The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 1

The Poems of Philip Freneau.

Volume II.

by Philip Freneau.

GEORGE THE THIRD'S SOLILOQUY[1]

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 Caesar 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 hour 45 They left their dungeons for that fatal sh.o.r.e.

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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.sembly 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, a.s.sist me with one sympathizing groan,[4]

For late I find the nations are my foes, I must submit, and that with b.l.o.o.d.y nose, Or, like our James, fly basely from the state, 85 Or share, what still is worse--old Charles's fate.

[1] From the edition of 1809. The poem was first published in the May number of the _United States Magazine_, 1779, and much revised and enlarged for the edition of 1786, where it bore the t.i.tle, "George III.

His Soliloquy for 1779." This earliest version, which began with the startling line,

"O d.a.m.n this Congress, d.a.m.n each _upstart_ state,"

was made up as follows, the numbering referring to the above version:

Lines 68-72, 47-64, followed by

"Yet rogues and savage tribes I must employ, And what I cannot conquer will destroy."

Lines 23-32, followed by

"Ye daring hosts that croud Columbia's sh.o.r.e, Tremble ye traitors, and exult no more; Flames I shall hurl with an unceasing hand, Till fires eternal blaze throughout your land, And every dome and every town expires, And traitors perish in the unfeeling fires; But hold--though this be all my soul's desire, Will my own towns be proof to _rebel_ fire.

If in revenge my raging foes should come, And burn my London--it would strike me dumb, To see my children and my queen in tears, And these tall piles come tumbling round my ears, Would to its inmost caverns fright my mind, And stun ourself, the boldest of mankind."

Lines 73-76, followed by

"My future years I consecrate to woe, For this great loss my soul in tears shall flow."

Ending with lines 77-82.

[2] Alluding to the peace of 1761 and the forced retirement of Pitt.

[3] "And sent a scoundrel by the name of Gage."--_Ed. 1786._

[4]

"O let the earth my rugged fate bemoan, And give at least one sympathizing groan."

--_United States Magazine, 1779._

SIR HARRY'S INVITATION[5]

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 ca.n.a.l, 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 b.a.l.l.s will a.s.sail '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.

[5] According to Frank Moore's _Songs and Ballads of the Revolution_, this poem was first issued as a ballad-sheet in 1779. It was reprinted in the _Freeman's Journal_, April 17, 1782, and was published in the author's three editions. The text follows the edition of 1795.

Sir Henry Clinton was left in command of New York City, July 5, 1777, when Howe started on his expedition for the capture of Philadelphia.

Freneau's poem indicates his treatment of the Tory refugees.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY AND MR. FOX[6]

Supposed to have pa.s.sed about the time of the approach of the combined fleets of France and Spain to the British coasts, August, 1779.

_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 h.e.l.l, 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]

[A] The royal gardens at Kew.--_Freneau's note._

[B] America, so called, by poetical liberty, from its discoverer.--_Freneau's note._