And plung'd promiscuous with no winding shroud,
No friendly hand their gory wounds to lave,
The thousands moulder in a common grave,
Not so thy son, oh Laurens! gasping lies,
Too daring youth, war's latest sacrifice;
His snow-white bosom heaves with writhing pain,
The purple drops his snow-white bosom stain;
His cheek of rose is wan, a deadly hue
Sits on his face, that chills with lucid dew.-
There Warren, glorious with expiring breath,
A comely corse, that smiles in ghastly death:
See Mercer bleed, and o'er yon wintry wall,
'Mid heaps of slain, see great Montgomery fall!
Behold those veterans worn with want and care,
Their sinews stiffen'd, silver'd o'er their hair,
Weak in their steps of age, they move forlorn,
Their toils forgotten by the sons of scorn;
This hateful truth still aggravates the pain,
In vain they conquer'd, and they bled in vain.
Go then, ye remnants of inglorious wars,
Disown your marks of merit, hide your fears,
Of lust, of power, of titled pride accused,
Steal to your graves dishonor'd and abused.
For see, proud faction waves her flaming brand,
And discord riots o'er the ungrateful land;
Lo, to the north a wild adventurous crew
In desperate mobs the savage state renew;
Each felon chief his maddening thousands draws,
And claims bold license from the bond of laws;
In other states the chosen sires of shame,
Stamp their vile knaveries with a legal name ;
In honor's seat the sons of meanness swarm,
And senates base, the work of mobs perform,
To wealth, to power the sons of union rise,
While foes deride you and while friends despise.
Stand forth, ye traitors, at your country's bar,
Inglorious authors of intestine war;

What countless mischiefs from their labors rise!
Pens dipp'd in gall, and lips inspired with lies!
Ye sires of ruin, prime detested cause

Of bankrupt faith, annihilated laws,

Of selfish systems, jealous, local schemes,
And union'd empire lost in empty dreams:

Your names expanding with your growing crime,
Shall float disgustful down the stream of time,
Each future age applaud the avenging song,
And outraged nature vindicate the wrong.

Yes there are men, who, touch'd with heavenly fire, Beyond the confines of these climes aspire, Beyond the praises of a tyrant age,

To live immortal in the patriot page;

Who greatly dare, though warning worlds oppose,
To pour just vengeance on their country's foes.
And lo! the etherial worlds assert your cause,
Celestial aid the voice of virtue draws;

The curtains blue of yon expansion rend:
From opening skies heroic shades descend.
See, robed in light, the forms of heaven appear,
The warrior spirits of your friends are near;
Each on his steed of fire (his quiver stored
With shafts of vengeance) grasps his flaming sword:
The burning blade waves high, and, dipp'd in blood,
Hurls plagues and death on discord's faithless brood.
Yet what the hope? the dreams of congress fade,
The federal union sinks in endless shade,

Each feeble call, that warns the realms around,
Seems the faint echo of a dying sound,

Each requisition wafts in fleeting air,

And not one state regards the powerless prayer.

Ye wanton states, by heaven's best blessings cursed, Long on the lap of fostering luxury nursed, What fickle frenzy raves, what visions strange, Inspire your bosoms with the lust of change? And frames the wish to fly from fancied ill, And yield your freedom to a monarch's will?

Go view the lands to lawless power a prey, Where tyrants govern with unbounded sway; See the long pomp in gorgeous state display'd, The tinsel'd guards, the squadron'd horse parade; See heralds gay with emblems on their vest, In tissued robes tall beauteous pages drest; Where moves the pageant, throng unnumber'd slaves, Lords, dukes, and princes, titulary knaves Confusedly shine, the purple gemm'd with stars, Sceptres, and globes, and crowns, and rubied cars, On gilded orbs the thundering chariots roll'd, Steeds snorting fire, and champing bitts of gold, Prance to the trumpet's voice while each assumes A loftier gait, and lifts his neck of plumes. High on the moving throne, and near the van, The tyrant rides, the chosen scourge of man; Clarions, and flutes, and drums his way prepare, And shouting millions rend the conscious air;

Millions, whose ceaseless toils the pomp sustain,
Whose hour of stupid joy repays an age of pain.
From years of darkness springs the regal line,
Hereditary kings by right divine;

"T is theirs to riot on all nature's spoils,
For them with pangs unblest the peasant toils,
For them the earth prolific teems with grain,
Theirs, the dread labors of the devious main,
Annual for them the wasted land renews
The gifts oppressive, and extorted dues,
For them when slaughter spreads the gory plains,
The life-blood gushes from a thousand veins,
While the dull herd, of earth-born pomp afraid,
Adore the power that coward meanness made.
Let Poland tell what woe returning springs,
Where right elective yields the crown to kings!
War guides the choice-each candidate abhorr'd
Founds his firm title on the wasting sword,
Wades to the throne amid the sanguine flood,
And dips his purple in the nation's blood.

Behold, where Venice rears her sea-girt towers,
O'er the vile crowd proud oligarchy lowers;
While each Aristocrat affects a throne,

Beneath a thousand kings the poor plebeians groan.
Nor less abhorr'd the certain woe that waits
The giddy rage of democratic states;

Whose popular breath, high blown in restless tide,
No laws can temper, and no reason guide;
An equal sway their mind indignant spurns,
To wanton change the bliss of freedom turns,
Led by wild demagogues the factious crowd,
Mean, fierce, imperious, insolent and loud,
Nor fame nor wealth nor power nor system draws,
They see no object and perceive no cause,
But feel by turns, in one disastrous hour,

Th' extremes of license and th' extremes of power.
What madness prompts, or what ill-omen'd fates,
Your realm to parcel into petty states?

Shall lordly Hudson part contending powers?
And broad Potomac lave two hostile shores?
Must Allegany's sacred summits bear
The impious bulwarks of perpetual war?

His hundred streams receive your heroes slain?
And bear your sons inglorious to the main?
Will states cement by feebler bonds allied?
Or join more closely as they more divide?

Will this vain scheme bid restless factions cease?
Check foreign wars or fix internal peace?
Call public credit from her grave to rise?
Or gain in grandeur what they lose in size?
In this weak realm can countless kingdoms start
Strong with new force in each divided part?
While empire's head, divided into four,
Gains life by severance of diminish'd power?
So when the philosophic hand divides
The full grown polypus in genial tides,
Each sever'd part, inform'd with latent life,
Acquires new vigor from the friendly knife,
O'er peopled sands the puny insects creep,
Till the next wave absorbs them in the deep.
What then remains? must pilgrim freedom fly
From these loved regions to her native sky?
When the fair fugitive the orient chased,

She fix'd her seat beyond the watry waste;
Her docile sons (enough of power resign'd,
And natural rites in social leagues combined,)
In virtue firm, though jealous in her cause,
Gave senates force and energy to laws,
From ancient habit local powers obey,
Yet feel no reverence for one general sway,
For breach of faith no keen compulsion feel,
And feel no interest in the federal weal.
But know, ye favored race, one potent head,
Must rule your states, and strike your foes with dread,
The finance regulate, the trade control,

Live through the empire, and accord the whole.

Ere death invades, and night's deep curtain falls, Through ruin'd realms the voice of Union calls; Loud as the trump of heaven through darkness roars, When gyral gusts entomb Caribbean towers, When nature trembles through the deeps convulsed, And ocean foams from craggy cliffs repulsed, On you she calls! attend the warning cry,

"Ye live united, or divided die."

ON A PATIENT KILLED BY A CANCER QUACK.

HERE lies a fool flat on his back,

The victim of a cancer quack;
Who lost his money and his life,
By plaister, caustic, and by knife.
24*

VOL. I.

The case was this-a pimple rose,
South-east a little of his nose;

Which daily redden'd and grew bigger,
As too much drinking gave it vigor ;
A score of gossips soon ensure
Full threescore different modes of cure;
But yet the full-fed pimple still
Defied all peticoated skill;
When fortune led him to peruse
A hand-bill in the weekly news;
Sign'd by six fools of different sorts,
All cured of cancers made of warts;
Who recommend, with due submission,
This cancer-monger as magician;
Fear wing'd his flight to find the quack,
And prove his cancer-curing knack;
But on his way he found another,-
A second advertising brother:
But as much like him as an owl
Is unlike every handsome fowl;
Whose fame had raised as broad a fog,
And of the two the greater hog:
Who used a still more magic plaister,
That sweat forsooth, and cured the faster.
This doctor view'd, with moony eyes
And scowl'd-up face, the pimple's size;
Then christen'd it in solemn answer,
And cried, "this pimple 's name is cancer
But courage, friend, I see your 're pale,
My sweating plaisters never fail;
I've sweated hundreds out with ease,
With roots as long as maple trees;
And never fail'd in all my trials—
Behold these samples here in vials!
Preserved to show my wondrous merits,
Just as my liver is-in spirits.
For twenty joes the cure is done—”
The bargain struck, the plaister on,
Which gnaw'd the cancer at its leisure,
And pain'd his face above all measure.
But still the pimple spread the faster,
And swell'd, like toad that meets disaster.
Thus foil'd, the doctor gravely swore,
It was a right-rose cancer sore;
Then stuck his probe beneath the beard,
And show'd him where the leaves appear'd;
And raised the patient's drooping spirits,

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