The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 55

Napoleon, with an empty chest!

An austrian princess must detest; And yet, she wears upon her breast The painted toy;[A]

[A] A miniature picture of the late emperor Napoleon.--_Freneau's note._

And often weeps, the story goes, That royal blood not wholly flows In every vein, from head to toes, Of her dear boy.

To Elba's isle she could not go-- The royal orders said "No, no!

On Elba's island we bestow No royal throne:"

And thus Napoleon, shoved from power, Has many a lonely gloomy hour To walk on Elba's sea-beat sh.o.r.e, Alone! alone!

O save us from ambition's sway, Ye powers, who tread the milky way; It will deceive, it will betray Nine out of ten.

Napoleon's history let us read: In science he was great indeed-- Ambition's lantern did mislead This prince of men:--

And yet, ambition had its use, It check'd the royal game of goose, And many a flagrant vile abuse Fell at his frown.

But, doom'd to share immortal fame, Despotic powers will dread his name, Though he, perhaps, was much the same, Raised to a throne!

THE PRINCE REGENT'S RESOLVE

The regent prince, enraged to find The standard from his frigates torn, To a full court thus spoke his mind, With hand display'd and soul of scorn, "Since fate decreed Napoleon's fall, Now, now's the time to conquer all!

"We at the head of all that's great, Tis ours to hold the world in awe: Let Louis reign in regal state, And let his subjects own his law; Their tide of power tis ours to stem-- We'll govern those who govern them.

"But here's the rub, and here's my grief; My frigates from the seas are hurl'd!

What shall we do? how find relief?

How strike and stupefy the world?

Our flag, that long control'd the main, Our standard must be raised again.

"A land there lies towards the west There must my royal will be done; That land is an infernal nest Of reptiles, rul'd by Madison: That nest I swear to humble down, There plant a king, and there a crown.

"Depart, my fleet, depart, my slaves, Invade that nest, attack and burn; Where'er the ocean rolls his waves, Subdue, or dare not to return; Subdue and plunder all you can, Who plunders most--shall be my man.

"To scatter death, by fire and sword, To prostrate all, where'er you go: That is the mandate, that the word, Though seas of blood around you flow: No more!--go, aid the indian yell: Be conquerors, and I'll feed you well.

So spoke the prince, but little knew His minions were for slaughter fed; Nor did he guess, that vengeance, too, Would fall on his devoted head; When all his plans and projects fail, And he ascends Belshazzar's scale.[A]

[A] Mene mene, Tekel, Peres!--thou art weighed in the balance, and art found wanting!--Daniel.--_Freneau's note._

THE VOLUNTEER'S MARCH[A]

July, 1814

Dulce est pro patria mori.

[A] This little ode, with the addition of two new stanzas is somewhat altered from one of Robert Burns' compositions, and applied to an american occasion: the original being Bruce's supposed address to his army, a little before the battle of Bannockbourne.--_Freneau's note._

Ye, whom Was.h.i.+ngton has led, Ye, who in his footsteps tread, Ye, who death nor danger dread, Haste to glorious victory.

Now's the day and now's the hour; See the British navy lour, See approach proud George's power, England! chains and slavery.

Who would be a traitor knave?

Who would fill a coward's grave?

Who so base to be a slave?

Traitor, coward, turn and flee.

Meet the tyrants, one and all; Freemen stand, or freemen fall-- At Columbia's patriot call, At her mandate, march away!

Former times have seen them yield, Seen them drove from every field, Routed, ruin'd, and repell'd-- Seize the spirit of those times!

By oppression's woes and pains-- By our sons in servile chains We will bleed from all our veins But they shall be--shall be free.

O'er the standard of their power Bid Columbia's eagle tower, Give them hail in such a shower As shall blast them--horse and man!

Lay the proud invaders low, Tyrants fall in every foe; Liberty's in every blow, Forward! let us do or die.

THE BATTLE OF STONINGTON

ON THE SEABOARD OF CONNECTICUT

In an attack upon the town and a small fort of two guns, by the Ramillies, seventy-four gun s.h.i.+p, commanded by Sir Thomas Hardy; the Pactolus, 38 gun s.h.i.+p, Despatch, brig of 22 guns, and a razee, or bomb s.h.i.+p.--August, 1814.

Four gallant s.h.i.+ps from England came Freighted deep with fire and flame, And other things we need not name, To have a dash at Stonington.

Now safely moor'd, their work begun; They thought to make the yankees run, And have a mighty deal of fun In stealing sheep at Stonington.

A deacon, then popp'd up his head And parson Jones's sermon read, In which the reverend doctor said That they must fight for Stonington.

A townsman bade them, next, attend To sundry resolutions penn'd, By which they promised to defend With sword and gun, old Stonington.

The s.h.i.+ps advancing different ways, The britons soon began to blaze, And put th' old women in amaze, Who fear'd the loss of Stonington.

The yankees to their fort repair'd, And made as though they little cared For all that came--though very hard The cannon play'd on Stonington.

The Ramillies began the attack, Despatch came forward--bold and black-- And none can tell what kept them back From setting fire to Stonington.