Mahoney, Crew, and Clemmons,
The valiant and the brave,
Fell glorious in the contest,
And met a watery grave.
Ten other men were wounded
Among our warlike crew,
With them our noble captain,

To whom all praise is due;
To him and all our officers,
Let's give a hearty cheer:
Success to fair America,

And our good privateer /

FRANCIS HOPKINSON was one of the greatest wits of his time, and his satires, epigrams, songs, and other compositions, in verse and prose, were among the happiest productions of their kind written during the Revolution. The "Battle of the Kegs," is the most celebrated of his songs. It was occasioned by a real incident. Certain machines, in the form of kegs, charged with gunpowder, were sent down the river to annoy the British shipping then at Philadelphia. The danger of these machines being discovered, the British manned the wharves and shipping, and discharged their small arms and cannons at every thing they saw floating in the river during the ebb tide.

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS.
Gallants attend and hear a friend,
Trill forth harmonious ditty,

Strange things I'll tell which late befel
In Philadelphia city.

"T was early day, as poets say
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood,
And saw a thing surprising.
As in amaze he stood to gaze,

The truth can't be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor too in jerkin blue,

This strange appearance viewing,
First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise,
Then said some mischief's brewing.

These kegs, I'm told, the rebels bold,
Pack 'd up like pickling herring;

And they're come down t'attack the town,
In this new way of ferrying.

The soldier flew, the sailor too,

And scared almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cry'd, which some denied,
But said the earth had quaked;

And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the streets half naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea,

Lay all this time a snoring,

Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm,
In bed with Mrs. L—g.

Now in a fright, he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;

He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,

For God's sake, what's the matter?

Captain Hawthorne was wounded in the head by a musket ball. His ship was called "The Fair American.”

At his bed-side he then espy'd,
Sir Erskine at command, sir,
Upon one foot, he had one boot,

And th' other in his hand, sir.
"Arise, arise, Sir Erskine cries,
The rebels-more's the pity,
Without a boat, are all afloat
And rang'd before the city.
"The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir;
Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.
"Therefore prepare for bloody war,

These kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,

And British courage doubted."
The royal band, now ready stand

All ranged in dread array, sir;
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since war's began I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded;
The distant wood, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,

Attack'd from every quarter;

Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay
'Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, 't is said, though strongly made,
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir;
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sir.

From morn to night these men of might
Display'd amazing courage;

And when the sun was fairly down
Retired to sup their porrage.

An hundred men with cach a pen,
Or more upon my word sir,

It is most true would be too few,
Their valour to record, sir.

Such feats did they perform that day,
Against these wicked kegs, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,

They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.

We give but one other specimen of the minstrelsy of the revolution: American Taxation, written by a schoolmaster of Connecticut, named St. John. We know of nothing produced in this country at so early a period that is equal to it:

AMERICAN TAXATION.
While I relate my story,
Americans give ear;
Of Britain's fading glory,
You presently shall hear;
'll give a true relation,
Attend to what I say,
Concerning the taxation
Of North America.

The cruel lords of Britain,
Who glory in their sham.2,
The project they have hit on
They joyfully proclaim;
"Tis what they're striving after,
Our right to take away,
And rob us of our charter.

In North America.

There are two mighty speakers,

Who rule in Parliament,
Who ever have been seeking

Some mischief to invent;
"Twas North, and Bute his father,
The horrid plan did lay,
A mighty tax to gather
In North America.

They search'd the gloomy regions

Of the infernal pit,
To find among their legions
One who excell'd in wit;
To ask of him assistance,

Or tell them how they may
Subdue without resistance
This North America.

Old Satan, the arch traitor,
Who rules the burning lake,
Where he's chief navigator,
Resolved a voyage to take.
For the Britannic ocean

He launches far away,
To land he had no notion
In North America.

He takes his seat in Britain,
It was his soul's intent,
Great George's throne to sit on,
And rule the Parliament;
His comrades were pursuing
A diabolic way,

For to complete the ruin
Of North America.

He tried the art of magic

To bring his schemes about,
At length the gloomy project
He artfully found out:
The plan was long indulged
In a clandestine way,
But lately was divulged
In North America.
These subtle arch-combiners
Address'd the British court,
All three were undersigners

Of this obscure report-
There is a pleasant landscape
That lieth far away,
Beyond the wide Atlantic,
In North America.
There is a wealthy people,

Who sojourn in that land,

Their churches all with steeples
Most delicately stand,

Their houses, like the gilly,
Are painted red and gay:
They flourish like the lily,
In North America.

Their land with milk and honey
Continually doth flow,

The want of food or money
They seldom ever know;
They heap up golden treasure,
They have no debts to pay,

They spend their time in pleasure,
In North America.

On turkeys, fowls, and fishes,
Most frequently they dine,
With gold and silver dishes

Their tables always shine,

They crown their feasts with butter,

They eat and rise to play,

In silks their ladies flutter,
In North America.

With gold and silver laces

They do themselves adorn,
The rubies deck their faces,
Refulgent as the morn!
Wine sparkles in their glasses,
They spend each happy day
In merriment and dances,
In North America.

Let not our suit affront you,
When we address your throne,
O king, this wealthy country
And subjects are your own,
And you, their rightful sovereign,
They truly must obey,
You have a right to govern

This North America.

O king, you've heard the sequel
Of what we now subscribe,
Is it not just and equal

To tax this wealthy tribe?
The question being asked,
His majesty did say.
My subjects shall be taxed
In North America.
Invested with a warrant,
My publicans shall go,
The tenth of all their current
They surely shall bestow;
If they indulge rebellion,

Or from my precepts stray,
I'll send my war battalion
To North America.

I'll rally all my forces

By water and by land,
My light dragoons and horses
Shall go at my command,
I'll burn both town and city,
With smoke becloud the day,
I'll show no human pity
For North America.

Go on, my hearty soldiers,
You need not fear of ill-
There's Hutchinson and Rogers,
Their functions will fulfil-
They tell such ample stories,
Believe them sure we may,
One half of them are tories
In North America.

My gallant ships are ready

To hoist you o'er the flood,
And in my cause be steady,

Which is supremely good;
Go ravage, steal, and plunder,
And you shall have the prey
They quickly will knock under
In North America.

The laws I have enacted,
I never will revoke,
Although they are neglected,
My fury to provoke,

I will forbear to flatter,

I'll rule the mighty sway,
I'll take away the charter
From North America.

O George! you are distracted,
You'll by experience find
The laws you have enacted
Are of the blackest kind.
I'll make a short digression,
And tell you by the way,
We fear not your oppression,
In North America.

Our fathers were distressed,
While in their native land;
By tyrants were oppressed,
As I do understand;
From freedom and religion

They were resolved to stray,
And try the desert regions
Of North America.

Kind Heaven was their protector
While on the roaring tide,
Kind fortune their director,

And Providence their guide;

If I am not mistaken,

About the first of May, This voyage was undertaken For North America.

To sail they were commanded

About the hour of noon,
At Plymouth shore they landed,
The twenty-first of June;
The savages were nettled,
With fear they fled away,
Bo peaceably they settled
On North America.

We are their bold descendants,
For liberty we'll fight,
The claim to independence

We challenge as our right; Tis what kind Heaven gave us, Who can it take away?

O, Heaven, sure, will save us,
In North America.

We never will knock under,
O, George, we do not fear
The rattling of your thunder,

Nor lightning of your spear:
Though rebels you declare us,

We're strangers to dismay; Therefore you cannot scare us, In North America.

We have a bold commander, Who fears not sword nor gun, The second Alexander,

His name is Washington;

His men are all collected,
And ready for the fray,
To fight they are directed
For North America.

We've Greene and Gates and Putnam To manage in the field,

A gallant train of footmen,

Who'd rather die than yield;

A stately troop of horsemen,
Train d in a martial way,

For to augment our forces
In North America.

Proud George, you are engaged
All in a dirty cause,
A cruel war have waged
Repugnant to all laws.
Go tell the savage nations
You're crueler than they,
To fight your own relations
In North America.

Ten millions you 've expended,
And twice ten millions more;
Our riches, you intended

Should pay the mighty score.
Who now will stand your sponsor,
Your charges to defray?
For sure you cannot conquer
This North America.

I'll tell you, George, in metre,
If you'll attend awhile:
We forced your bold Sir Peter
From Sullivan's fair isle,
At Monmouth too we gained
The honours of the day-
The victory we obtained
For North America.
Surely we were your betters

Hard by the Brandywine;
We laid him fast in fetters

Whose name was John Burgoyne;
We made your Howe to tremble
With terror and dismay;
True heroes we resemble,
In North America.

Confusion to the tories,

That black infernal name,
In which Great Britain glories,
For ever to her shame;
We'll send each foul revolter

To smutty Africa,

Or noose him in a halter,
In North America.

A health to our brave footmen,
Who handle sword and gun,
To Greene and Gates and Putnam
And conquering Washington;
Their names be wrote in letters
Which never will decay,
While sun and moon do glitter
On North America.

Success unto our allies

In Holland, France and Spain,
Who man their ships and galleys,
Our freedom to maintain;
May they subdu the rangers

Of proud Britannia,

And drive them from their anchors
In North America.
Success unto the Congress

Of these United States.
Who glory in the conquests

Of Washington and Gates;
To all, both land and seamen,
Who usher in the day,

When we shall all be freemen
In North America.

Success to legislation,

That rules with gentle hand,
To trade and navigation,
By water and by land;
May all with one opinion
Our wholesome laws obey,
Throughout this vast dominion
Of North America.

The "old and antique songs" we have quoted are not eminently poetical, and the fastidious reader aay fancy there are in some of them qualities that sh 'uld have prevented their publication. We appeal to the antiquaries. The "Cow Chase" will live long ter the light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy paced times are forgotten, and, with other songs and ballads of our Revolution, will in the next century be prized more highly than the richest gems of Percy or Motherv ell. They are the very mirrors of the times in which 1 tey were sung. As may have been observed, we have gi en none of the lyrics of Freneau. Free, daring, hon st, and with sarcastic powers which made his pen as

terrible to the Tories and the British officers as that of Coleridge was to Napoleon, he did as good service to the great cause from his obscure printing office, as many a more celebrated patriot did in camp or legislature. The energy and exultation with which he recounted, in rapidly written songs, the successes of the Whigs, were equaled only by the keenness of his wit, and the appositeness of his humour. Nor was it in satire and song alone that he excelled. Though we claim not for him, superior as he was to his American contemporaries, the praise due to a true poet, some of his pieces are distinguished for a directness of expression, a manliness, fervour, and fine poetical feeling, that will secure for them a permanent place in our literature. Yet Freneau-the patriot, poet, soldier died miserably poor, within the last ten years, while the national legislature was anxiously debating what should be done with the "surplus money in the treasury."

MATHER BYLES AND JOSEPH GREEN.

THE facetious MATHER BYLES was in his time equally famous as a poet and a wit. A contemporary bard exclaims

Would but Apollo's genial touch inspire

Such sounds as breathe from Byles's warbling lyre,
Then might my notes in melting measures flow,
And make all nature wear the signs of wo.

And his humour is celebrated in a poetical account of the clergy of Boston, quoted by Mr. Samuel Kettell, in his "Specimens of American Poetry,”

There's punning Byles, provokes our smiles,
A man of stately parts.

He visits folks to crack his jokes,
Which never mend their hearts.

With strutting gait, and wig so great,
He walks along the streets,

And throws out wit, or what's like it,
To every one he meets.

Byles was graduated at Cambridge in 1725, and was ordained the first minister of the church in Hollis street, in 1732. He soon became eminent as a preacher, and the King's College at Aberdeen conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. He was one of the authors of" Collec. on of Poems by several Hands," which appeared in 1744, and of numerous essays and metrical compositions in "The New England Weekly Journal," the merit of which was such as to introduce him to the notice of Pope and other English scholars. One of his poems is entitled "The Conflagration;" and is "applied to that grand catastrophe of our world when the face of nature is to be changed by a deluge of fire." The following lines show its style

Yet shall ye, flames, the wasting globe refine,
And bid the skies with purer splendour shine.
The earth, which the prolific fires consume,
To beauty burns, and withers into bloom;
Improving in the fertile flame it lies,
Fades into form, and into vigour dies:
Fresh-dawning glories blush amidst the blaze,
And nature all renews her flowery face.
With endless charms the everlasting year
Rolls round the seasons in a full career;
Spring, ever-blooming, bids the fields rejoice,
And warbling birds try their melodious voice;
Where'er she treads, lilies unbidden blow,
Quick tulips rise and sudden roses glow:

Her pencil paints a thousand beauteous scenes Where blossoms bud amid immortal greens; Each stream, in mazes, murmurs as it flows, And floating forests gently bend their boughs. Thou, autumn, too, sitt'st in the fragrant shade, While the ripe fruits blush all around thy head: And lavish nature, with luxuriant hands, All the soft months in gay confusion blends. Byles was earnestly opposed to the Revolution, and in the spring of 1777, was denounced in the public assemblies as a tory, and compelled to give bonds for his appearance before a court for trial. In the follow. ing June he was convicted of treasonable conversa. tion, and hostility to the country, and sentenced to be imprisoned forty days on board a guard-ship, and at the end of that period to be sent with his family to England. The board of war, however, took his case into consideration, and commuted the pun.shment to a short confinement under a guard in his own house; but, though he continued to reside in Boston during the remainder of his life, he never again entered a pulpit, nor regained his ante-revolutionary popularity. He died in 1788, in the eighty-second year of his age.

He was a favourite in every social or convivial circle, and no one was more fond of his society than the colonial governor, Belcher, on the death of whose wife he wrote an elegy ending with

Meantime my name to thine allied shall stand,
Still our warm friendship, mutual flames extend;
The muse shall so survive from age to age,

And Belcher's name protect his Byles's page. The doctor had declined an invitation to visit with the governor the province of Maine, and Belcher resorted to a stratagem to secure his company. Having persuaded him to drink tea with him on board the Scarborough ship of war, one Sunday afternoon, as soon as they were seated at the table the anchor was weighed, the sails set, and before the punning parson had called for his last cup, the ship was too far at sea for him to think of returning to the shore. As every thing necessary for his comfort had been thoughtfully provided, he was easily reconciled to the voyage. While making preparations for religious services, the next Sunday, it was discovered that there was no hymn book on board, and he wrote the following lines, which were sung instead of a selection from Sternhold and Hopkins

Great God, thy works our wonder raise;

To thee our swelling notes belong;
While skies and winds, and rocks and seas,
Around shall echo to our song.

Thy power produced this mighty frame,
Aloud to thee the tempests roar,
Or softer breezes tune thy name
Gently along the shelly shore.
Round thee the scaly nation roves,

Thy opening hands their joys bestow,
Through all the blushing coral groves,
These silent gay retreats below.
See the broad sun forsake the skies,
Glow on the waves, and downward glide;
Anon heaven opens all its eyes,

And star-beams tremble o'er the tide.
Each various scene, or day or night,
Lord! points to thee our nourish'd soul:
The glories fix our whole delight:

So the touch'd needle courts the pole.

JOSEPH GREEN, a merchant of Boston, who had been

a classmate of Byles at Cambridge, was little less cele-
brated than the doctor for humour; and some of his
poetical compositions were as popular ninety years ago
as in our own time have been those of "Croaker &
Co.," which they resemble in spirit and playful ease
of versification. The abduction of the Hollis street
minister was the cause of not a little merriment in
Boston; and Green, between whom and Byles there
was some rivalry, as the leaders of opposing social
factions, soon after wrote a burlesque account of it--
In David's Psalms an oversight
Byles found one morning at his tea,
Alas! that he should never write
A proper psalm to sing at sea.
Thus ruminating on his seat,

Ambitious thoughts at length prevail'd;
The bard determined to complete

The part wherein the prophet fail'd.

He sat awhile and stroked his muse,*
Then taking up his tuneful pen,
Wrote a few stanzas for the use

Of his seafaring bretheren.
The task perform'd, the bard content,
Well chosen was each flowing word;
On a short voyage himself he went,

To hear it read and sung on board.
Most serious Christians do aver,
(Their credit sure we may rely on,)
In former times that after prayer,

They used to sing a song of Zion.
Our modern parson having pray'd,
Unless loud fame our faith beguiles,
Sat down, took out his book and said,
"Let's sing a psalm of Mather Byles."

At first, when he began to read,
Their heads the assembly downward hung,
But he with boldness did proceed,

And thus he read, and thus they sung.

THE PSALM.

With vast amazement we survey

The wonders of the deep,

Where mackerel swim, and porpoise play,
And crabs and lobsters creep.

Fish of all kinds inhabit here,
And throng the dark abode.
Here haddock, hake, and flounders are,
And eels, and perch, and cod.

From raging winds and tempests free,
So smoothly as we pass,

The shining surface seems to be
A piece of Bristol glass.

But when the winds and tempest rise,
And foaming billows swell,
The vessel mounts above the skies
And lower sinks than hell.

Our heads the tottering motion feel,
And quickly we become

Giddy as new-dropp'd calves, and ree!
Like Indians drunk with rum.
What praises then are due that we
Thus far have safely got,
Amarescoggin tribe to see,

And tribe of Penobscot.

and several shorter pieces, all of which I believe were satirical. His epigrams are the best written in this country before the Revolution; and many anecdotes are told to show the readiness of his wit and his skill as an improvisator. On one occasion, a country gentleman, knowing his reputation as a poet, procured an introduction to him, and solicited a “first rate +p-ph" for a favourite servant who had lately died. Green asked what were the man's chief qualities, and was told that "Cole excelled in all things, but was particu larly good at raking hay, which he could do faster than anybody, the present company, of course, excepted." Green wrote immediately

Here lies the body of John Cole,

His master Joved him like his soul;

He could rake hay, none could rake faster
Except that raking dog, his master.

In his old age Green left Boston for England, rather from the infirmities of age, than from indifference to the cause of liberty.

1

EDWARD RANDOLPH.

EDWARD RANDOLPH, says Moore, was called the "evil genius" of New England, and was the most inveterate and indefatigable of those intriguing men who found access to the royal ear of Charles II., with complaints against the colonies. On this mischievous business, he made no less than eight voyages in nine years across the Atlantic. In 1676, he was sent over by royal authority to inquire into the state of the colonies. He brought with him copies of the petitions of Mason and Gorges relative to their patent of New Hampshire, the limits of which interfered with the grants to Massachu

setts.

While he was in Boston, he represented that the province was refractory, and disobedient to the requisitions of the crown. He was zealous to promote the cause of episcopacy, and to destroy the New England churches; and he was the principal instrument of depriving the inhabitants of Massachusetts of their charter privileges, the people against whom he had conceived a most violent antipathy. When the charter was taken away, and James II. succeeded to the crown, the king appointed a council to govern the province, of which Dudley was president, and Randolph was one named in the commission The next year, Sir Edmund Andros arrived with a commission to be governor of New England. Randolph was a conspicuous character during his short administration, and involved in his fate. How much the people were exasperated against him, appears by their refusing him bail when he applied, and when it was granted to cthers. The house of representatives, June 25, 1689, voted "that Mr. E. Randolph is not bailable, he having broken a capital law of the colony, in endeavouring and accomplishing the subversion of our government, and having been an evil counsellor." Randolph died in the West Indies. It was said, that he always retained his prejudices against the churches and people of Mas sachusetts. On the other hand, the inhabitants of that province, who once held him in abhorrence, regarded him and his reproaches with the utmost contempt.

From a letter of Randolph to Governor Winslow, written January 29, 1679,* published in the Collections of the Mass. Hist. Soc. vol. vi, p. 92, it appears that he had just returned from New Hampshire, where he The date ought undoubtedly to be 1680