Supposing, near the silver Thames
We laid in ashes their Saint James,
Or Blenheim palace wrapp'd 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 and 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 honour spurn
At such a mean, insidious plan,
Which only suits some savage clan-
And surely not the Englishman!
A doctrine has prevail'd too long;
A king, they hold, can do no wrong—
Merely a pitchfork, 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 MEMORY OF EDWARD
RUTLEDGE, ESQ.,
Late Governor of South Carolina.-By PHILIP FRENEAU.
REMOVED from life's uncertain stage,
In virtue firm, in honour clear,
One of the worthies of our age,
Rutledge! resigns his station here.
Alike in arts of war and peace,
And form'd by Nature to excel,
From early Rome and ancient Greece
He modell'd all his actions well.
When Britons came, with chains to bind,
Or ravage these devoted lands,
He our firm league of freedom sign'd,
And counsell'd how to break their bands.
To the great cause of honour true,
He took his part with manly pride;
His spirit o'er these regions flew,
The patriots' and the soldiers' guide.
In arts of peace, in war's bold schemes, Amongst our brightest stars he moved, The Lees, the Moultries, Sumters, GreenesBy all admired, by all beloved.
A patriot of superior mould,
He dared all foreign force oppose,
Till, from a tyrant's ashes cold,
The mighty pile of freedom rose.
In process of succeeding days,
When Peace resumed her joyous reign,
With laurel-wreaths and twining bays
He sought less active life again.
There, warm to plead the orphan's cause,
From Misery's eye to dry the tear,
He stood where Justice guards the laws,
At once humane, at once severe.
"Twas not his firm, enlighten'd mind,
So ardent in affairs of state;
'Twas not that he in armies shined
That made him so completely great:
Persuasion dwelt upon his tongue :
He spoke all hush'd, and all were awed;
From all he said conviction sprung,
And crowds were eager to applaud.
Thus long esteem'd, thus early loved,
The tender husband, friend sincere ;
The parent, patriot, sage, approved,
Had now survived his fiftieth year-
Had now the highest honours met
That Carolina could bestow;
Presiding o'er that potent state,
Where streams of wealth and plenty flow;
Where Labour spreads her rural reign
To western regions bold and free;
And Commerce, on the Atlantic main,
Wafts her rich stores of industry;
Then left this stage of human things
To shine in a sublimer sphere,
Where time to one assemblage brings
All virtuous minds, all hearts sincere.
252 STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF GENERAL WASHINGTON,
Who died December 14, 1799.-By PHILIP FRENEAU.
Terra tegit, populus mæret, cœlum, habet!
DEPARTING with the closing age,
To virtue, worth, and freedom true,
The chief, the patriot, and the sage
To Vernon bids his last adieu :
To reap in some exalted sphere
The just rewards of virtue here.
Thou, Washington, by Heaven design'd
To act a part in human things
That few have known among mankind,
And far beyond the task of kings;
We hail you now to Heaven received
Your mighty task on earth achieved.
While sculpture and her sister arts
For thee their choicest wreaths prepare,
Fond Gratitude her share imparts,
And begs thy bones for burial there;
Where, near Virginia's northern bound,
Swells the vast pile on federal ground.
To call from their obscure abodes
The Grecian chief, the Roman sage,
The kings, the heroes, and the gods
Who flourish'd in Time's earlier age,
Would be to class them not with you:
Superior far, in every view.
Those ancients of ferocious mould,
Blood their delight, and war their trade,
Their oaths profaned, their countries sold,
And fetter'd nations prostrate laid;
Could these, like you, assert their claim
To honour and immortal fame ?
Those monarchs, proud of pillaged spoils,
With nations shackled in their train,
Returning from their desperate toils
With trophies, and their thousands slain;
In all they did no traits are known
Like those that honour'd Washington.
Who now will save our shores from harms,
The task to him so long assign'd?
Who now will rouse our youth to arms,
Should war approach to curse mankind ?
Alas! no more the word you give,
But in your precepts you survive.
Ah, gone! and none your place supply,
Nor will your equal soon appear;
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