The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume I Part 32

Nay, clear me not--tho' I should cross the brine, And pay my vows in distant Palestine, Or land in Spain, a stranger poor and bare, And rove on foot a wretched pilgrim there, And let my eyes in streams perpetual flow, Where great Messiah dy'd so long ago, And wash his sacred footsteps with my tears, And pay for ma.s.ses fifty thousand years, All would not do--my monarch I've obey'd, And now go home, perhaps to lose my head;-- Pride sent me here, pride blasted in the bud, Which, if it can, will build its throne in blood, With slaughter'd millions glut its tearless eyes, And make all nature fall that it may rise;-- Come, let's embark, your holy whining cease, Come, let's away, I'll hang myself for peace: So Pontius Pilate for his murder'd Lord In his own bosom sheath'd the deadly sword-- Tho' he confess'd and wash'd his hands beside, His heart condemn'd him and the monster dy'd.

[115] "General Gage's Confession" was printed in pamphlet form in 1775.

As far as I can ascertain, there exists but a single copy of this publication, that in the possession of the Library Company of Philadelphia. A ma.n.u.script note upon this copy, unquestionably the handwriting of Freneau, is as follows: "By Gaine. Published October 25, 1775." The poem was manifestly written after Gage's recall. The poet never reprinted it.

[116] On July 28, 1775, George III. wrote to Lord North: "I have desired Lord Dartmouth to acquaint Lt. G. Gage that as he thinks nothing further can be done this campaign in the province of Ma.s.sachusetts Bay that he is desired instantly to come over, that he may explain the various wants for carrying on the next campaign." "It was a kindly pretext devised to spare the feelings of an unprofitable but a faithful and a brave servant."--_Trevelyan._ General Gage embarked at Boston for England, Oct. 12, 1775.

[117] The scarcity of provisions in the British camp during the siege of Boston has been already alluded to. "When marauding expeditions," says Bancroft, "returned with sheep and hogs and cattle captured from islands, the bells were rung as for victory."

[118] Alluding to the proclamation of June 12, five days before Bunker Hill, which established martial law throughout Ma.s.sachusetts and proscribed Hanc.o.c.k and Samuel Adams. By this proclamation, all who were in arms about Boston, every member of the State Government and of the Continental Congress, were threatened with condign punishment as rebels and traitors.

[119] Was.h.i.+ngton had written to Gage, remonstrating against the cruel treatment of certain American officers, who were denied the privileges and immunities due their rank. Almost the last official act of Gage was to reply through Burgoyne in a letter addressed to "George Was.h.i.+ngton, Esqr.," that "Britons, ever pre-eminent in mercy, have overlooked the criminal in the captive. Your prisoners, whose lives by the law of the land are destined to the cord, have hitherto been treated with care and kindness;--indiscriminately, it is true, for I acknowledge no rank that is not derived from the King."

THE DISTREST SHEPHERDESS[120]

or, Mariana's Complaint for the Death of Damon

Written 1775

What madness compell'd my dear shepherd to go To the siege of Quebec, and distract me with woe!

My heart is so full, it would kill me to tell How he died on the banks of the river Sorel.

O river Sorel! Thou didst hear him complain, When dying he languish'd, and called me in vain!

When, pierc'd by the Briton he went to repel, He sunk on the sh.o.r.es of the river Sorel.

O cruel misfortune, my hopes to destroy: He has left me alone with my Colin, his boy; With sorrow I see him, with tears my eyes swell; Shall we go, my sweet babe, to the river Sorel?

But why should I wander, and give him such pain?

My Damon will ne'er see his Colin again: To wander so far where the wild Indians dwell, We should faint ere we came to the river Sorel.

But even to see the pale corpse of my dear Would give me such rapture, such pleasure sincere!

I'll go, my dear boy, and my grief I will tell To the willows that grow by the river Sorel.

How shall I distinguish my shepherd's dear grave Amidst the long forest that darkens the wave:-- Perhaps they could give him no tomb when he fell; Perhaps he is sunk in the river Sorel.

He was a dear fellow!--O, had he remain'd!

For he was uneasy whene'er I complain'd; He call'd me his charmer, and call'd me his belle, What a folly to die on the banks of Sorel!

Then let me remain in my lonely retreat; My shepherd departed I never shall meet-- Here's Billy O'Bl.u.s.ter--I love him as well, And Damon may stay at the river Sorel.

[120] This poem is unique in the 1788 edition of Freneau's works. It is evidently an earlier version of the "Mars and Hymen" below.

MARS AND HYMEN[121]

Occasioned by the separation of a young widow from a young military lover, of the troops sent to attack Fort Chamblee, in Canada; in which expedition he lost his life [1775]

_Persons of the Poem_--Lucinda, Damon, Thyrsis

_Damon_

Why do we talk of shaded bowers, When frosts, my fair one, chill the plain, And nights are cold, and long the hours That damp the ardour of the swain, Who, parting from his rural fire, All pleasure doth forego-- And here and there, And everywhere, Pursues the invading foe.

Yes, we must rest on frosts and snows!

No season shuts up our campaign!

Hard as the rocks, we dare oppose The autumnal, or the wintery reign.

Alike to us, the winds that blow In summer's season, gay, Or those that rave On Hudson's wave, And drift his ice away.

Winter and war may change the scene!

The ball may pierce, the frost may chill; And dire misfortunes intervene, But freedom must be powerful still, To drive these Britons from our sh.o.r.e, Who come with sail, who come with oar, So cruel and unkind, With servile chain, who strive in vain, Our freeborn souls to bind. [_Exit_]

_Lucinda_ (_two months after_)

They scold me, and tell me I must not complain, To part a few weeks with my favourite swain!

He goes to the battle!--and leaves me to mourn-- And tell me--and tell me--and will he return?[122]

When he left me, he kiss'd me--and said, My sweet dear, In less than a month I again will be here; But still I can hardly my sorrows adjourn-- You may call me a witch--if ever I return.[123]

I said, My dear soldier, I beg you would stay; But he, with his farmers,[124] went strutting away-- With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn, And I wept--for I thought he would never return.[125]

_Thyrsis_

Fairest of the female train, You must seek another swain, Damon will not come again!

All his toils are over!

As you prized him, to excess, Your loss is great, I will confess, But, lady, yield not to distress-- I will be your lover.

_Lucinda_

Not all the swains the land can shew, (If Damon is not living now)[126]

Can from my bosom drive my woe, Or bid a second pa.s.sion glow;-- For Damon has possession; Not all the gifts that wealth can bring, Nor all the airs that you can sing, Nor all the music of the string Can banish his impression.

_Thyrsis_

Wedlock and death too often prove Pernicious to the fires of Love: With equal strength they both combine Hearts best united[127] to disjoin: Hence ardent loves too soon remit; Thus die the fires that Cupid lit.

Female tears and April snow Sudden come and sudden go.

Since his head is levelled low, Cease remembrance of your woe.

Can it be in reason found To be crazy for Love's wound?[128]

Must you live in sorrows drowned For a lover under ground?

_Lucinda_

What a picture have I seen!