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So, hearing that most of you rebels were dead,
Anıl over we scudded, our hearts full of glee,
Our shoe-boys, and tars, and the very cook's mate
Myself, the Don Quixote, and each of the crew,
But now, to our sorrow, disgrace, and surprise,
I have therefore to make you a modest request
There are Eden, and Martin, and Franklin and Tryon,
Though a brute and a dunce, like the rest of the clan,
I missed it somehow in comparing my notes,
Although with so many hard names I was branded,
Give me lands, . . . . and dice, and you still may be free:
I hope you will send me an answer straightway,
*The Printer of the Royal Gazette.
[The Poems of Philip Freneau. 1786.—Poems Written During the Revolutionary War,
etc. 3d Ed. 1809.)
AT T Eutaw Springs the valiant died:
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er;
How many heroes are no more!
If in this wreck of ruin, they
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
The friends or freedom slumber here!
Thon, who shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the shepherds sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble groyes adorn;
You too may fall, and ask a tear: 'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear.
They saw their injured country's woe,
The flaming town, the wasted field;
They took the spear—but left the shield.
Led by thy conquering standards, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly:
None grieved in such a cause to die
But, like the Parthian, famed of old,
Who, flying, still their arrows threw,
Retreated, and retreating slew.
Now rest in peace, our patriot band;
Though far from nature's limits thrown,
A brighter Phæbus of their own.
ON BARNEY'S VICTORY OVER THE SHIP “GENERAL MONK.”
Long the General Monk had reigned;
None her lawless rage restrained:
Yielding to this war-like foe,
Struck his humbled colors low.
But, grown bold with long successes,
Leaving the wide watery way,
Came to cruise within Cape May:
Shall their men of commerce meet;
We shall capture half their fleet.
Back our top-sails to the mast!
With a gentle western blast:
All their guns, and all their men:
Can't escape us one in ten:
Yonder comes the Charming Sally
Sailing with the General Greene-
Taking her is taking them:
Bearing down with all her sail-
To take her we cannot fail.
“Our eighteen guns, each a nine-pounder,
Soon shall terrify this foe;
Bringing rebel colors low."
Conquests that he could not gain,
For the ship that caused his pain.
Thus addressed his gallant crew:
Let your hearts be firm and true;
This is a proud English cruiser,
Roving up and down the main, We must fight her-must reduce her,
Though our decks be strewed with slain.
“Let who will be the survivor,
We must conquer or must die, We must take her up the river,
Whate'er comes of you or I: Though she shows most formidable
With her eighteen pointed nines, And her quarters clad in sable,
Let us bauk her proud designs.
“With four nine-pounders and twelve sixes,
We will face that daring band; Let no dangers damp your courage,
Nothing can the brave withstand. Fighting for your country's honor,
Now to gallant deeds aspire; Helmsman, bear us down upon her,
Gunner, give the word to fire!”
Then yard-arm and yard-arm meeting,
Straight began the dismal fray, Cannon mouths, each other greeting,
Belched their smoky flames away; Soon the langrage, grape and chain-shot,
That from Barney's cannons flew, Swept the Monk, and cleared each round-top,
Killed and wounded half her crew.
Captain Rogers strove to rally
His men from their quarters fled, While the roaring Ilyder Ally
Covered o'er his decks with dead. When from their tops their dead men tumbled,
And the streams of blood did flow, Then their proudest hopes were humbled *
By their brave inferior foe.
All aghast, and all confounded,
They beheld their champions fall, And their captain, sorely wounded,
Bade them quick for quarter call. Then the Monk's proud flag descended,
And her cannon ceased to roar; By her crew no more defended,
She confessed the contest o'er.