moment plan
Some fierce hyena to degrade the man?
Resolve me quick, for doubtful while I stay
These dark torpedoes may be on their way.
Does nature thus her heaviest curse impart
And will she give such countenance to art?--
She gave you all that rancor could bestow,
She lent her magic from the world below;
She gave you all that madness could propose,
And all her malice in your bosom glows;
She gave you sulphur, charcoal, nitre join'd:
She gave you not--a great and generous mind."
So spoke the knight, and slamm'd the door,
And thus went on, with feelings sore:
"I relish not torpedo war:--
Die when I will, or where I may,
I would not choose so short a way:
These twenty nights I did my best
To shut my eyes, and take my rest,
But drowsy Morpheus might as well
Upon the main mast try his spell.
No potion from the poppy's leaf
Can close my lids;--and, to be brief,
This Fulton, with his dashing plans,
Distracts my head, my heart unmans:
And, every night, I have my fears
Of such infernal engineers;
Who, when I sup, or could I sleep
Might row their wherry through the deep,
And screw their engine to the keel,
And blow us--where there's no appeal;
No question how, or where we died,
But how we lived, and how applied
The little sense our heads contain
To save our souls, and live again.
"They, who support torpedo plans
Should have no plaudit for their pains;
Should be employ'd on dark designs,
Explorers of peruvian mines;
Such have not felt the patriot glow,
A feeling they could never know:
For treasons they were surely made,
Have princes slain and kings betray'd.--
Ye powers above! and must I wait
Till these prevail in every state,
Till pale disease, or shivering age
Drives such false patriots from the stage!
"The chaplain said he heard me snore,
But many a fib he told before;
And if I snored, I'm satisfied
Twas when my eyes were open wide.
"Torpedoes! who contrived the word?
Torpedoes! worse than gun or sword!
They are a mode of naval war
We cannot have a relish for:--
In all the chronicles I read
Of former times, they nothing said
Of such a horrible machine
That would disgrace an algerine,
And only yankees would employ,
Not to distress, but to destroy.
"What human eye, without dismay
Can see torpedo-lightning's play?
What mortal heart, but dreads a foe
That fights unseen from fields below!
"What passion must that heart inspire
That dives the sea, to deal in fire,
What can he fear, I trembling ask
Who undertakes the daring task?
"With engines of perdition spread,
Amazed, I see the ocean's bed!
And find with rage, regret, despair,
I have no power to meet them there!
"Alack! my nerves are on the rack--
They're hammering at the garboard streak!
Some yankee dog is near the keel!
Ho, sailors give the ship a heel:
Go, chaplain, to the starboard chains
And ask the rascal what he means?
Who knows but Fulton's self is there
With all his dark infernal gear:
Who knows but he has fix'd his screws,
And left a match, to fire the fuze--
Who knows, but in this very hour,
The Ramillies will be no more!
Will only live in empty fame,
And I, myself, be but a name!
"Should the torpedo take effect,
Her carcass will be worse than wreck'd;
In scatter'd fragments to the sky
This ship of ships will clattering fly:
And then--ah, chaplain!--ah, what then!
Where will I be, and all my men?
And where will you a lodging find,
A traveller on a gale of wind!
And where will be the pretty maid
That sweeps my floor and makes my bed?
Oh Fanny, Fanny! must we part?--
Torpedoes!--I am sick at heart!--
How will the flames those lips deface!
How will they spoil that blooming face!
How will they scorch your auburn hair--?
--You'll have your plagues, and I my share.
And must I all my fears impart;
And do these guns my ship ensure?
And must I ask my fluttering heart
If on these decks I stand secure?
"Do, Fanny, go and boil some tea:
Come hither, love, and comfort me:
A glass of wine! my spirits sink!
The last perhaps that I shall drink!--
Or go--unlock the brandy case
And let us have a dram a piece;--
No matter if your nose is red,
We shall be sober when we're dead.
"In fancy's view the mine is sprung,
The rudder from the stern unhung,
My valiant sailors torn asunder,
The ship herself a clap of thunder,
From fathoms down, a deadly blast
Unbolts the keel, unsteps the mast,
While Fulton, with a placid grin
Exulting, views the infernal scene!
The sails are vanish'd, tack and clue,
The rigging burnt, by lord knows who,
The star that glitter'd on my breast
Is gone to Davy Jones's chest;
The glorious ensign of st. George,
Of Spain the dread, of France the scourge,
Is from the staff, unpitied, torn
And for a cloak by satan worn:
The Lion mounted on the prow,
To awe the subject sea below
With flames that Lion is oppress'd--
They will not spare the royal beast.--
O vengeance! why does vengeance sleep?
The yards are scatter'd o'er the deep,
Our guns are buried in the seas,
And thus concludes the Ramillies!
"The world, I think, can witness bear
My name was never stain'd by fear:
At least the british fleet can say
I never shunn'd the face of clay:
But Fulton's black, infernal art--
Has stamp'd me--coward--to the heart!
"When Nelson met the spanish fleet,
And every pulse for conquest beat,
At Nelson's side I had my stand;
When Nelson fell I took command:
Not Etna's self, with all her flames--
Vesuvius--such description claims;
Not Hecla, in her wildest rage,
Does with such fires the heavens engage,
As on that day, in mourning clad,
Was thunder'd from the Trinidad.[A]
[A] The Santa Trinidada, the spanish admiral's ship, of 112 guns,
from the mizen top of which admiral Nelson was mortally
wounded by a musket shot. Another account says, he received
his death wound from the Redoubtable, french 74.--_Freneau's
note._
"And yet, amidst that awful scene,
I stood unhurt, composed, serene;
Though balls, by thousands, whistled round,
Not one had leave to kill or wound--
But here! in this torpedo war
I perish, with my glittering star,
The laurels that adorn my brow--
My laurels are surrender'd now.
O Fanny! these envenom'd states
Have doom'd our deaths among the rats,
In one explosion, to the sky
Our chaplain, rats, and sailors fly.
"To deal in such inhuman war
Is more than English blood can bear;
It brings again the gothic age,
Renews that period on the stage,
When men against the gods rebell'd,
And Ossa was on Pelion piled:
The trojan war, when Diomede
In battle, made fair Venus bleed;
Or, when the giants of renown
Attempted Jove's imperial crown:--
From such a foe, before we meet,
The safest way, is to retreat,
To leave this curst unlucky shore
And come to trouble them no more.
"But, should it be my fate to-night
Not to behold to-morrow's light
But mingle with the vulgar dead,
With all my terrors on my head--
Should such a fate be mine, I say,
Dear Fanny, you must lead the way;--
You are the saint that will atone
For what amiss I might have done:
If such as you will intercede
The chaplain may a furlow plead,
While you and I in raptures go
Where stormy winds no longer blow,
Where guns are not, to shed our blood,
Or if there be, are made of wood;
Where all is love, and no one hates;
No falling kings or rising states;
No colors that we must defend,
If sick, or dead, or near our end;
Where yankees are admitted not
To hatch their damn'd torpedo plot:
Where you will have no beds to make,
Nor I be doom'd to lie awake."
[201] It is a fact well ascertained that during a great part of the
summer of 1814 the knight was under such serious apprehensions of being
blown up by the Torpedo men, that he enjoyed no sleep or rest for many
nights together. With such feelings, and under such impressions, he is
supposed to begin his soliloquy abruptly, under all the emotions of
horror, incident to such an occasion.--_Freneau's note._
Sir Thomas Hardy was commander of the 74 gun ship _Ramillies_, the
leader of the squadron which lay off New London during the summer of
1814. The following in _Niles' Register_, May 7, 1814, is suggestive:
"It appears the British squadron off _New London_ are yet disturbed by
torpedoes. One of them lately exploded under the sprit-sail yard of the
_La Hoque_, and threw up a volume of water near her fore top. The enemy,
it seems, has a list of the persons concerned in the management of these
machines!"
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!
[202] Early in the year 1814 the British army obtained possession of
Fort Niagara and thereupon determined to remove the seat of the war to
the Niagara frontier. The American expedition intended to invade Canada
was directed, under command of General Jacob Brown, to dislodge the
British from this position. The first decisive action was the battle of
Chippewa, fought July 5, 1814, on Canadian soil, opposite Niagara Falls.
Three weeks later, July 25, he again closed with the British at
Bridgewater, or Lundy Lane, in the same vicinity. In both engagements
the Americans were victorious.
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,
[A] The temple of Jaggernaut, an idolatrous establishment in
India, to the support of which the english government
contributed largely. The unwieldy idol, to which the
temple is dedicated, is, on certain days, carried about the
streets on a huge carriage, under the wheels of which the
superstitious multitude, it is said, suffer themselves to
be trampled and crushed to pieces, by hundreds, from a
superstitious motive. If this be not fiction, may the
british government exert its influence to eradicate so
barbarous and bloody a superstition from the minds of
millions of idolatrous wretches.--_Freneau's note._
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.
[203] This poem and the one following were written shortly after the
news of Napoleon's banishment to Elba, April 11, 1814, had reached
America.
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]
[A] A miniature picture of the late emperor
Napoleon.--_Freneau's note._
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]
[A] Mene mene, Tekel, Peres!--thou art weighed in the balance,
and art found wanting!--Daniel.--_Freneau's note._
THE VOLUNTEER'S MARCH[A]
July, 1814
Dulce est pro patria mori.
[A] This little ode, with the addition of two new stanzas is
somewhat altered from one of Robert Burns' compositions,
and applied to an american occasion: the original being
Bruce's supposed address to his army, a little before the
battle of Bannockbourne.--_Freneau's note._
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
1814[204]
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
[A] Lord Wellington's army embarked on the river Garonne, in
France, in several divisions, for the invasion of the
United States, amounting, it was said, to sixty or seventy
thousand men.--_Freneau's note._
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.
[204] This poem was written early in August, on receipt of the news that
a large squadron was on its way across the Atlantic to lay waste the
seaboard cities. The squadron finally sailed into Chesapeake Bay and
turned its attention first to Washington and Baltimore.
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!
[205] Washington was taken by the British, August 24, 1814. "It was only
the vandalism of the British soldiers and sailors, incited by Cockburn
and ill restrained by Ross, that made this incursion at once memorable
and infamous. To public edifices, having no immediate relation to the
war, the torch was applied; to the unfinished Capitol (which contained
the library of Congress); the President's house, the Treasury,--to all
the government buildings in fact, except the Patent Office, besides
numerous private dwellings about Capitol Hill."--Schouler's _History of
the United States_.
"All this was the more shameful because done under strict orders from
home."--Green's _History of the English People_.
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!
[206] This poem refers to the campaign during the late summer of 1814
against the English fleet on Lake Ontario and Lake Champlain.
THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN
September 11, 1814
Between the british squadron, of 93 guns and 1050 men, and the
American fleet of 86 guns and 820 men. The Confiance, of 39 and
the Saratoga, of 26 guns, were the flag ships of the two commanders,
Downie and Macdonough.
Parading near saint Peter's flood
Full fourteen thousand soldiers stood;
Allied with natives of the wood,
With frigates, sloops, and galleys near;
Which southward, now, began to steer;
Their object was, Ticonderogue.
Assembled at Missisqui bay
A feast they held, to hail the day,
When all should bend to british sway
From Plattsburg to Ticonderogue.
And who could tell, if reaching there
They might not other laurels share
And England's flag in triumph bear
To the capitol, at Albany!!!
Sir George advanced, with fire and sword,
The frigates were with vengeance stored,
The strength of Mars was felt on board,--
When Downie gave the dreadful word,
Huzza! for death or victory!
Sir George beheld the prize at stake,
And, with his veterans, made the attack,
Macomb's brave legions drove him back;
And England's fleet approach'd to meet
A desperate combat, on the lake.
With sulphurous clouds the heavens were black;
We saw advance the Confiance,
Shall blood and carnage mark her track,
To gain dominion on the lake.
Then on our ships she pour'd her flame,
And many a tar did kill or maim,
Who suffer'd for their country's fame,
Her soil to save, her rights to guard.
Macdonough, now, began his play,
And soon his seamen heard him say,
No Saratoga yields, this day,
To all the force that Britain sends.
"Disperse, my lads, and man the waist,
Be firm, and to your stations haste,
And England from Champlain is chased,
If you behave as you'll see me."
The fire began with awful roar;
At our first flash the artillery tore
From his proud stand, their commodore,
A presage of the victory.
The skies were hid in flame and smoke,
Such thunders from the cannon spoke,
The contest such an aspect took
As if all nature went to wreck!
From isle La Motte to Saranac[A]
[A] A river which rises from several small lakes among the
mountains to the westward of Lake Champlain, and after a
north easterly course of near seventy-five miles, enters
the grand lake in the vicinity of Plattsburg.--_Freneau's
note._
Amidst his decks, with slaughter strew'd,
Unmoved, the brave Macdonough stood,
Or waded through a scene of blood,
At every step that round him stream'd:
He stood amidst Columbia's sons,
He stood amidst dismounted guns,
He fought amidst heart-rending groans,
The tatter'd sail, the tottering mast.
Then, round about, his ship he wore,
And charged his guns with vengeance sore,
And more than Etna shook the shore--
The foe confess'd the contest vain.
In vain they fought, in vain they sail'd,
That day; for Britain's fortune fail'd,
And their best efforts nought avail'd
To hold dominion on Champlain.
So, down their colors to the deck
The vanquish'd struck--their ships a wreck--
What dismal tidings for Quebec,
What news for England and her prince!
For, in this fleet, from England won,
A favorite project is undone:
Her sorrows only are begun--
And she may want, and very soon,
Her armies for her own defence.
A DIALOGUE AT WASHINGTON'S TOMB
Genius of Virginia--and--Virginia.
_Genius._ Who are these that lawless come
Washington! too near thy tomb?--
Are they those who, long before,
Came to subjugate this shore?--
Are they those whom he repell'd,
Captured, or imprison'd held?
Or the sons of those of old
Cast in nature's rudest mould,--
Dear Virginia, can it be?
What a stain is laid on thee!
_Virginia._ Such a stain as I do swear
Fills my swelling heart with care
How to wash away the stain,
How to be myself again.
From my breast the hero rose,
In my soil his bones repose:
But this insult to thy shade,
Washington, shall be repaid.
_Genius._ Dear Virginia! tell me how?--
Tell me not, or tell me now,
Can you wield the bolts of Jove,
Seize the lightnings from above?
Tear the mountain from its base
To confound this hated race,
Who, with hostile step, presume
To violate the honor'd tomb
Of my bravest, noblest son,
Of th' immortal Washington!
_Virginia._ Not the artillery of the sky,
Not the vengeance from on high
Did I want, to guard my son,
I have lightnings of my own!
But I wanted----
_Genius._ ----Wanted what?
Tell me now, or tell me not.
_Virginia._ Men, whom Washington had taught,
Men of fire, and men of thought,
All their spirits in a glow,
Ever ready for the foe;
Born to meet the hostile shock,
Sturdy as the mountain oak--
Active, steady, on their guard,
For the scene of death prepared;
Such I wanted--say no more;
Time, perhaps, may such restore.
_Genius._ By the powers that guard this spot,
Want them longer you shall not,
I, the patron of your land,
From this moment take command,
Kindle flames in every breast,
Thirst of vengeance for the past;
Vengeance, that from shore to shore
Shall dye your bay with english gore,
And see them leave their thousands slain,
If they dare to land again:
This is all I choose to say--
Seize your armour--let's away!
SIR PETER PETRIFIED
On the Modern Sir Peter Parker's[207] Expedition to Kent Island
in Chesapeake Bay.
--1814--
Sir Peter came, with bold intent,
To persecute the men of Kent
His flag aloft display'd:
He came to see their pleasant farms,
But ventured not without his arms
To talk with man or maid.
And then the gallant colonel Reed
Said, "we must see the man indeed;
He comes perhaps in want--
Who knows but that his stores are out:
Tis hard to dine on mere sour krout,
His water may be scant."
He spoke--but soon the men of Kent
Discover'd what the errand meant,
And some, discouraged, said,
"Sir Peter comes to petrify,
He points his guns, his colors fly,
His men for war array'd!"
Secure, as if they own'd the land,
Advanced this daring naval band,
As if in days of peace;
Along the shore they, prowling, went,
And often ask'd some friends in Kent
Where dwelt the fattest geese?
The farmers' geese were doom'd to bleed;
But some there were, with colonel Reed,
Who would not yield assent;
And said, before the geese they take,
Sir Peter must a bargain make
With us, the boys of Kent.
The Britons march'd along the shore,
Two hundred men, or somewhat more;
Next, through the woods they stray'd:
The geese, still watchful, as they went,
To save the capitol of Kent
Their every step betray'd.
The british march'd with loaded gun
To seize the geese that gabbling run
About the isle of Kent:
But, what could hardly be believed,
Sir Peter was of life bereaved
Before he pitch'd his tent.
Some kentish lad, to save the geese,
And make their noisy gabbling cease
Had took a deadly aim:
By kentish hands sir Peter fell,
His men retreated, with a yell
And lost both geese and game!
Now what I say, I say with grief,
That such a knight, or such a chief
On such an errand died!!!
When men of worth their lives expose
For little things, where little grows
They make the very geese their foes;
The geese his fall deride:
And, sure, they laugh, if laugh they can,
To see a star and garter'd man
For life of goose expose his own,
And bite the dust, with many a groan--
Alas! a gander cry'd--
"Behold, (said he,) a man of fame
Who all the way from England came
No more than just to get the name
Of Peter Petrified!"
[207] Sir Peter Parker, commander of the British Frigate _Menelaus_, was
prominent for a month in the blockading squadron in Chesapeake Bay
during the summer of 1814. After the burning of Washington he was
ordered down the bay "but Sir Peter said he 'must have a frolic with the
yankees before he left them' and on the 30th of August after dancing and
drinking they proceeded to the sport and made a circuitous route to
surprise Col. Read encamped in Moore's fields not far from Georgetown X
Roads on the eastern shore of Maryland. The Colonel was fully apprised
of their proceedings.... The ground was obstinately contended for nearly
an hour when the enemy retreated leaving thirteen killed and three
wounded on the field. It is ascertained that they carried off seventeen
others among whom was Sir Peter who, with several others, are since
dead."--_Niles' Register._
ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL ROSS[208]
Who had the principal command of the english army at the attack upon
Baltimore, in which he fell, while out with a reconnoitering party.
Give them the shadow of the cypress bough!
The chief who came our prowess to defy,
Who came, to bind fresh laurels on his brow,
Who came, too sure to conquer not to die:--
Low lies the chief upon th' unconscious plain,
The laurels wither, and no wreathes remain.
To kindle up your torch, ambition's flame
Heroic chief, had all its flames supplied;
A monarch's smiles, a never-dying name,
The historian's subject, and the soldier's pride;
Your native land with splendid trophies hung;
Joy sparkling in the eye, and praise from every tongue.
Deceived how much! a name alone remains,
Not yet complete in fame, nor ripe in years;--
What is the applause such thirst of glory gains,
Which not the grave regards or valor hears:
In war's wild tumult, for a name he died,
He fell, the victim of a monarch's pride.
A country's rights, or freedom to defend
May sooth the anguish of a dying hour,
A ravaged land to succor or befriend,
To brave the efforts of a tyrant's power:
These may console, when mad ambition's train
Fade from the view, or sooth the soul in vain.
[208] General Robert Ross, who with Sir George Cockburn had burned
Washington, was killed at North Point, Md., Sept. 12, 1814.
ON THE NAVAL ATTACK NEAR BALTIMORE[209]
September 14, 1814
The sons of old ocean advanced from the bay
To achieve an exploit of renown;
And Cochrane and Cockburn commanded, that day,
And meant to exhibit a tragical play,
Call'd, The plunder and burning of Baltimore town.
The scenes to be acted were not very new,
And when they approach'd, with their rat-tat-too,
As merry as times would allow,
We ran up the colors to liberty true,
And gave them a shot, with a tow-row-dow.
By land and by water how many have fail'd
In attacking an enemy's town,
But britons they tell us, have always prevail'd
Wherever they march'd, or wherever they sail'd,
To honor his majesty's sceptre and crown:
Wherever they went, with the trumpet and drum,
And the dregs of the world, and the dirt, and the scum,
As soon as the music begun,
The colors were struck, and surrender'd the town
When the summons was given of down, down, down!
But fortune, so fickle, is turning her tide,
And safe is old Baltimore town,
Though Cockburn and Cochrane, with Ross at their side,
The sons of Columbia despised and defy'd,
And determined to batter it down;
Rebuff'd and repulsed in disgrace they withdrew,
With their down, down, down, and their rat-tat-too,
As well as the times would allow:
And the sight, we expect, will be not very new
When they meet us again, with our tow-row-dow.
[209] After the burning of Washington the British fleet and army
concentrated upon Baltimore. Here they met a stubborn resistance and
were at length beaten off. It was during the bombardment of Fort McHenry
near the city that Francis Scott Key composed the patriotic song "The
Star Spangled Banner."
ON THE BRITISH BLOCKADE
And Expected Attack on New York, 1814
Old Neversink,[A] with bonnet blue,
The present times may surely rue
When told what England means to do:
[A] The highlands, a little southward of Sandy Hook; being a
tract of bold high country, several thousand acres in
extent; to the southward of which there is no land that
may be termed mountainous, on the whole coast of the
United States to Cape Florida. The real aboriginal name
of this remarkable promontory was Navesink, since corrupted
into Neversink.--_Freneau's note._
Where from the deep his head he rears
The din of war salutes his ears,
That teazed him not for thirty years.
He eastward looks toward the main
To see a noisy naval train
Invest his bay, our fleets detain.
What can be done in such a case?--
His rugged heights the blast must face,
The storm that menaces the place.
With tents I see his mountain spread,
The soldier to the summit led,
And cannon planted on his head:
From Shrewsbury beach to Sandy Hook
The country has a martial look,
And quakers skulk in every nook.--
What shall be done in such a case?--
We ask again with woful face
To save the trade and guard the place?
Where mounted guns the porte secure,
The cannon at the embrasure,
Will british fleets attempt to moor?
Perhaps they may--and make a dash,
To fill their pockets with our cash--
Their dealings now are rather harsh.
They menace to assail the coast
With such a fleet and such a host
As may devour us--boil'd or roast.
Their feelings are alive and sore
For what they got at Baltimore,
When, with disgrace, they left the shore,
And will revenge it, if they can,
On town and country, maid and man--
And all they fear is Fulton's plan;
Torpedoes planted in the deep,
Whose blast may put them all to sleep,
Or ghostify them at a sweep.
Another scheme, entirely new,
Is hammering on his anvil too,
That frightens christian, turk, and jew.
A frigate,[B] mounting thirty six!--
Who'er with her a quarrel picks
Will little get but cuffs and kicks:
[B] The steam frigate _Fulton the First_: Qui me percellit morti
debetur--who strikes at me to death is doomed!--_Freneau's
note._
A frigate meant to sail by steam!--
How can she else but torture them,
Be proof to all their fire and flame.
A feast she cooks for England's sons
Of scalded heads and broken bones
Discharged from iron hearted guns.
Black Sam[C] himself, before he died,
Such _suppers_ never did provide;--
Such dinners roasted, boil'd, and fry'd.
[C] A character well known in New York several years since,
remarkable for elegance and luxurious refinements in the
art of cookery.--_idem._
To make a brief of all I said--
If to attack they change blockade
Their godships will be well repaid
With water, scalding from the pot,
With melted lead and flaming shot,
With vollies of--I know not what,
The british lads will be so treated:
Their wooden walls will be so heated,
Their ruin will be soon completed.
Our citizens shall stare and wonder--
The Neversink repel their thunder
And Cockburn miss a handsome plunder.
ROYAL CONSULTATIONS
Relative to the Disposal of Lord Wellington's Army
Said the goth to the vandal, the prince to the king,
Let us do a mad action, to make the world ring:
With Wellington's army we now have the means
To make a bold stroke and exhibit new scenes.
A stroke at the states is my ardent desire,
To waste, and harass them with famine and fire;
My vengeance to carry through village and town,
And even to batter their capitol down.
The vandal then answer'd, and said to the goth,
Dear George, with yourself I am equally wroth:
Of Wellington's army dispose as you please,
It is best, I presume, they should go beyond seas;
For, should they come home, I can easily show
The hangman will have too much duty to do.
So, away came the bruisers, and when they came here
Some mischief they did, where no army was near:
They came to correct, and they came to chastise
And to do all the evil their heads could devise.
At Washington city, they burnt and destroy'd
Till among the big houses they made a huge void;
Then back to their shipping they flew like the wind,
But left many more than five hundred behind
Of wounded and dead, and others say, double;
And thus was the hangman excused from some trouble.
Alexandria beheld them in battle array;
Alexandria they plunder'd a night and a day.
Then quickly retreated, with moderate loss,
Their forces conducted by Cockburn and Ross.
At Baltimore, next, was their place of attack;
But Baltimore drove them repeatedly back;
There Rodgers they saw, and their terror was such,
They saw they were damn'd when they saw him approach.
The forts were assail'd by the strength of their fleet,
And the forts, in disorder beheld them retreat
So shatter'd and crippled, so mangled and sore,
That the tide of Patapsco was red with their gore.
Their legions by land no better succeeded--
In vain they manoeuvered, in vain they paraded,
Their hundreds on hundreds were strew'd on the ground,
Each shot from the rifles brought death or a wound.
One shot from a buckskin completed their loss,
And their legions no longer were headed by Ross!
Where they mean to go next, we can hardly devise,
But home they would go if their master was wise.
Yet folly so long has directed their course;
Such madness is seen in the waste of their force,
Such weakness and folly, with malice combined,
Such rancor, revenge, and derangement of mind,
That, all things consider'd, with truth we may say,
Both Cochrane and Cockburn are running away.[A]
[A] About this time, September, 1814, the admirals Cochrane and
Cockburn quitted the coast of the United States in their
respective flag ships.--_Freneau's note._
To their regent, the prince, to their master the king
They are now on the way, they are now on the wing,
To tell them the story of loss and disaster,
One begging a pension, the other a plaister.
Let them speed as they may, to us it is plain
They will patch up their hulks for another campaign,
Their valor to prove, and their havoc to spread
When Wellington's army is missing or dead.
ON THE LOSS OF THE PRIVATEER BRIGANTINE
GENERAL ARMSTRONG
Captain Samuel C. Reid, of New-York, which sailed from Sandy Hook, on a
cruise, the ninth of September, 1814, and on the 26th came to anchor in
the road of Fayal, one of the Azores, or Western Islands, a neutral port
belonging to the crown of Portugal. She anchored in that port for the
purpose of procuring a supply of fresh water, when she was attacked by
the british ship of war Plantaganet, of 74 guns, capt. Lloyd; the Rota
frigate of 36 guns, and the armed national brig Carnation, of 18 guns,
and many barges of considerable force, all of which she repulsed, with
an immense slaughter, and was then scuttled and sunk by order of Captain
Reid, to prevent her falling into the hands of the enemy.
The Armstrong arrived in the port of Fayal,
And her actions of valor we mean to recall;
Brave Reid, her commander, his valorous crew,
The heroes that aided, his officers, too.
Shall it fall to their lot
To be basely forgot?
O no! while a bard has a pen to command
Their fame shall resound through american land.
In the road of Fayal, when their anchors were cast,
The british were watching to give them a blast;
Not far from the port, for destruction sharp set,
Lay the Rota, Carnation, and Plantagenet:
With a ship of the line
Did a frigate combine,
And a brig of great force, with her boats in the rear,
To capture or burn one New-York privateer!
Four boats from the brig were despatch'd in great haste,
And onward they came, of the Armstrong to taste;
To taste of her powder, to taste of her ball,
To taste of the death she must hurl on them all!--
They came in great speed,
And with courage, indeed,
Well mann'd and well arm'd--so they got along side,
Destruction their motto, damnation their guide.
Now the Armstrong, with vengeance, had open'd her fire,
And gave them as much as they well could desire;
A score of them fell--full twenty fell dead--
Then quarters! they cried, and disgracefully fled:--
To their ships they return'd
Half shatter'd and burn'd--
Not quite in good humor, perhaps in a fret,
And waited new orders from Plantagenet.
Then the Armstrong haul'd in, close abreast of the beach,
So near, that a pistol the castle could reach;
And there she awaited the rest of their plan,
And there they determined to die, to a man,
Ere the lords of the waves
With their sorrowful slaves,
The tyrants, who claim the command of the main,
With strength, though superior, their purpose should gain.
And now the full moon had ascended the sky,
Reid saw by her light that the british were nigh:
The bell of Fayal told the hour--it was nine--
When the foe was observed to advance in a line;
They manoeuvred a while
With their brig, in great style,
Till midnight approach'd when they made their attack,
Twelve boats, full of men, and the brig at their back!
They advanced to the conflict as near as they chose,
When the Armstrong her cannon discharged on her foes--
The town of Fayal stood aghast in amaze
The Armstrong appear'd like all hell in a blaze!
At the blast of Long Tom
The foe was struck dumb:
O lord! are the sons of old England alarm'd--
With music like this they were formerly charm'd!
Huzza for old England! three cheers, and a damn!
And up to the conflict they manfully came;
On the bows and the quarters they grappled a hold,
And board! was the word in those barges so bold;
But board they could not--to no devil she strikes,
So the Armstrong repell'd them with pistols and pikes--
From her musquetry fire
They by dozens expire!
And soon was the work of destruction complete,
And soon was determined their total defeat--!
Three hundred brave fellows were wounded and kill'd,
Their boats and their barges with slaughter were fill'd;
With shame they retreated, the few that remain'd,
To tell the event of the battle--not gain'd:
Their commander in chief
Was astounded with grief!--
Dont grieve, my good fellows--he hail'd them--I beg
I too have my wounds--"an ox trod on my leg!"
But to save the stout Armstrong--even Reid could not do--
A ship of the line with a frigate in tow--!
A brig of their navy accoutred for war--!
All this was too much for e'en yankees to dare:
So he scuttled his barque--
Nor need we remark
That she sunk on the sands by the beach of Fayal
With her colors all flying--no colors could fall!
Of neutrals what nonsense some tell us each day!
Exists there a neutral where Britain has sway?
The rights of a neutral!--away with such stuff--
What neutral remains that can England rebuff?--
To be safe from disgrace
The deep seas are our place:
The flag of no neutral our flag can defend,
By ourselves we must fight, on ourselves must depend.
Now in bumpers of reason, success to brave Reid!
Himself and his heroes are heroes indeed!--
In conquests, like this, can an englishman glory,
One traitor among us, one Halifax tory?
If they can--let them brag--
Here's success to our flag!
May it ever be ready, the britons to maul,
As the Armstrong behaved in the road of Fayal.--
ON THE BRIGANTINE PRIVATEER
Prince de Neufchatel[210]
Ordonneaux, commander, which arrived at Boston some time since, from a
cruise of three months, chiefly in the english and irish channels, in
which she captured thirteen or fourteen valuable prizes, to the amount,
it was said, of more than a million of dollars.
Quid petis hic est.--_Martial._
What is wealth, that men will roam,
Risque their all, and leave their home,
Face the cannon, beat the drum,
And their lives so cheaply sell!
Let them reason on the fact
Who would rather think than act--
Their brains were not with morals rack'd
Who mann'd the prince of Neufchatel.
Having play'd a lucky game,
Homeward, with her treasure, came
This privateer of gallant fame,
Call'd the prince of Neufchatel.
Are the english cruisers near?
Do they on the coast appear
To molest this privateer?--
--She shall be defended well.
Soon a frigate hove in sight:--
As the wind was rather light,
She, five barges, out of spite,
Sent, to attack, with gun and blade.
On our decks stood rugged men,
Little more than three times ten;
And I tremble, while my pen
Tells the havoc that was made.
Up they came, with colors red,
One a stern, and one a head--
Shall I tell you what they said?--
Yankees! strike the buntin rag!
Three were ranged on either side--
Then the ports were open'd wide,
And the sea with blood was dyed;
Ruin to the english flag!
Now the angry cannons roar,
Now they hurl the storm of war,
Now in floods of human gore
Swam the prince of Neufchatel!
Then the captain, Ordonneaux,
Seconded the seaman's blow,
And the remnant of the foe
Own'd the brig defended well.
For the million she contain'd
He contended, sword in hand,
Follow'd by as brave a band
Of tars, as ever, trod a deck.
In these bloody barges, five,
Scarce a man was left alive,
And about the seas they drive;
Some were sunk, and some a wreck.
Every effort that they made
With boarding pike, or carronade,
Every effort was repaid,
Scarcely with a parallel!
Fortune, thus, upon the wave,
Crown'd the valor of the brave:--
Little lost, and much to save,
Had the prince of Neufchatel.
[210] Of the numerous vessels fitted out during the war by private
parties to prey on British commerce the Prince de Neufchatel was
doubtless the most successful.
THE PARADE AND SHAM-FIGHT
A Pine Forest Picture--on a Training Day.
----Invictaque bello
Dextera! non illi se quisquam impune tulisset
Obvius armato----
_Virg._
The drum was beat, the flag display'd,
The soldiers met upon parade,
And all for action ready made
With loud huzza!
When forth a stately figure strode,
Of stature such, of such a mode,
As those who lived before the flood,
If stuff'd with straw.
His vigor seem'd by years unbroke;
But then his phiz had such a look,
As if preserved in Etna's smoke
For half an age.
God help us all to look our best!
This man was captain of the rest,
And valor seem'd to fire his breast
With martial rage.
His horse was of an iron grey;
(A prancing steed he rode that day,)
Not of the bold virginian breed,
Nor yet remote from Quixote's steed.
This chief was of the bullet mould;
To meet the conflict, firm and bold,
His coat was patch'd, his boots new soal'd,
Ham stuff'd his maw:
Two pounds of powder fill'd his horn,
His pantaloons were old and worn,
A cap and hat his head adorn--
The chapeau bras.
With vengeance heated, long in store,
He sallied forth, a man of war;
And all that meet him, pray take care
Of rusty pikes.
He had no helmet for the head,
But death and ruin near him tread,
And slaughter, in a suit of red,
That deadly strikes.
A blanket from his shoulders hung,
Three dollars in his pockets rung,
And to his thigh a faulchion clung,
That made us quake:
A veteran in the fighting trade!
The owner of so keen a blade!
Do not provoke him, man or maid,
For mercy's sake.
O could you but one furlong ride
With such a faulchion at your side,
Your bosom would for glory beat
And show Napoleon all complete!
Two pistols, to his girdle tied,
Foreboded vengeance, far and wide,
To all that were not on our side,
With heart and hand.
Accoutred thus, with martial air,
He gave the warning word, "Take care!"
And, in a moment, all was war,
Sublime and grand.
They march'd, and march'd, as thick as bees.
Then march'd towards a clump of trees;
And "blaze away!" the leader says--
"Each take his aim!
"Who wounds a tree can kill a man--
"If you but practise on that plan,
"The britons shall go home again
With grief and shame!"
Not Philip's famed, unrivall'd son,
For Greece subdued, or India won,
Not Cockburn, burning Washington,
Look'd so elate:
Not Bonaparte, on Egypt's sands
With such importance gave commands,
With such discretion train'd his bands,
Assumed such state!
Not Caesar, when he pass'd the Rhine,
Not Marlborough leading up his line,
Not Perry, when he said, "they're mine!"
Put on such airs;--
As now were shown to front and rear
When victory seem'd to hover near.
Indeed not purchased very dear--
No wounds nor scars.
Departing from the norman shore,
Not William such a feature wore
When England hail'd him conqueror,
With loud acclaim:
Not Fulton, when his steam he try'd
And Neptune's car stemm'd Hudson's tide
Felt such a generous glow of pride
For well earn'd fame.
That day Cornwallis met his fate,
Not Washington felt half so great
When tow'rd him flew the gallic fleet
To share his smile:
Not conquest had for Gates such charms
When, yielding to the victor's arms,
He bade Burgoyne resign his arms,
In soldier's style.
Not Ajax' self, with such a grace
Gave orders to attack a place;
Not Hannibal with bolder face
Approach'd old Rome,--
When marching for the Tiber shore,
He yet his alpine jacket wore,
And hoped to sweep the senate floor,
And fix their doom:
Not Parker,[A] when he cross'd the bar
Of Charleston with his men of war,
Was, near fort Moultrie, half so sure
Of victory gain'd:
[A] Sir Peter Parker, it is well remembered, attacked fort
Moultrie, on Sullivan's Island, in 1776, and after a
sanguinary action, was repulsed with great loss.--_Freneau's
note._
Not Parker, when departing thence
So shatter'd--at the king's expense--
Was so provoked at the defence,
Felt so chagrined,
As did our chief (no captain Brag)
When he perceiv'd some worthless wag
Had stolen away the brandy keg--
Ah! loss indeed!
For this, he swore he would resign,
All future trust in man decline;
Of whom, at least, there was one swine,
They all agreed--
And cry'd "like hell his heart is black--
Pursue him, boys, and scent his track,
If drunk or dead, we'll have him back,
This man of scum!"
Each took his mark, and hit a tree;
The battle's done!--all sober, we;
Huzza! we have the victory!
Then scamper'd home!
RETALIATION
A Marine Ode--1814
"Ye powers who rule the western gale
Not for the golden fleece we sail,
Nor yet on wild ambition's plan,
But vengeance gathers man with man.
For wrongs which wearied patience bore,
For slighted rules of legal war,
We rear our flag, our sails display,
And east north east explore our way.
Let some assert, ten thousand pounds
Would place our fleet on british grounds,
And urge us onward to saint James
To wrap his palaces in flames.
A motive of so mean a cast
Allures no mind, excites no breast;
From such reward we loathing turn
And would at such a proffer spurn.
No--to retaliate on the foe,
Free-will'd, we independent go,
Our ship well mann'd, in war's attire,
To light the skies with english fire.
November comes! tis time to sail,
The nights are long and brisk the gale,
And England, soon, the odds may prove
Between our hatred and our love."
ON THE LAUNCHING
Of the Seventy-four Gun Ship _Independence_,[211] at Charlestown, near
Boston
Our trade to restore as it stood once before
We have launched a new ship from the stocks,
Her rate is our first, and her force will, we trust,
Be sufficient to humble the hawks;
The hawks of old England we mean, don't mistake,
Some harpies of England our prizes we'll make.
Independence her name, independent our minds,
And prepared for the toils of the sea,
We are ready to combat the waves and the winds,
And fight till the ocean is free:
Then, away to your stations, each man on our list
Who, when danger approaches, will never be miss'd.
In asserting our rights we have rather been slow
And patient till patience was tired;
We were plunder'd and press'd ere we ventur'd a blow
Till the world at our patience admired,
And language was held, of contempt and disgrace,
And Europe mis-call'd us a pitiful race.
Twas time to arise in the strength of our might
When Madison publish'd the war,
And many have thought that he would have been right
Had he published it three years before;
While France was unpester'd with traitors and knaves,
Nor Europe polluted with Wellington's slaves.