Dark glooms the day that sees me leave this sh.o.r.e, To which fate whispers I must come no more: From civil broils what dire disasters flow-- Those broils condemn me to a land of woe Where barren pine trees shade the dreary steep, Frown o'er the soil or murmur to the deep, Where sullen fogs their heavy wings expand, And nine months' winter chills the dismal land!

Could no kind stars have mark'd a different way, Stars that presided on my natal day?-- Why is not man endued with power to know The ends and upshots of events below?

Why did not heaven (some other gift deny'd) Teach me to take the true-born Buckskin side, Show me the balance of the wavering fates And fortune smiling on these new-born States!

Friend of my heart!--my refuge and relief, Who help'd me on through seven long years of grief, Whose better genius taught you to remain In the soft quiet of your rural reign, Who still despised the Rebels and their cause, And, while you paid the taxes, d.a.m.n'd their laws, And wisely stood spectator of the fray, Nor trusted George, whate'er he chose to say; Thrice happy thou, who wore a double face, And as the balance turn'd could each embrace; Too happy Ja.n.u.s! had I shar'd thy art, To speak a language foreign to my heart, And stoop'd from pomp and dreams of regal state, To court the friendship of the men I hate, These strains of woe had not been penn'd to-day, Nor I to foreign climes been forc'd away: Ah! George--that name provokes my keenest rage, Did he not swear, and promise, and engage His loyal sons to nurture and defend, To be their G.o.d, their father and their friend-- Yet basely quits us on a hostile coast, And leaves us wretched where we need him most: His is the part to promise and deceive, By him we wander and by him we grieve; Since the first day that these dissentions grew, When Gage to Boston brought his blackguard crew,[239]

From place to place we urge our vagrant flight To follow still this vapour of the night, From town to town have run our various race, And acted all that's mean and all that's base-- Yes--from that day until this hour we roam, Vagrants forever from our native home!

And yet, perhaps, fate sees the golden hour When happier hands shall crush rebellious power, When hostile tribes their plighted faith shall own And swear subjection to the British throne, When George the Fourth shall their pet.i.tions spurn, And banish'd Tories to their fields return.

From dreams of conquest, worlds and empires won Britain awaking, mourns her setting sun, No rays of joy her evening hour illume, 'Tis one sad chaos, one unmingled gloom!

Too soon she sinks unheeded to the grave, No eye to pity and no hand to save: What are her crimes that she alone must bend?

Where are her hosts to conquer and defend-- Must she alone with these new regions part, These realms that lay the nearest to her heart, But soar'd at once to independent power, Not sunk like Scotland in the trying hour?-- See slothful Spaniards golden empires keep, And rule vast realms beyond the Atlantic deep; Must we alone surrender half our reign, And they their empires and their worlds retain?

Britannia, rise--send Johnstone to Peru, Seize thy bold thunders and the war renew, Conquest or ruin--one must be thy doom, Strike--and secure a triumph or a tomb!

But we, sad outcasts from our native reign, Driven from these sh.o.r.es, a poor deluded train, In distant wilds, conducted by despair, Seek, vainly seek, a hiding place from care!

Even now yon' tribes, the foremost of the band, Croud to the ships and cover all the strand: Forc'd from their friends, their country, and their G.o.d, I see the unhappy miscreants leave the sod!

Matrons and men walk sorrowing side by side And virgin grief, and poverty, and pride, All, all with aching hearts prepare to sail And late repentance that has no avail!

While yet I stand on this forbidden ground I hear the death-bell of destruction sound, And threat'ning hosts with vengeance on their brow Cry, "Where are Britain's base adherents now?"

These, hot for vengeance, by resentment led, Blame on our hearts the failings of the head; To us no peace, no favours they extend, Their rage no bounds, their hatred knows no end; In one firm league I see them all combin'd, We, like the d.a.m.n'd, can no forgiveness find-- As soon might Satan from perdition rise, And the lost angels gain their vanish'd skies As malice cease in their dark souls to burn, Or we, once fled, be suffer'd to return.

Curs'd be the union that was form'd with France, I see their lillies and the stars advance!

Did they not turn our triumphs to retreats, And prove our conquests nothing but defeats?-- My heart misgives me as their chiefs draw near, I feel the influence of all potent fear, Henceforth must I, abandon'd and distrest, Knock at the door of pride, a beggar guest, And learn from years of misery and pain Not to oppose fair Freedom's cause again!-- One truth is clear from changes such as these,[240]

Kings cannot always conquer when they please, Nor are they rebels who mere freedom claim, Conquest alone can ratify the name-- But great the task, their efforts to controul When genuine virtue fires the stubborn soul; The warlike beast in Lybian deserts plac'd To reign the master of the sun-burnt waste, Not tamely yields to bear a servile chain, Force may attempt it, and attempt in vain, Nervous and bold, by native valour led, His prowess strikes the proud invader dead, By force nor fraud from freedom's charms beguil'd He reigns secure the monarch of the wild.

TANTALUS.

[238] _Freeman's Journal_, May 7, 1783. In the later editions it was ent.i.tled "Renegado Epistle." Text from the edition of 1786.

[239] Two added lines in the later editions:

"Amused with conquests, honours, riches, fame, Posts, t.i.tles, earldoms--and a deathless name."

[240]

"From nature constant still Kings hold not worlds or empires at their will."--_Ed. 1795._

MANHATTAN CITY[241]

A Picture

Fair mistress of a warlike State, What crime of thine deserves this fate?

While other ports to Freedom rise, In thee that flame of honour dies.

With wars and horrors overspread, Seven years, and more, we fought and bled: Seized British hosts and Hessian bands, And all--to leave you in their hands.

While British tribes forsake our plains, In you, a ghastly herd[242] remains: Must vipers to your halls[243] repair; Must poison taint that purest air?

Ah! what a scene torments the eye: In thee, what putrid monsters lie!

What dirt, and mud, and mouldering walls, Burnt domes, dead dogs, and funerals!

Those gra.s.sy banks, where oft we stood,[244]

And fondly viewed the pa.s.sing flood; There, owls obscene, that daylight shun, Pollute the waters, as they run.

Thus in the east--once Asia's queen-- Palmyra's tottering towers are seen; While through her streets the serpent feeds, Thus she puts on her mourning weeds!

Lo! Skinner there for Scotia hails The sweepings of Cesarean jails:[245]

While, to receive the odious[246] freight, A thousand sable transports wait.

Had he been born in days of old When men with G.o.ds their 'squires[247] enrolled, Hermes had claimed his aid above, Arch-quibbler in the courts of Jove.[248]

O chief, that wrangled at the bar-- Grown old in less successful war; What crowds of miscreants round you stand, What vagrants bow to your command!

[241] In the edition of 1786 ent.i.tled "New-York, September, 1783."

[242] "A motley crew."--_Ed. 1786._

[243] "Through thy streets."--_Ib._

[244] "I stood."--_Ed. 1786._

[245]

"Lo! _Skinner_ there collects a crew, (Their temples brushed with Stygian dew)"--_Ib._

[246] "Ghastly."--_Ib._

[247] "Beasts."--_Ib._

[248]

"Like Nero's horse, he had been made A consul for some Nero's aid."--_Ib._

VERSES[249]

Occasioned by General Washington's arrival in Philadelphia, on his way to his seat in Virginia

_December, 1783_

1

The great, unequal conflict past, The Briton banish'd from our sh.o.r.e, Peace, heav'n-descended, comes at last, And hostile nations rage no more; From fields of death the weary swain Returning, seeks his native plain.

2

In every vale she smiles serene, Freedom's bright stars more radiant rise, New charms she adds to every scene, Her brighter sun illumes our skies; Remotest realms admiring stand, And hail the Hero of our land: