The Poems of Philip Freneau, Volume II - The Original Classic Edition. Freneau Philip

Those mighty chiefs, compelled to fly or yield, Scarce dared to meet you on the embattled field;

       To Boston's port you chased the trembling crew,

       Quick, even from thence the British veterans flew--[Pg 82] Through wintry waves they fled, and thought each wave Their last, best safety from a foe so brave![46]

       What men, like you, our warfare could command, And bring us safely to the promised land?--

       Not swoln with pride,[47] with victory elate--

       'Tis in misfortune you are doubly great:

       When Howe victorious our weak armies chased, And, sure of conquest, laid Cesarea waste,

       When prostrate, bleeding, at his feet she lay, And the proud victor tore her wreathes away, Each gallant chief[48] put forth his warlike hand And raised the drooping genius of the land, Repelled the foe, their choicest warriors slain, And drove them howling to their ships again. While others kindle into martial rage

       Whom fierce ambition urges to engage,

       An iron race, by angry heaven designed

       To conquer first and then enslave mankind;

       Here chiefs and heroes[49] more humane we see, They venture life, that others may be free.

       O! may you live to hail that glorious day

       When Britain homeward shall pursue her way-- That race subdued, who filled the world with slain And rode tyrannic o'er the subject main!--

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       What few presumed, you boldly have atchieved, A tyrant humbled, and a world relieved.

       O Washington, who leadst this glorious train,[50] Still may the fates thy valued life maintain.--[Pg 83] Rome's boasted chiefs, who, to their own disgrace, Proved the worst scourges of the human race, Pierced by whose darts a thousand nations bled, Who captive princes at their chariots led;

       Born to enslave, to ravage, and subdue-- Return to nothing when compared to you; Throughout the world your growing fame has spread, In every country are your virtues read;

       Remotest India hears your deeds of fame, The hardy Scythian stammers at your name; The haughty Turk, now longing to be free, Neglects his Sultan to enquire of thee;

       The barbarous Briton hails you to his shores, And calls him Rebel, whom his heart adores. Still may the heavens prolong your vital date, And still may conquest on your banners wait: Whether afar to ravaged lands you go,

       Where wild Potowmac's rapid waters flow,

       Or where Saluda laves the fertile plain

       And, swoln by torrents, rushes to the main; Or if again to Hudson you repair

       To smite the cruel foe that lingers there--

       Revenge their cause, whose virtue was their crime, The exiled hosts from Carolina's clime.

       Late from the world in quiet mayest thou rise

       And, mourned by millions, reach your native skies-- With patriot kings and generous chiefs to shine, Whose virtues raised them to be deemed divine:

       May Vasa[A] only equal honours claim,

       Alike in merits--not the first in fame!

       [A] Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, the deliverer of his country.--Freneau's note. In the earlier editions this read Louis. First changed for the edition of 1795.