Volume 2 / Part 2 — POEMS OF PHILIP FRENEAU

What mean these dreams, and hideous forms that rise Night after night, tormenting to my eyes— No real foes these horrid shapes can be, But thrice as much they vex and torture me. How cursed is he—how doubly cursed am I—5 Who lives in pain, and yet who dares not die; To him no joy this world of Nature brings, In vain the wild rose blooms, the daisy springs. Is this a prelude to some new disgrace, Some baleful omen to my name and race!—10 It may be so—ere mighty Cæsar died Presaging Nature felt his doom, and sighed; A bellowing voice through midnight groves was heard, And threatening ghosts at dusk of eve appeared— Ere Brutus fell, to adverse fates a prey,15 His evil genius met him on the way, And so may mine!—but who would yield so soon A prize, some luckier hour may make my own? Shame seize my crown ere such a deed be mine— No—to the last my squadrons shall combine,20 And slay my foes, while foes remain to slay, Or heaven shall grant me one successful day. Is there a robber close in Newgate hemmed, Is there a cut-throat, fettered and condemned? Haste, loyal slaves, to George's standard come,25 Attend his lectures when you hear the drum; Your chains I break—for better days prepare, Come out, my friends, from prison and from care, Far to the west I plan your desperate sway, There 'tis no sin to ravage, burn, and slay,30 There, without fear, your bloody aims pursue, And shew mankind what English thieves can do. That day, when first I mounted to the throne, I swore to let all foreign foes alone. Through love of peace to terms did I advance,35 And made, they say, a shameful league with France.[2] But different scenes rise horrid to my view, I charged my hosts to plunder and subdue— At first, indeed, I thought short wars to wage And sent some jail-birds to be led by Gage,[3]40 For 'twas but right, that those we marked for slaves Should be reduced by cowards, fools, and knaves; Awhile directed by his feeble hand, Whose troops were kicked and pelted through the land, Or starved in Boston, cursed the unlucky hour45 They left their dungeons for that fatal shore. France aids them now, a desperate game I play, And hostile Spain will do the same, they say; My armies vanquished, and my heroes fled, My people murmuring, and my commerce dead,50 My shattered navy pelted, bruised, and clubbed, By Dutchmen bullied, and by Frenchmen drubbed, My name abhorred, my nation in disgrace, How should I act in such a mournful case! My hopes and joys are vanished with my coin,55 My ruined army, and my lost Burgoyne! What shall I do—confess my labours vain, Or whet my tusks, and to the charge again! But where's my force—my choicest troops are fled, Some thousands crippled, and a myriad dead—60 If I were owned the boldest of mankind, And hell with all her flames inspired my mind, Could I at once with Spain and France contend, And fight the rebels on the world's green end?— The pangs of parting I can ne'er endure,65 Yet part we must, and part to meet no more! Oh, blast this Congress, blast each upstart State, On whose commands ten thousand captains wait; From various climes that dire Assembly came, True to their trust, as hostile to my fame,70 'Tis these, ah these, have ruined half my sway, Disgraced my arms, and led my slaves astray— Cursed be the day when first I saw the sun, Cursed be the hour when I these wars begun: The fiends of darkness then possessed my mind,75 And powers unfriendly to the human kind. To wasting grief, and sullen rage a prey, To Scotland's utmost verge I'll take my way, There with eternal storms due concert keep And while the billows rage, as fiercely weep—80 Ye highland lads, my rugged fate bemoan, Assist me with one sympathizing groan,[4] For late I find the nations are my foes, I must submit, and that with bloody nose, Or, like our James, fly basely from the state,85 Or share, what still is worse—old Charles's fate.

Come, gentlemen Tories, firm, loyal, and true, Here are axes and shovels, and something to do! For the sake of our king, Come, labour and sing; You left all you had for his honour and glory, And he will remember the suffering Tory: We have, it is true, Some small work to do; But here's for your pay Twelve coppers a day, And never regard what the rebels may say, But throw off your jerkins and labour away. To raise up the rampart, and pile up the wall, To pull down old houses and dig the canal, To build and destroy— Be this your employ, In the day time to work at our fortifications, And steal in the night from the rebels your rations: The king wants your aid, Not empty parade; Advance to your places Ye men of long faces, Nor ponder too much on your former disgraces, This year, I presume, will quite alter your cases. Attend at the call of the fifer and drummer, The French and the Rebels are coming next summer, And forts we must build Though Tories are kill'd— Then courage, my jockies, and work for your king, For if you are taken no doubt you will swing— If York we can hold I'll have you enroll'd; And after you're dead Your names shall be read As who for their monarch both labour'd and bled, And ventur'd their necks for their beef and their bread. 'Tis an honour to serve the bravest of nations, And be left to be hang'd in their capitulations— Then scour up your mortars And stand to your quarters, 'Tis nonsense for Tories in battle to run, They never need fear sword, halberd, or gun; Their hearts should not fail 'em, No balls will assail 'em, Forget your disgraces And shorten your faces, For 'tis true as the gospel, believe it or not, Who are born to be hang'd, will never be shot.

King G. Good master Fox,[7] your counsel I implore, Still George the third, but potent George no more. By North conducted to the brink of fate, I mourn my folly and my pride too late: The promises he made, when once we met In Kew's gay shades,[A] I never shall forget, That at my feet the western world should fall, And bow to me the potent lord of all— Curse on his hopes, his councils and his schemes, His plans of conquest, and his golden dreams, These have allur'd me to the jaws of hell, By Satan tempted thus Iscariot fell: Divested of majestic pomp I come, My royal robes and airs I've left at home, Speak freely, friend, whate'er you choose to say, Suppose me equal with yourself to-day: How shall I shun the mischiefs that impend? How shall I make Columbia[B] yet my friend? I dread the power of each revolted State, The convex East hangs balanc'd with their weight. How shall I dare the rage of France and Spain, And lost dominion o'er the waves regain? Advise me quick, for doubtful while we stand, Destruction gathers o'er this wretched land: These hostile squadrons to my ruin led, These Gallic thunders fill my soul with dread, If these should conquer—Britain, thou must fall And bend, a province, to the haughty Gaul: If this must be—thou earth, expanding wide, Unlucky George in thy dark entrails hide— Ye oceans, wrap me in your dark embrace— Ye mountains, shroud me to your lowest base— Fall on my head, ye everlasting rocks— But why so pensive, my good master Fox?[8]

Fox While in the arms of power and peace you lay, Ambition led your restless soul astray. Possest of lands extending far and wide, And more than Rome could boast in all her pride, Yet, not contented with that mighty store, Like a true miser, still you sought for more; And, all in raptures for a tyrant's reign, You strove your subjects dearest rights to chain: Those ruffian hosts beyond the ocean sent, By your commands on blood and murder bent, With cruel hand the form of man defac'd, And laid the toils of art and nature waste. (For crimes like these imperial Britain bends, For crimes like these her ancient glory ends) These lands, once truest to your name and race, Whom the wide ocean's utmost waves embrace, Your just protection basely you deny'd, Their towns you plunder'd, and you burnt beside. Virginia's slaves, without one blush of shame, Against their lords[9] you arm'd with sword and flame; At every port your ships of war you laid, And strove to ruin and distress their trade, Yet here, ev'n here, your mighty projects fail'd; For then from creeks their hardy seamen sail'd, In slender barques they cross'd a stormy main, And traffick'd for the wealth of France and Spain; O'er either tropic and the line they pass'd, And, deeply laden, safe return'd at last: Nor think they yet had bow'd to Britain's sway, Though distant nations had not join'd the fray, Alone they fought your armies and your fleet, And made your Clintons and your Howes retreat, And yet while France stood doubting if to join, Your ships they captur'd, and they took Burgoyne! How vain is Briton's strength, her armies now Before Columbia's bolder veterans bow; Her gallant veterans all our force despise, Though late from ruin[C] we beheld them rise; Before their arms our strongest bulwarks fall, They storm the rampart and they scale the wall;[D] With equal dread, on either service sent, They seize a fortress, or they strike a tent. But should we bow beneath a foreign yoke, And potent France atchieve the humbling stroke, Yet every power, and even ourselves, must say, "Just is the vengeance of the skies to-day:" For crimes like ours dire vengeance[10] must atone; Forbear your fasts, and let the skies[11] alone— By cruel kings, in fierce Britannia bred, Such seas of blood have first and last been shed, That now, distrest for each inhuman deed, Our turn has come—our turn has come to bleed: Forbear your groans; for war and death array, March to the foe, and give the fates their way. Can you[12] behold, without one hearty groan, The fleets of France superior to your own? Can you behold, without one poignant pang, The foreign conquests of the brave D'Estaing?[E] North is your friend, and now destruction knocks, Still take his counsel, and regard not Fox.

King G. Ah! speak not thus—your words will break my heart, Some softer counsel to my ears impart, How can I march to meet the insulting foe, Who never yet to hostile plains did go? When was I vers'd in battles or in blood? When have I fought upon the faithless flood? Much better could I at my palace door Recline and hear the distant cannons roar. Generals and admirals Britain yet can boast, Some fight on land, and some defend the coast; The fame of these throughout the globe resounds, To these I leave the glory and the wounds; But since this honour for no blood atones, I must and will be careful of my bones. What pleasure to your monarch would it be, If Lords and Commons could at last agree; Could North with Fox in firm alliance stand, And Burke with Sandwich shake the social hand, Then should we bring the rebels to our feet, And France and Spain ingloriously retreat, Her ancient glories to this isle return, And we no more for lost Columbia mourn. Fox Alliance!—what![F]—Your Highness must be mad: Say, what alliance can with these be had? Can lambs and wolves in social bands ally? When these prove friendly, then will North and I. Alliance! no—I curse the horrid thought; Ally with those their country's ruin sought! Who to perdition sold their native land, Leagu'd with the foe, a close connected band— Ally with these!—I speak it to your face— Alliance here is ruin and disgrace. Angels and devils in such bonds unite, So hell is ally'd to the realms of light— Let North or Germaine[13] still my prayers deride, Let turn-coat Johnston[G] take the courtly side, Even Pitt, if living, might with these agree; But no alliance shall they have with me. But since no shame forbids your tongue to own A royal coward fills Britannia's throne; Since our best chiefs must fight your mad campaigns, And be disgrac'd at last by him who reigns,[H] No wonder, heaven! such ill success attends! No wonder North and Mansfield are your friends! Take my advice, with these to battle go, These book-learned heroes may confront the foe— Those first who led us tow'rds the brink of fate, Should still be foremost when at Pluto's gate; Let them, grown desperate by our run of woes, Collect new fury from this host of foes, And, ally'd with themselves, to ruin steer, The just conclusion of their mad career.

King G. No comfort in these cruel words I find— Ungrateful words to my tormented mind! With me alone both France and Spain contend, And not one nation will be call'd my friend: Unpitying now the Dutchman sees me fall, The Russian leaves me to the haughty[14] Gaul, The German, grown as brutish[15] as the Dane, Consigns my carcase to the jaws of Spain. Where are the hosts they promis'd me of yore, When rich and great they heard my thunders roar, While yet confess'd the master of the sea, The Germans drain'd their wide domain for me, And aiding Britain with a friendly hand, Helpt to subdue the rebels and their land?[I] Ah! rebels, rebels! insolent and mad; My Scottish rebels were not half so bad,[J] They soon submitted to superior sway;[K] But these grow stronger as my hosts decay: What hosts have perish'd on their hostile shore! They went for conquest, but return'd no more. Columbia, thou a friend in better times! Lost are to me thy pleasurable climes. You wish me buried in eternal night, You curse the day when first I saw the light— Thy[16] commerce vanish'd, hostile nations share, And thus you leave me[17] naked, poor, and bare; Despised by those who should my[18] cause defend, And helpless left without one pitying friend. These dire afflictions shake my changeful throne, And turn my brain—a very idiot grown: Of all the isles, the realms with which I part, Columbia sits the heaviest at my heart, She, she provokes the deepest, heaviest sigh, And makes me doubly wretched ere I die. Some dreary convent's unfrequented gloom (Like Charles of Spain)[L] had better be my doom: There while in absence from my crown I sigh, The[19] Prince of Wales these ills may rectify; A happier fortune may his crown await, He yet perhaps may save this sinking state. I'll to my prayers, my bishops and my beads,[M] And beg God's pardon for my heinous deeds; Those streams of blood, that, spilt by my command, Call out for vengeance on this guilty land.

Fox You ask for mercy—can you cry to God,[20] Who had no mercy on poor parson Dodd?[N] No inward image of the power divine, No gentle feelings warm that soul of thine; Convents you have—no need to look for new, Your convents are the brothel and the stew. One horrid act[O] disgrac'd old Jesse's son, And that one blemish have you hit upon; You seiz'd an English Quaker's tempting wife,[P] And push'd him off to lose his sneaking life; Even to that coast where freedom sent to quell, All in their pride the flower of Britain fell. But ruin'd was your scheme, the plan was vain, For when were Quakers in a battle slain? As well might Whales by closing waves expire, Or Salamanders perish in the fire. When France and Spain are thund'ring at your doors, Is this a time for kings to lodge with whores? In one short sentence take my whole advice, (It is no time to flatter and be nice) With all your soul for instant peace contend, Thus shall you be your country's truest friend— Peace, heavenly[21] peace, may stay your tottering throne, But wars and death and blood can profit none. To Russia[22] send, in humblest guise array'd, And beg her intercession, not her aid: Withdraw your armies from th' Americ' shore, And vex Columbia[23] with your fleets no more; Vain are their conquests, past experience shews, For what this hour they gain, the next they lose. Implore the friendship of these injur'd States; No longer strive against the stubborn fates. Since heav'n has doom'd Columbia to be free, What is her commerce and her wealth to thee? Since heav'n that land of promise has denied, Regain by prudence[24] what you lost by pride: Immediate ruin each delay attends, Imperial Britain scarce her coast defends; Hibernia sees the threat'ning foes advance, And feels an ague at the thoughts of France; Jamaica mourns her half-protected state, Barbadoes soon may share Grenada's fate, And every isle that owns your reign to-day, May bow to-morrow to great Louis'[25] sway. Yes—while I speak, your empire, great before, Contracts its limits, and is great no more. Unhappy prince! what madness has possest, What worse than madness seiz'd thy vengeful breast, When white-rob'd peace before thy portal stood, To drive her hence, and stain the world with blood? For this destruction threatens from the skies; See hostile navies to our ruin rise; Our fleets inglorious shun the force of Spain, And France triumphant stems the subject main.