The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 14

Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A brighter suns.h.i.+ne of their own.

[104] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, November 21, 1781. The patriot army under Greene spent the summer of 1781 in the High Hills of Santee, in South Carolina. "On the 22d of August, Greene broke up his camp very quietly and started out on the last of his sagacious campaigns.... By vigilant scouting parties, he so completely cut off the enemy's means of information that Stuart remained ignorant of his approach until he was close at hand. The British commander then fell back on Eutaw Springs, about fifty miles from Charleston, where he waited in a strong position. The battle of Eutaw Springs may be resolved into two brief actions between sunrise and noon of the 8th of September, 1781. In the first action the British line was broken and driven from the field. In the second, Stuart succeeded in forming a new line, supported by a brick house and palisaded garden, and from this position Greene was unable to drive him. It has therefore been set down as a British victory. If so, it was a victory followed the next evening by the hasty retreat of the victors, who were hotly pursued by Marion and Lee."--_Fiske._

[105] "In the two engagements the Americans lost in killed, wounded, and missing, five hundred and fifty-four men."--_Bancroft._

[106] Scott borrowed this line in the introduction to the third canto of _Marmion_, in the apostrophe to the Duke of Brunswick, which reads thus:

"Lamented Chief!--not thine the power To save in that presumptuous hour, When Prussia hurried to the field And s.n.a.t.c.hed the spear but left the s.h.i.+eld."

[107] After the first engagement the British fled in confusion. Greene, in his eagerness, pursued them too closely, and sheltered by the brick house, they inflicted upon the advancing Americans the greater part of the loss of life incurred during the battle.

ARNOLD'S DEPARTURE[108]

Imitated from Horace

"_Mala soluta navis exit alite Ferens olentem Maevium_," &c.

With evil omens from the harbour sails The ill-fated barque that worthless Arnold bears,-- G.o.d of the southern winds, call up the gales, And whistle in rude fury round his ears.

With horrid waves insult his vessel's sides, And may the east wind on a leeward sh.o.r.e Her cables part while she in tumult rides, And shatter into s.h.i.+vers every oar.

And let the north wind to her ruin haste, With such a rage, as when from mountains high He rends the tall oak with his weighty blast, And ruin spreads where'er his forces fly.

May not one friendly star that night be seen; No moon, attendant, dart one glimmering ray, Nor may she ride on oceans more serene Than Greece, triumphant, found that stormy day,

When angry Pallas spent her rage no more On vanquished Ilium, then in ashes laid, But turned it on the barque that Ajax[A] bore, Avenging thus her temple and the maid.

[A] Ajax the younger, son of Oileus, king of the Locrians. He debauched Ca.s.sandra in the temple of Pallas, which was the cause of his misfortune on his return from the siege of Troy.--_Freneau's note._

When tossed upon the vast Atlantic main Your groaning s.h.i.+p the southern gales shall tear, How will your sailors sweat, and you complain And meanly howl to Jove, that will not hear!

But if, at last, upon some winding sh.o.r.e A prey to hungry cormorants you lie, A wanton goat to every stormy power,[B]

And a fat lamb, in sacrifice, shall die.

[B] The _Tempests_ were G.o.ddesses amongst the Romans.--_Ib._

[108] First published in the July 10, 1782, issue of the _Freeman's Journal_, under the t.i.tle "The 10th Ode Horace's Book of Epodes Imitated. Written in December, 1781, upon the departure of General Arnold from New-York." The poem was reprinted verbatim in the 1786 edition.

"The capitulation at Yorktown having virtually put an end to the war, and Arnold, finding himself neither respected by the British officers nor likely to be further employed in the service, obtained permission from Sir Henry Clinton to go to England. He sailed from New York with his family in December, 1781."--_Sparks' Life of Arnold._

PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER, TO HIS FRIEND THEON[109]

_Semel omnibus calcanda via Lethi._--Hor.

Why, Theon, wouldst thou longer groan Beneath a weight of years and woe, Thy youth is lost, thy pleasures flown, And time proclaims, "'Tis time to go."

To willows sad and weeping yews With me a while, dear friend, repair,[110]

Nor to the vault thy steps refuse, Thy constant home shall soon be there.

To summer suns and winter moons Prepare to bid a long adieu, Autumnal seasons shall return And spring shall bloom, but not for you.

Why so perplext with cares and toil To rest upon this darksome road, 'Tis but a thin, a thirsty soil, A barren and a bleak abode.

Constrain'd to dwell with pain and care, These dregs of life are bought too dear, 'Tis better far to die than bear The torments of another year.[111]

Subjected to perpetual ills A thousand deaths around us grow, The frost the tender blossom kills, And roses wither as they blow.

Cold nipping winds thy fruits a.s.sail, The infant[112] apple seeks the ground, The peaches fall, the cherries fail, The grape receives a fatal wound.

The breeze that gently ought to blow Swells to a storm and rends the main, The sun that charm'd the gra.s.s to grow Turns hostile and consumes the plain;

The mountains waste, the sh.o.r.es decay, Once purling streams are dead and dry-- 'Twas nature's work--'tis nature's play, And nature says that all must die.

Yon' flaming lamp, the source of light, In chaos dark shall shroud his beam And leave the world to mother night, A farce, a phantom, or a dream.

What now is young must soon be old, Whate'er we love, we soon must leave, 'Tis now too hot, 'tis now too cold-- To live is nothing but to grieve.

How bright the morn her course begun, No mists bedimm'd the solar sphere-- The clouds arise--they shade the sun, For nothing can be constant here.

Now hope the longing soul employs, In expectation we are blest; But soon the airy phantom flies, For, lo! the treasure is possest.

Those monarchs proud that havoc spread, (While pensive nature[113] dropt a tear) Those monarchs have to darkness fled And ruin bounds their mad career.

The grandeur of this earthly round, Where Theon[114] would forever be, Is but a name, is but a sound-- Mere emptiness and vanity.

Give me the stars, give me the skies, Give me the heaven's remotest sphere, Above these gloomy scenes to rise Of desolation and despair.

Those native fires that warmed the mind Now languid grown too dimly glow, Joy has to grief the heart resigned And love itself is changed to woe.

The joys of wine are all you boast, These for a moment damp thy pain; The gleam is o'er, the charm is lost-- And darkness clouds the soul again.

Then seek no more for bliss below, Where real bliss can ne'er be found, Aspire where sweeter blossoms blow And fairer flowers bedeck the ground.

Where plants of life the plains invest And green eternal crowns the year, The little G.o.d within thy breast[115]

Is weary of his mansion here.

Like Phosphor clad in bright array[116]

His height meridian to regain, He can, nor will no longer stay[117]

To s.h.i.+ver on a frozen plain.