"And as for you, enlisted crew, We'll raise your honours higher: Pray turn your eye, where you must lie, In yonder burning fire." Then naked in those flames they're cast, Too dreadful 'tis to tell, Where they must fry, and burn and die, Nor son, nor sire, these tigers spare,- Methinks I hear some sprightly youth, "But O! there's none to save my life, I see the tomahawk and knife, I little thought I should be brought "I hoped for many a joyful day, "Farewell, foud mother; late I was, Your heart would ache, and even break, "Farewell, indulgent parents dear, I now must die, and here must lie "For O! the fatal hour is come, I see the bloody knife,- Nor transitory dream. The Forty Fort was the resort, To save them from the cruel rage, Now, when the news of this defeat, You well may know our dreadful woe, A doleful sound is whispered round, The nightly gloom forebodes our doom, How can we bear the dreadful spear, And if we run, the awful gun, Will rob us of our life. But Heaven! kind Heaven, propitious power! His hand we must adore. He did assuage the savage rage, That they should kill no more. The gloomy night now gone and past, The sun returns again, The little birds from every bush, With aching hearts and trembling hands Some men were chose to meet this flag, This olive leaf was granted life, And now poor Westmoreland is lost, They did agree in black and white, But O! they've robbed us of our all, And we'll rejoice and bless the Lord, And now I've told my mournful tale, To help our cause and break the jaws In the same year, appeared from the press of Thomas and Samuel Green, New Haven, a pamphlet entitled Poems, occasioned by several circumstances and reminiscences in the present grand contest of America for Liberty. The author has been ascertained by the Rev. Stephen Dodd, of East Haven church, who has republished the poems,* to have been the Rev. Wheeler Case, pastor of the Presbyterian church of Pleasant Valley, Dutchess county, New York. He states in his preface that some of the pieces have been written merely for amusement, and others with design to promote the cause of liberty, into whose Treasury he casts his mite in publishing them. They are quaint and spirited expressions of patriotism and piety, mainly elicited by the defeat of Burgoyne. The struggle is symbolized by a contest between the eagle and the crane, in which the latter (in 1776) is hopefully made to come off victorious. The "tragical death of Miss M'Crea" is celebrated with more feeling than art. In the verses, "An Answer to the Messengers of the Nation," with a text from Isaiah, the writer expresses the not uncommon feeling of the pulpit of those days towards General Washington, who was looked to as a deliverer under the protection of heaven, “the sword of the Lord and of Gideon." We give two passages from this old volume for their earnestness and their historical value. WASHINGTON. Let not my theme by any be abus'd, Tho' Zion's founded, means must yet be us'. Revolutionary Memorials, embracing Poems by the Rev. Wheeler Case. New York: M. W. Dodd. 1852. Jer. xlvili. 10. Gideon went forth against a mighty host, Where did he learn this skill, or whence this might? Hail-stones from heaven were sent, and flames of fire. The sun and moon are stopp'd, they cease to run, Rais'd up his eye, his mandate sent abroad, "Till I have crush'd my foes and done JEHOVAH's will. O what a blessing to the States! it is our bliss, THE FALL OF BURGOYNE. Is this Burgoyne, Burgoyne the great, Is't he that made the earth to tremble, General Washington ordered a number of fires to be made, and kept burning till towards day. In the middle of the night he made a forced march to Princeton, where he attacked and took two regiments stationed there. In the morning Howe was preparing to attack Washington, and much elated with expectations of crushing him, sent out his spies to make discoveries; but to his great surprise was soon informed where Washington was, by hearing the heavy cannonade at Princeton. That doth great Babel's king resemble, To Indians he gives stretch no more, His titles he proclaims no more, No more his triumphs spread, Where is his great and mighty host, The sons of Anak, Britain's boast? They caught Burgoyne with all his crew, Great WASHINGTON, that man of might, Unless with speed he takes his flight, During this year Rivington's contributors kept up a constant succession of pasquinades. We quote a few: LIN. : NEW YORK, October 24, 1778. INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY. We learn from Philadelphia, that there was lately exhibited in that city, an admirable Farce called INDEPENDENCE. Who was the author is not positively known. Some people are of opinion, that it is the work of a certain Quack Doctor, called FRANKOthers assert, that it is the joint production of the strolling company by whom it was acted; it is, however, generally allowed, that one Adams gave the first hint, contrived the plot, and cast the parts. It appeared in the exhibition so tragi-comical that the audience were at a loss whether to laugh or cry, they were, however, well pleased with the catastrophe, and joined heartily in the following chorus, which was sung by the excellent actor who played the part of the PRESIDENT. The celebrated Voltaire somewhere relates, that a song was the cause of the REFORMATION in France. SONG. Our farce is now finish'd, your sport's at an end, Derry down, down, hey derry down, On this puny stage we have strutted our hour, And have acted our parts to the best of our power That the farce has concluded not perfectly well Was surely the fault of the Devil in Hell. Derry down, &c. This Devil, you know, out of spleen to the church, Since this is the case, we must e'en make the best And cheerfully drink life and health to the King. Let Washington now from his mountains descend, Who knows but in George he may still find a friend. A Briton, although he loves bottle and wench, Our great Independence we give to the wind, And pray that Great Britain may once more be kind, In this jovial song all hostility ends, And Britons and we will for ever be friends. Boy, fill me a bumper, now join in the chorus, Good night, my good people, retire to your houses, And ratify all with a conjugal kiss. Derry down, &c. Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold, What is become of Monsieur de la Mothe; Whoever these important points explains, This was followed on the 27th of the same month by THE SIEGE OF SAVANNAH. Come let us rejoice, With heart and with voice Her triumphs let loyalty show, sir, Huzza, for the King and Prevost, sir. With warlike parade, And his Irish brigade, His ships and his spruce Gallic host, sir, D'Estaing came himself, And landed on Georgia's coast, sir. There joining a band, Under Lincoln's command, Of rebels and traitors and Whigs, sir, 'Gainst the town of Savannah, He planted his banner, And then he felt wonderous big, sir. With thund'ring of guns, He thought to have frighted our Boys, sir, But amidst all their din, Brave Maitland push'd in, And Moncrieff cry'd," a fig for your noise, sir." Scarce three thousand men, 'Gainst three times their number of foes, sir, Of wounded and slain, Three thousand to fatten the crows, sir. Three thousand? No less! For the rebels confess Some loss, as you very well know, sir, And re-echo the sound, Huzza for the King and Prevost, sir. A poem on Washington, dated in 1779, merits insertion here. Let venal poets praise a King A volunteer, unbrib'd I sing When Gaul came on with rapid stride, First shone his country's future pride, With conquest crown'd, from war's alarms, Elate with fancied pow'r and pride, With them a tribe of foreign slaves For plunder bold, inur'd to blood, His country calls, to arms he flies, In vain the British tyrant storms, The willing Chiefs around him throng, Their noble ardour he restrains, And points the surer way. Pursue, Great Chief, the glorious race- New Hampshire Gazette, Oct. 12, 1779. We now come to one of the most famous pieces of verse composed during the war. It owes its reputation, however, more to the untimely death of its author than to its own merits. Having already given, in our extract from Hamilton, the best account of the most memorable portion of André's life, we present without further preface THE COW-CHASE. CANTO I. To drive the kine one summer's morn, The calf shall rue that is unborn * General Wayne's legal occupation. And Wayne descending steers shall know And call to mind in ev'ry low The tanning of his hide. Yet Bergen cows still ruminate What mighty means were used to get For many heroes bold and brave And sons of distant Delaware All wondrous proud in arms they came, To tread the rugged path to fame, At six the Host with sweating buff, When Wayne who thought he'd time enough, O ye whom glory doth unite Who Freedom's cause espouse, Whether the wing that's doomed to fight Ere yet you tempt your further way Intemp❜rate valor then will string, Their Fort and block-houses we'll level, We'll drive the scoundrels to the devil, I under cover of th' attack, Whilst you are all at blows, From English Neighb'rhood and Tinack* For well you know the latter is And fighting with the Refugees His daring words from all the crowd, For serious work with Wayne. But here the Muse has not a strain * Villages in New Jersey. CANTO II. Near his meridian pomp, the sun The sounds confused of boasting oaths, Some vow'd to sleep in dead men's clothes At Irving's nod 'twas fine to see, The while the drovers, Wayne and Lee, Which Irving 'twas fame don't relate, For greatly one was signalized, Yet their attendance upon Proctor, Let none uncandidly infer, That Stirling wanted spunk, The self-made peer had sure been there, For them the unrelenting hand And some within a dungeon's gloom, Here one bewails a brother's fate And silver'd grandsires here appear'd Of reverend manners that declared, And make the block-house crack. But 'tis a d-ble mistake, The firmer as the rebels pressed, The loyal heroes stand; Virtue had nerv'd each honest breast, And industry each hand. In valour's phrensy, Hamilton * Vide Lee's Trial. And Secretary Harrison, With pen stuck in his wig. In death shalt hear her mourn thy doom, Thee Nathan Pumpkin, I lament, Of melancholy fate, The gray goose stolen as he went, The fray assum'd, the Gen'rals thought, Yet undismay'd the chiefs command, Cry, SOLDIERS CHARGE! they hear, they stand, CANTO III. Not all delights the bloody spear, Or horrid din of battle, There are, I'm sure, who'd like to hear, A word about the cattle. The chief whom we beheld of late, The tears of woman and of child, Who begg'd he'd leave the cows. Not all the blessings could impart For now a prey to female charms, Than driving cows or fighting: And all in tears she took him by Hear, said the nymph, O great commander! The trees you see them cutting yonder, And I, forlorn! implore thine aid, To free the sacred grove: So shall thy prowess be repaid |