Canto IV: The Vision

NOW night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon,
Beneath whose kind, protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls, and ghosts, and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had aw'd,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.
On cautious hinges, slow and stiller
Wide ope'd the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where, shut from prying eyes in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descry'd are,
On kegs of ale, and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
The orig'nal brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursu'd the prologue of his sighs:
"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting,
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleas'd my eyes;
Blest days, but, ah, no more to rise!
Alas! against my better light
And optics sure of second-sight,
My soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering-wedge of sorrows.
I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes,
Which tho' from our own vapors fed,
Shall point its thunders on our head!
I see the Mob, beflipp'd in taverns,
Hunt us, like wolves, thro' wilds and caverns!
What dungeons rise t' alarm our fears!
What horse-whips whistle round our ears!
Tar, yet in embryo in the pine,
Shall run, on Tories backs to shine;
Trees rooted fair in groves of sallows
Are growing for our future gallows;
And geese unhatch'd, when pluck'd in fray,
Shall rue the feath'ring of that day.
For me, before these fatal days,
I mean to fly th' accursed place,
And follow omens, which of late
Have warn'd me of impending fate;
Yet pass'd unnotic'd o'er my view,
Till sad conviction prov'd them true;
As prophecies of best intent,
Are only heeded in the event
For late in visions of the night
The gallows stood before my sight;
I saw its ladder heav'd on end;
I saw the deadly rope descend;
And in its noose, that wav'ring swang,
Friend Malcolm hung or seem'd to hang.
How chang'd from him, who bold as lion,
Stood Aid-de-Camp to Governor Tryon,
Made rebels vanish once, like witches,
And sav'd his life, but dropp'd his breeches.
I scarce had made a fearful bow,
And trembling ask'd him, "How d'ye do?"
When lifting up his eyes so wide,
His eyes alone, his hands were tied;
With feeble voice, as spirits use,
Now almost choak'd with gripe of noose;
"Ah, fly, my friend! he cri'd; escape!
And keep yourself from this sad scrape;
Enough you've talk'd, and writ, and plann'd;
The Whigs have got the upper hand.
Dame Fortune's wheel has turn'd so short,
It plung'd us fairly in the dirt;
Could mortal arm our fears have ended,
This arm (and shook it) had defended.
But longer now 'tis vain to stay;
See e'en the Reg'lars run away:
Wait not till things grow desperater,
For hanging is no laughing matter:
This might your grandsires' fortunes tell you on,
Who both were hang'd the last rebellion;
Adventure then no longer stay,
But call your friends and run away.
For lo, thro' deepest glooms of night
I come to aid thy second sight,
Disclose the plagues that round us wait
And wake the dark decreees of Fate;
Ascend this ladder, whence unfurl'd
The curtain opes of t' other world,
For here new worlds their scenes unfold,
Seen from this back-door of the old .
As when Aeneas risqu'd his life,
Like Orpheus vent'ring for his wife,
And bore in show his mortal carcase,
Thro' realms of Erebus and Orcus,
Then in the happy fields Elysian,
Saw all his embryon sons in vision:
As, shown by great archangel, Michael,
Old Adam saw the world's whole sequel,
And from the mount's extended space,
The rising fortunes of his race;
So from this stage shalt thou behold,
The war its coming scenes unfold,
Rais'd by my arm to meet thine eye;
My Adam, thou, thine Angel, I.
But first my pow'r for visions bright,
Must cleanse from clouds thy mental sight,
Remove the dim suffusions spread,
Which bribes and sal'ries there have bred;
And, from the well of Bute, infuse
Three genuine drops of Highland dews,
To purge, like euphrasy and rue,
Thine eyes, for much thou hast to view.
"Now, freed from Tory darkness, raise
Thy head, and spy the coming days;
For lo, before our second-sight,
The Continent ascends in light;
From north to south, what gath'ring swarms,
Increase the pride of rebel arms!
Thro' ev'ry State our legions brave,
Speed gallant marches to the grave,
Of battling Whigs the frequent prize,
While rebel trophies stain the skies.
Behold, o'er northern realms afar ,
Extend the kindling flames of war!
See fam'd St. John's and Montreal,
Doom'd by Montgom'ry's arm to fall!
Where Hudson with majestic sway,
Thro' hills disparted plows his way;
Fate spreads on Bemus' Heights alarms,
And pours destruction on our arms;
There Bennington's ensanguin'd plain,
And Stony-Point the prize of Wayne.
Behold near Del'ware's icy roar,
Where morning dawns on Trenton's shore,
While Hessians spread their Christmas feasts,
Rush rude these uninvited guests;
Nor aught avail, to Whigs a prize,
Their martial whiskers' grisly size.
On Princeton plains our heroes yield,
And spread in flight the vanquish'd field.
While fear to Mawhood's heels puts on
Wings, wide as worn by Maia's son.
Behold the Pennsylvanian shore,
Enrich'd with streams of British gore;
Where many a vet'ran chief in bed
Of honour rests his slumb'ring head,
And in soft vales in land of foes,
Their wearied virtue finds repose.
See plund'ring Dunmore's negro band
Fly headlong from Virginia's strand;
And far on southern hills, our cousins,
The Scotch M'Donalds, fall by dozens;
Or where King's Mountain lifts its head,
Our ruin'd bands in triumph led!
Behold o'er Tarleton's blustring train,
The Rebels stretch the captive chain!
Afar near Eutaw's fatal springs
Descending Vict'ry spreads her wings!
Thro' all the land in various chace,
We hunt the rainbow of success;
In vain! their Chief, superior still;
Eludes our force with Fabian skill;
Or swift descending by surprize,
Like Prussia's eagle sweeps the prize."
"I look'd, nor yet, opprest with fears,
Gave credit to my eyes or ears,
But held the views an empty dream,
On Berkely's immaterial scheme;
And pond'ring sad with troubled breast
At length my rising doubts express'd.
"Ah, whither, thus by rebels smitten,
Is fled th' omnipotence of Britain,
Or fail'd his usual guard to keep,
Gone traunting or fall'n asleep ;
As Baal his prophets left confounded,
And bawling vot'ries gash'd and wounded?
Did not, retir'd to bow'rs Elysian,
Great Mars leave with her his commission,
And Neptune erst, in treaty free,
Give up dominion o'er the sea?
Else where's the faith of fam'd orations,
Address, debate, and proclamations,
Or courtly sermon, laureat ode,
And ballads on the wat'ry God;
With whose high strains great George enriches
His eloquence of gracious speeches?
Not faithful to our Highland eyes,
These deadly forms of vision rise;
But sure some Whig-inspiring sprite
Now palms delusion on our sight.
I'd scarcely trust a tale so vain,
Should revelation prompt the strain,
Or Ossians ghost the scenes rehearse,
In all the melody of Erse."
"Too long, quoth Malcolm, with confusion,
You've dwelt already in delusion,
As Sceptics, of all fools the chief,
Hold faith in creeds of unbelief.
I come to draw thy veil aside
Of error, prejudice, and pride.
Fools love deception, but the wise
Prefer sad truths to pleasing lies.
For know those hopes can ne'er succeed
That trust on Britain's breaking reed.
For weak'ning long from bad to worse,
By fatal atrophy of purse,
She feels at length with trembling heart,
Her foes have found her mortal part.
As fam'd Achilles, dipt by Thetis
In Styx, as sung in antient ditties,
Grew all case-harden'd o'er like steel,
Invulnerable, save his heel,
And laugh'd at swords and spears, as squibs,
And all diseases, but the kibes;
Yet met at last his fatal wound,
By Paris' arrow nail'd to th' ground:
So Britain's boasted strength deserts
In these her empire's utmost skirts,
Remov'd beyond her fierce impressions,
And atmosphere of omnipresence;
Nor to these shores remoter ends,
Her dwarf omnipotence extends:
Whence in this turn of things so strange,
'Tis time our principles to change.
For vain that boasted faith, which gathers
No perquisite, but tar and feathers,
No pay, but Whig's insulting malice,
And no promotion but the gallows.
I've long enough stood firm and steady,
Half-hang'd for loyalty already:
And could I save my neck and pelf,
I'd turn a flaming whig myself,
And quit this cause, and course, and calling,
Like rats that fly from house that's falling.
But since, obnoxious here to Fate,
This saving wisdom comes too late,
Our noblest hopes already crost,
Our sal'ries gone, our titles lost,
Doom'd to worse suff'rings from the mob,
Than Satan's surg'ries used on Job;
What more remains but now with sleight,
What's left of us to save by flight?
"Now raise thine eyes; for visions true
Again ascending wait thy view."
I look'd; and clad in early light,
The spires of Boston rose to sight;
The morn o'er eastern hills afar,
Illumin'd the varying scenes of war.
Great Howe had long since in the lap
Of Loring taken out his nap,
And with the fun's ascending ray,
The cuckold came to take his pay.
When all th' encircling hills around,
With instantaneous breast-works crown'd,
With pointed thunders met his sight,
By magic rear'd the former night.
Each summit far, as eye commands,
Shone peopled with rebellious bands.
Aloft their tow'ring heroes rise,
As Titans erst assail'd the skies,
Leagu'd with superior force to prove,
The scepter'd hand of British Jove.
Mounds, pil'd on hills, ascended fair
With batt'ries plac'd in middle air,
They rais'd like angry clouds on high,
Seem'd like th' artill'ry of the sky,
And hurl'd their fiery bolts amain,
In thunder on the trembling plain.
I saw along the prostrate strand,
Our baffl'd Gen'rals quit the land,
And, swift as frighted mermaids, flee,
T' our boasted element, the sea!
Resign that long contested shore,
Again the prize of rebel-power,
And tow'rd their town of refuge fly,
Like convict Jews, condemn'd to die.
Then tow'rd the north, I turn'd my eyes,
Where Saratoga's height arise,
And saw our chosen vet'ran band,
Descend in terror o'er the land;
T' oppose their fury of alarms
Saw all New-England wake to arms,
And ev'ry Yanky, full of mettle,
Swarm forth, like bees at sound of kettle.
Not Rome, when Tarquin rape'd Lucretia,
Saw wilder must'ring of militia.
Thro' all the woods and plains of fight,
What mortal battles fill'd my sight,
While British corses strew'd the shore,
And Hudson ring'd his streams with gore!
What tongue can tell the dismal day,
Or paint the pay-colour'd fray;
When yeomen left their fields afar,
To plow the crimson plains of war;
When zeal to swords transform'd their shares,
And turn'd their pruning-hooks to spears,
Chang'd tailor's geese to guns and ball,
And stretch'd to pikes the cobler's awl;
While hunters fierce, like mighty Nimrod,
Made on our troops a daring inroad;
And lev'lling squint on barrel round,
Brought our beau-officers to ground;
While rifle-frocks sent Gen'rals cap'ring,
And redcoats shrunk from leathern apron,
And epaulette and gorget run
From whinyard brown and rusty gun:
While sun-burnt whigs in high command,
Rush furious on our frighted band,
And ancient beards and hoary hair,
Like meteors stream in troubled air.
With locks unshorne not Samson more
Made useless all the show of war,
Nor fought with asses jaw for rarity,
With more success or singularity.
I saw our vet'ran thousands yield
And pile their muskets on the field,
And peasant guards, in rueful plight,
March off our captur'd bands from fight;
While ev'ry rebel-fife in play,
To Yanky-doodle tun'd its lay,
And like the music of the spheres,
Mellifluous sooth'd their vanquish'd ears.
"Alas, said I, what baleful star,
Sheds fatal influence on the war,
And who that chosen Chief of fame,
That heads this grand parade of shame?
"There see how Fate, great Malcolm cried,
Strikes with its bolts the tow'rs of pride.
Behold that martial Macaroni,
Compound of Phoebus and Bellona,
With warlike sword and sing-song lay,
Equipp'd alike for feast or fray,
Where equal wit and valour join;
This, this is he, the fam'd Burgoyne:
Who pawn'd his honor and commission,
To coax the Patriots to submission,
By songs and balls secure obedience,
And dance the ladies to allegiance.
Oft his camp muses he'll parade,
At Boston in the grand blockade,
And well invok'd with punch of arrack,
Hold converse sweet in tent or barrack,
Inspir'd in more heroic fashion,
Both by his theme and situation;
While Farce and Proclamation grand,
Rise fair beneath his plastic hand.
For genius swells more strong and clear
When close confin'd, like bottl'd beer:
So Prior's wit gain'd greater pow'r,
By inspiration of the tow'r;
And Raleigh, fast in prison hurl'd,
Wrote all the Hist'ry of the World:
So Wilkes grew, while in goal he lay,
More patriotic ev'ry day,
But found his zeal, when not confin'd,
Soon sink below the freezing point,
And public spirit, once so fair,
Evaporate in open air.
But thou, great favorite of Venus,
By no such luck shall cramp thy genius;
Thy friendly stars till wars shall cease,
Shall ward th' ill fortune of release,
And hold thee fast in bonds not feeble,
In good condition still to scribble.
Such merit Fate shall shield from firing,
Bomb, carcase, langridge, and cold iron,
Nor trusts thy doubly laurell'd head,
To rude assaults of flying lead.
Hence in this Saratogue retreat,
For pure good fortune thou'lt be beat;
Not taken oft, releas'd or rescu'd,
Pass for small change, like simple Prescott ;
But captur'd there, as Fates befall,
Shall stand thy hand for't, once for all.
Then raise thy daring thoughts sublime,
And dip thy conqu'ring pen in rhyme,
And changing war for puns and jokes,
Write new Blockades and Maids of Oaks. "
This said, he turn'd, and saw the tale
Had dy'd my trembling cheeks with pale;
Then, pitying, in a milder vein
Pursu'd the visionary strain.
"Too much, perhaps, hath pain'd your views
Of vict'ries gain'd by rebel crews;
Now see the deeds, not small nor scanty,
Of British Valour and Human'ty;
And learn from this auspicious sight,
How England's sons and friends can fight,
In what dread scenes their courage grows,
And how they conquer all their foes."
I look'd and saw in wintry skies
Our spacious prison-walls arise,
Where Britons all their captives taming,
Plied them with scourging, cold, and famine;
Reduc'd to life's concluding stages,
By noxious food and plagues contagious.
Aloft the mighty Loring stood,
And thriv'd, like Vampyre, on their blood;
And counting all his gains arising,
Dealt daily rations out of poison.
Amid the dead that croud the scene,
The moving skeletons were seen.
At hand our troops in vaunting strains,
Insulted all their wants and pains,
And turn'd on all the dying tribe,
The bitter taunt and scornful gibe:
And British officers of might,
Triumphant at the joyful sight,
O'er foes disarm'd with courage daring,
Exhausted all their tropes of swearing.
Around all stain'd with rebel blood,
Like Milton's lazar-house it stood,
Where grim Despair attended nurse,
And Death was Gov'rnor of the house.
Amaz'd, I cried, "Is this the way,
That British Valor wins the day?"
More had I said, in strains unwelcome,
Till interrupted thus by Malcolm:
"Blame not, quoth he, but learn the reason
Of this new mode of conqu'ring treason.
'Tis but a wise, politic plan,
To root out all the rebel-clan;
(For surely treason ne'er can thrive,
Where not a soul is left alive:)
A scheme, all other chiefs to surpass,
And do the effectual work to purpose,
For war itself is nothing further,
But th' art and mystery of murther,
And who most methods has essay'd,
Is the best Gen'ral of the trade,
And stands Death's Plenipotentiary,
To conquer, poison, starve, and bury.
This Howe well knew, and thus began,
(Despising Carleton's coaxing plan,
Who kept his pris'ners well and merry,
And dealt them food like Commissary,
And by ples and ransoms vain,
Dismiss'd them all to fight again:)
Whence his first captives, with great spirit,
He tied up for his troops to fire at
And hop'd they'd learn, on foes thus taken,
To aim at rebels without shaking.
Then, wise in stratagem he plann'd
The sure destruction of the land,
Turn'd famine, sickness, and despair,
To useful enginry of war,
Instead of cannon, musket, mortar,
Us'd pestilence, and death, and torture,
Sent forth the small-pox, and the greater,
To thin the land of ev'ry traitor,
And order'd out with like endeavor,
Detachments of the prison-fever;
Spread desolation o'er their head,
And plagues in Providence's stead,
Perform'd with equal skill and beauty,
Th' avenging angel's tour of duty,
Brought all the elements to join,
And stars t' assist the great design;
As once in league with Kishon's brook,
Fam'd Israel's foes they fought and took.
Then proud to raise a glorious name,
And em'lous of his country's fame,
He bade these prison-walls arise,
Like temple tow'ring to the skies,
Where British Clemency renown'd,
Might fix her seat on sacred ground;
(That virtue, as each herald saith,
Of whole blood kin to Punic Faith;)
Where all her God-like pow'rs unveiling,
She finds a grateful shrine to dwell in.
Then, at this altar for her honour,
Chose this High-priest to wait upon her,
Who with just rites, in ancient guises,
Presents these human sacrifices;
Great Loring, fam'd above all laymen,
A proper Priest for Lybian Ammon,
Who, while Howe's gift his brows adorns,
Had match'd that deity in horns.
Here ev'ry day her vot'ries tell,
She more devours than th' idol Bel;
And thirsts more rav'nously for gore,
Than any worship'd Power before.
That ancient Heathen Godhead, Moloch,
Oft stay'd his stomach with a bullock,
Or if his morning rage you'd check first,
One child suffic'd him for a breakfast.
But British Clemency, with zeal,
Devours her hundreds at a meal;
Right well by Nat'ralists defined,
A Being of carniv'rous kind:
So erst Gargantau pleas'd his palate,
And eat his pilgrims up for sallad.
Not blest with maw less ceremonious,
The wide-mouth'd whale that swallow'd Jonas;
Like earthquake gapes, to death devote,
That open sepulchre, her throat;
The grave, or barren womb you'd stuff,
And sooner bring to cry, enough;
Or fatten up to fair condition,
The lean-flesh'd kine of Pharaoh's vision.
"Behold her temple where it stands
Erect by fam'd Britannic hands;
'Tis the Black-hole of Indian structure,
New-built with English architecture,
On plan, 'tis said, contriv'd and wrote,
By Clive, before he cut his throat;
Who ere he took himself in hand,
Was her High-priest in Nabob-land:
And when with conqu'ring glory crown'd,
He'd well enslav'd the nation round,
With pitying heart the gen'rous chief,
(Since slav'ry's worse than loss of life,)
Bade desolation circle far,
And famine end the work of war;
Thus loos'd their chains, and for their merits,
Dismiss them free to worlds of spirits;
Whence they with gratitude and praise,
Return'd t' attend his latter days,
And hov'ring round his restless bed,
Spread nightly visions o'er his head.
"Now turn, he cried, to nobler sights,
And mark the prowess of our fights:
Behold like whelps of British Lion,
The warriors, Clinton, Vaughan, and Tryon,
March forth with patriotic joy,
To ravish, plunder, burn, destroy.
Great Gen'rals, foremost in the nation,
The journeymen of Desolation!
Like Samson's foxes each assails,
Let loose with firebrands in their tails,
And spreads destruction more forlorn,
Than they did in Philistine corn.
And see in flames their triumphs rise,
Illuming all the nether skies,
And streaming, like a new Aurora,
The western hemisphere with glory!
What towns, in ashes laid, confess
These heroes' prowess and success!
What blacken'd walls, or burning fane,
For trophies spread the ruin'd plain!
What females, caught in evil hour,
By force submit to British power,
Or plunder'd Negroes in disaster
Confess King George their lord and master!
What crimson corses strew their way
Till smoaking carnage dims the day!
Along the shore, for sure reduction,
They wield their besom of destruction.
Great Homer likens, in his Ilias,
To dog-star bright the fierce Achilles;
But ne'er beheld in red procession,
Three dog-stars rise in constellation;
Or saw in glooms of ev'ning misty,
Such signs of fiery triplicity,
Which far beyond the comet's tail,
Portend destruction where they sail.
Oh! had Great-Britain's god-like shore,
Produc'd but ten such heroes more,
They'd spar'd the pains, and held the station
Of this world's final conflagration,
Which, when its time comes, at a stand,
Would find its work all done t' its hand!
"Yet tho' gay hopes our eyes may bless;
Indignant fate forbids success;
Like morning dreams our conquest flies,
Dispers'd before the dawn arise."
Here Malcolm paus'd; when, pond'ring long,
Grief thus gave utt'rance to my tongue.
"Where shrink in fear our friends dismay'd,
And all the Tories' promis'd aid?
Can none amid these fierce alarms
Assist the pow'r of royal arms?"
"In vain, he cried, our king depends,
On promis'd aid of Tory-friends.
When our own efforts want success,
Friends ever fail as fears increase.
As leaves, in blooming verdure wove,
In warmth of summer cloath the grove,
But when autumnal frosts arise,
Leave bare their trunks to wintry skies;
So while your pow'r can aid their ends,
You ne'er can need ten thousand friends,
But, once in want by foes dismay'd,
May advertise them stol'n or stray'd.
Thus, ere Great-Britain's strength grew slack,
She gain'd that aid, she did not lack,
But now in dread, imploring pity,
All hear unmov'd her dol'rous ditty;
Allegiance wand'ring turns astray,
And faith grows dim for lack of pay.
In vain she tries by new inventions,
Fear, falshood, flatt'ry, threats, and pensions,
Or sends Commiss'ners with credentials
Of promises and penitentials.
As, for his fare o'er Styx of old,
The Trojan stole the bough of gold,
And, lest grim Cerb'rus should make head,
Stuff'd both his fobs with gingerbread;
Behold at Britain's utmost shifts,
Comes Johnstone, loaded with like gifts,
To venture thro' the whiggish tribe,
To cuddle, wheedle, coax, and bribe,
Enter their lands, and on his journey,
Possession take, as King's Attorney,
Buy all the vassals to protect him,
And bribe the tenants not t' eject him;
And call, to aid his desp'rate mission,
His petticoated politician,
While Venus, join'd to' assist the farce,
Strolls forth ambassador for Mars.
In vain he strives, (for while he lingers,
These mastiffs bite his off'ring fingers,)
Nor buys for George and realms infernal,
One spaniel, but the mongrel Arnold.
'Twere vain to paint in vision'd show,
The mighty nothings done by Howe;
What towns he takes in mortal fray,
As stations, whence to run away;
What conquests gain'd in battles warm,
To us no aid, to them no harm;
For still th' event alike is fatal,
Whate'er success attend the battle,
If he gain victory, or lose it,
Who ne'er had skill enough to use it;
And better 'twere, at their expence,
T' have drubb'd him into common sense,
And wak'd by bastings on his rear,
Th' activity, tho' but of fear,
By slow advance his arms prevail,
Like emblematic march of snail;
That, be Millenium nigh or far,
'Twould long before him end the war.
From York to Philadelphian ground,
He sweeps the mighty flourish round,
Wheel'd circ'lar by excentric stars,
Like racing boys at Prison-bars ,
Who take the adverse crew in whole,
By running round the opp'site goal;
Works wide the traverse of his course,
Like ship in storms' opposing force,
Like mill-horse, circling in his race,
Advances not a single pace,
And leaves no trophies of reduction,
Save that of canker-worms, destruction.
Thus, having long both countries curst,
He quits them, as he found them first,
Steers home disgrac'd, of little worth,
To join Burgoyne, and rail at North.
"Now raise thine eyes, and view with pleasure,
The triumphs of his fam'd successor."
I look'd, and now by magic lore,
Faint rose to view the Jersey shore;
But dimly seen, in glooms array'd,
For Night had pour'd her sable shade,
And ev'ry star, with glimm'rings pale,
Was muffled deep in ev'ning veil:
Scarce visible in dusky night,
Advancing Red-coats rose to sight;
The lengthen'd train, in gleaming rows,
Stole silent from their slumb'ring foes,
Slow mov'd the baggage, and the train,
Like snails, crept noiseless o'er the plain;
No trembling soldier dar'd to speak,
And not a wheel presum'd to creak.
My looks my new surprize confess'd,
Till by great Malcolm thus addres'd:
"Spend not thy wits in vain researches;
'Tis one of Clinton's moon-light marches.
From Philadelphia now retreating,
To save his anxious troops a beating,
With hasty stride he flies in vain,
His rear attack'd on Monmouth plain:
With various chance the mortal fray
Is lengthen'd to the close of day,
When his tir'd bands, o'ermatch'd in sight,
Are rescu'd by descending night,
He forms his camp with vain parade,
Till evening spreads the world with shade,
Then still, like some endanger'd spark,
Steals off on tiptoe in the dark;
Yet writes his king, in boasting tone,
How grand he march'd by light of moon .
I see him, but thou can'st not; proud
He leads in front the trembling crowd,
And wisely knows, if danger's near,
'Twill fall the heaviest on his rear.
Go on great Gen'ral, nor regard
The scoffs of ev'ry scribbling bard,
Who sing how Gods that fatal night
Aided by miracles your flight,
As once they us'd, in Homer's day,
To help weak heroes run away;
Tell how the hours at awful trial,
Went back, as erst on Ahaz' dial,
While British Joshua stay'd the moon,
On Monmouth plains, for Ajalon:
Heed not their sneers and gibes so arch,
Because she set before your march.
A small mistake, your meaning right,
You take her influence for her light;
Her influence, which shall be your guide,
And o'er your Gen'ralship preside.
Hence still shall teem your empty skull,
With vict'ries when the moon's at full,
Which by transition yet more strange,
Wane to defeats before the change;
Hence all your movements, all your notions,
Shall steer by like excentric motions,
Eclips'd in many a fatal crisis,
And dimm'd when Washington arises.
And see how fate herself turn traitor,
Inverts the ancient course of nature,
And changes manners, tempers, climes,
To suit the genius of the times.
See Bourbon forms his gen'rous plan,
First guardian of the rights of man.
And prompt in firm alliance joins,
To aid the Rebels proud designs.
Behold from realms of eastern day,
His sails innum'rous shape their way,
In warlike line the billows sweep,
And roll the thunders of the deep.
See, low in equinoctial skies,
The Western Islands fall their prize.
See British flags o'ermatch'd in might,
Put all their faith in instant flight;
Or broken squadrons from th' affray,
Drag slow their wounded hulks away.
Behold his chiefs in daring sets,
D'Estaings, De Grasses, and Fayettes,
Spread thro' our camps their dread alarms,
And swell the fears of rebel-arms.
Yet, ere our empire sink in night,
One gleam of hope shall strike the sight;
As lamps that fail of oil and fire,
Collect one glimm'ring to expire.
And lo where southern shores extend,
Behold our union'd hosts descend,
Where Charlestown views, with varying beams,
Her turrets gild th' encircling streams.
There by superior might compell'd,
Behold their gallant Lincoln yield ,
Nor aught the wreaths avail him now,
Pluck'd from Burgoyne's imperious brow.
See, furious from the vanquish'd strand,
Cornwallis leads his mighty band!
The southern realms and Georgian shore
Submit, and own the victor's pow'r
Lo, sunk before his wasting way,
The Carolinas fall his pray!
In vain embattl'd hosts of foes
Essay in warring strife t' oppose.
See, shrinking from his conqu'ring eye,
The rebel legions fall or fly;
And, with'ring in these torrid skies,
The northern laurel fades and dies.
With rapid force he leads his band
To fair Virginia's fated strand,
Triumphant eyes the travell'd zone,
And boasts the southern realms his own.
Nor yet this hero's glories bright
Blaze only in the fields of fight;
Not Howe's human'ty more deserving,
In gifts of hanging, and of starving;
Not Arnold plunders more tobacco,
Or steals more negroes for Jamaica ;
Scarce Rodney's self, among th' Eustatians,
Insults so well the laws of nations;
Ev'n Tryon's fame grows dim, and mourning,
He yields the laurel crown of burning.
I see with rapture and surprize,
New triumphs sparkling in thine eyes;
But view, where now renew'd in might,
Again the rebels dare the fight."
I look'd, and far in southern skies,
Saw Greene, their second hope, arise,
And with his small but gallant band,
Invade the Carolinian land.
As winds in stormy circles whirl'd
Rush billowing o'er the darken'd world,
And, where their wasting fury roves,
Successive sweep th' astonish'd groves.
Thus where he pours the rapid fight,
Our boasted conquests sink in night,
And wide o'er all th' extended field,
Our forts resign, our armies yield,
Till, now regain'd the vanquish'd land,
He lifts his standard on the strand.
Again to fair Virginia's coast,
I turn'd and view'd the British host,
Where Chesapeak's wide waters lave
Her shores, and join th' Atlantic wave.
There fam'd Cornwallis tow'ring rose,
And scorn'd secure his distant foes;
His bands the haughty rampart raise,
And bid the royal standard blaze.
When lo, where ocean's bounds extend,
I saw the Gallic sails ascend,
With fav'ring breezes stem their way,
And croud with ships the spacious bay.
Lo, Washington, from northern shores,
O'er many a region, wheels his force,
And Rochambeau, with legions bright,
Descends in terrors to the fight.
Not swifter cleaves his rapid way,
The eagle cow'ring o'er his prey,
Or knights in fam'd romance that fly
On fairy pinions thro' the sky.
Amaz'd the Briton's startl'd pride,
Sees ruin wake on ev'ry side;
And, all his troops to fate consign'd,
By instantaneous stroke Burgoyn,d.
Not Cadmus view'd with more surprize,
From earth embattl'd armies rise,
When, by superior pow'r impell'd,
He sow'd with dragon's teeth the field.
Here Gallic troops in terror stand,
There rush in arms the Rebel band;
Nor hope remains from mortal fight,
Or that last British refuge, flight.
I saw, with looks downcast and grave,
The Chief emerging from his cave,
(Where, chac'd like hare in mighty round,
His hunters earth'd him first in ground,)
And, doom'd by Fate to rebel sway,
Yield all his captur'd hosts a prey.
There, while I view'd the vanquish'd town,
Thus with a sigh my friend went on:
"Behold'st thou not that band forlorn,
Like slaves in Roman triumphs borne;
Their faces length'ning with their fears,
And checks distain'd with streams of tears,
Like dramatis personae sage,
Equipt to act on Tyburn's stage.
Lo these are they, who, lur'd by follies,
Left all and follow'd great Cornwallis;
True to their King, with firm devotion,
For conscience sake and hop'd promotion,
Expectant of the promis'd glories,
And new Millennial state of Tories.
Alas! in vain, all doubts forgetting,
They tried th' omnipotence of Britain;
But found her arm, once strong and brave,
So shorten'd now she cannot save.
Not more aghast departed souls,
Who risk'd their fate on Popish bulls,
And find St. Peter at the wicket
Refuse to countersign their ticket,
When driv'n to purgatory back,
With all their pardons in their pack:
Than Tories must'ring at their stations
On faith of royal proclamations.
As Pagan Chiefs at ev'ry crisis,
Confirm'd their leagues by sacrifices,
And herds of beasts to all their deities,
Oblations fell at close of treaties:
Cornwallis thus, in ancient fashion,
Concludes his league of cap'tulation,
And victims, due to Rebel-glories,
Gives this sin off'ring up of Tories.
See where, reliev'd from sad embargo,
Steer off consign'd a recreant cargo,
Like old scape-goats to roam in pain,
Mark'd like their great fore-runner, Cain.
The rest, now doom'd by British leagues,
To justice of resentful Whigs,
Hold worthless lives on tenure ill,
Of tenancy at Rebel-will,
While hov'ring o'er their forfeit persons,
The gallows waits his sure reversions.
"Thou too, M'Fingal, ere that day,
Shalt taste the terrors of th' affray.
See o'er thee hangs in angry skies,
Where Whiggish constellations rise,
And while plebeian signs ascend,
Their m-inspiring aspects bend,
That baleful Star, whose horrid hair
Shakes forth the plagues of down and tar!
I see the pole, that rears on high
Its flag terrific thro' the sky;
The Mob beneath prepar'd t' attack,
And tar predestin'd for thy back!
Ah! quit, my friend, this dang'rous home,
Nor wait the darker scenes to come;
For know that Fate's auspicious door,
Once shut to flight, is op'd no more,
Nor wears its hinge by various stations,
Like Mercy's door in proclamations.
"But lest thou pause, or doubt to fly,
To stranger visions turn thine eye:
Each cloud that dimm'd thy mental ray,
And all the mortal mists decay;
See more than human Pow'rs befriend,
And lo, their hostile forms ascend!
See tow'ring o'er th' extended strand,
The Genius of the western land,
In vengeance arm'd, his sword assumes,
And stands, like Tories, drest in plumes.
See o'er yon Council seat with pride,
How Freedom spreads her banners wide!
There Patriotism with torch address'd,
To fire with zeal each daring breast!
While all the Virtues in their band
Escape from yon unfriendly land,
Desert their ancient British station,
Possest with rage of emigration.
Honour, his business at a stand,
For fear of starving quits the land;
And Justice, long disgraced at Court, had
By Mansfield's sentence been transported.
Vict'ry and Fame attend their way,
Tho' Britain wish their longer stay,
Care not what George or North would be at,
Nor heed their writs of ne exeat;
But, fir'd with love of colonizing,
Quit the fall'n empire for the rising."
I look'd, and saw, with horror smitten,
These hostile pow'rs averse to Britain.
When lo, an awful spectre rose,
With languid paleness on his brows;
Wan dropsies swell'd his form beneath;
And ic'd his bloated cheeks with death;
His tatter'd robe exposed him bare,
To ev'ry blast of ruder air;
On two weak crutches propt he stood,
That bent at ev'ry step he trod,
Gilt titles grac'd their sides so slender,
One, "Regulation," t'other, "Tender;"
His breast-plate grav'd with various dates,
"The faith of all th' United States:"
Before him went his fun'ral pall,
His grave stood dug to wait his fall.
I started, and aghast I cry'd,
"What means this spectre at their side?
What danger from a Pow'r so vain,
And why he joins that splendid train?"
"Alas, great Malcolm cry'd, experience
Might teach you not to trust appearance.
Here stands, as drest by fierce Bellona,
The ghost of Continental Money,
Of dame Necessity descended,
With whom Credulity engender'd.
Tho' born with constitution frail,
And feeble strength that soon must fail;
Yet strangely vers'd in magic lore,
And gifted with transforming pow'r,
His skill the wealth Peruvian joins
With diamonds of Brazilian mines.
As erst Jove fell by subtle wiles
On Danae's apron thro' the tiles,
In show'rs of gold: his potent hand
Shall shed like show'rs thro' all the land.
Less great the magic art was reckon'd,
Of tallies cast by Charles the Second,
Or Law's fam'd Missisippi schemes,
Or all the wealth of South-sea dreams.
For he of all the world alone
Owns the long-sought Philos'pher's Stone,
Restores the fab'lous times to view,
And proves the tale of Midas true.
O'er heaps of rags he waves his wand,
All turn to gold at his command,
Provide for present wants and future,
Raise armies, victual, clothe, accoutre,
Adjourn our conquests by essoigne,
Check Howe's advance, and take Burgoyne,
Then make all days of payment vain,
And turns all back to rags again.
In vain great Howe shall play his part,
To ape and counterfeit his art;
In vain shall Clinton, more belated,
A conj'rer turn to imitate it;
With like ill luck and pow'r as narrow,
They'll fare, like sor'cers of old Pharaoh,
Who tho' the art they understood
Of turning rivers into blood,
And caus'd their frogs and snakes t'exist,
That with some merit croak'd and hiss'd,
Yet ne'er, by ev'ry quaint device,
Could frame the true Mosaic lice.
He for the Whigs his arts shall try,
Their first, and long their sole ally;
A patriot firm, while breath he draws,
He'll perish in his country's cause;
And when his magic labours cease,
Lie bury'd in eternal peace.
"Now view the scenes in future hours,
That wait the fam'd European Pow'rs.
See where yon chalky cliffs arise,
The hill's of Britain strike your eyes:
Its small extension long supply'd
By vast immensity of pride;
So small, that had it found a station
In this new world at first creation,
Or were by Justice doom'd to suffer,
And for its crimes transported over,
We'd find full room for't in Lake Erie, or
That larger water-pond, Superior,
Where North, on margin taking stand,
Would not be able to spy land.
No more, elate with pow'r at ease
She deals her insults round the seas;
See, dwindling from her height amain,
What piles of ruin spread the plain;
With mould'ring hulks her ports are fill'd,
And brambles clothe the cultur'd field!
See on her cliffs her Genius lies,
His handkerchief at both his eyes,
With many a deep-drawn sigh and groan,
To mourn her ruin and his own!
While joyous Holland, France, and Spain,
With conqu'ring navies rule the main,
And Russian banners, wide unfurl'd,
Spread commerce round the eastern world,
And see (sight hateful and tormenting)
Th' Amer'can empire, proud and vaunting,
From anarchy shall change her crasis,
And fix her pow'r on firmer basis;
To glory, wealth, and fame ascend,
Her commerce rise, her realms extend;
Where now the panther guards his den,
Her desert forests swarm with men,
Her cities, tow'rs and columns rise,
And dazzling temples meet the skies;
Her pines descending to the main,
In triumph spread the wat'ry plain;
Ride inland lakes with fav'ring gales,
And croud her ports with whit'ning sails;
Till to the skirts of western day,
The peopl'd regions own her sway."
Thus far M'Fingal told his tale,
When thund'ring shouts his ears assail,
And strait a Tory that stood centry,
Aghast, rush'd headlong down the entry,
And with wild outcry, like magician,
Dispers'd the residue of vision:
For now the Whigs intell'gence found
Of Tories must'ring under ground,
And with rude bangs and loud uproar,
'Gan thunder furious at the door.
The lights put out, each Tory calls
To cover him, on cellar walls,
Creeps in each box, or bin, or tub,
To hide his head from wrath of mob,
Or lurks, where cabbages in row
Adorn'd the side with verdant show;
M'Fingal deem'd it vain to stay,
And risk his bones in second fray;
But chose a grand retreat from foes,
In lit'ral sense, beneath their nose.
The window then, which none else knew,
He softly open'd and crept thro',
And crawling slow in deadly fear,
By movements wise made good his rear.
Then, scorning all the fame of martyr,
For Boston took his swift departure;
Nor dar'd look back on fatal spot,
More than the family of Lot.
Not North, in more distress'd condition,
Out-voted first by Opposition:
Nor good King George when that dire phantom
Of Independence comes to haunt him,
Which hov'ring round by night and day,
Not all his conj'rers yet can lay.
His friends, assembl'd for his sake,
He wisely left in pawn, at stake,
To tarring feath'ring, kicks, and drubs
Of furious, disappointed mobs,
And with their forfeit hides to pay
For him, their leader crept away.
So when wise Noah summon'd greeting
All animals to gen'ral meeting;
From ev'ry side the members sent
All kinds of beasts to represent;
Each from the flood took care t' embark,
And save his carcase in the ark;
But as it fares in state and church,
Left his constituents in the lurch.