But, ah! what submission, repentance, or pain-
What treaties can call up the souls of the slain?
Can comfort Affliction, or soothe the sad cares
Of parents, and widows, and orphans in tears?
"These shouts that I hear from yon wide western
plains,
Where distant Hibernia lies panting in chains;
Those pale bleeding corpses thick strewed o'er the
ground,
Those law-sanctioned heroes triumphing around;
These speak in the voice of the loud roaring flood,
And write this stern lesson in letters of blood:
Oppression may prosecute-Force bend the knee,
But free is that nation that wills to be free.
"Ye then who imperiously hold it at will,
The blood and the treasures of Britons to spill,
While Mis'ry implores while such dangers impend,
While all is at stake, oh! in mercy attend;
Let War, the sad source of these sorrows, soon cease,
And bless a poor land with the comforts of peace:
Her commerce and credit to heal and restore,
Or Britain will fade to reflourish no more."
She ceased; the sad tribute of tears followed fast, While bleak lowered the heavens, and loud rose the
Ascending in flashes the steep eastern sky,
The deep-rolling horrors of battle drew nigh;
A thick gloomy darkness, of misery and dread,
Fell dismal, and Britain's lone regions o'erspread,
And nought could be seen but the lightning's pale
glow,
Or heard, but the shrieks and the wailings of woe.
POETICAL LETTER TO WILLIAM DUNCAN,
HIS NEPHEW,
SENECA COUNTY, NEW YORK STATE.
HERE left o'er books and figured slates to pore,
While you the wilds of Northern woods explore;
How wide removed from social converse sweet!
How parted! haply never more to meet.
Yet, though detained by Fate's superior will,
My faithful following heart attends you still,
And borne on Fancy's wings to Northern lakes,
In all your toils, and all your joys partakes.
I saw, when full equipt with knapsack load,
You and your fellow-pilgrim took the road,
A road immense-yet promised joys so dear,
That toils, and doubts, and dangers disappear.
I saw you then, hope sparkled in your eye,
Pierce the deep wood and scale the mountain high,
Pass where the Lelu rolls her silver tide,
Cross nameless brooks, and streams, and rivers wide
Now down through dismal swamps pursue your way,
Where pine and hemlocks thick obscure the day,
Whose mingled tops, an hundred feet in air,
The clustering nest of swarming pigeons bear;
Thence climb the rugged mountain's barren side,
Where snorting bears through rustling forests glide;
Where Wilkesbarre's fertile plains extend in view,
And far in front the Allegany blue,
Immensely stretched. While in the vale below
The painted cots and coloured meadows glow,
Beyond this little town, 'midst fields of grass,
With thoughtful hearts the fatal field you pass,
Where Indian force prevailed, by murder fired,
And warriors brave, by savage hordes expired.
Advancing still the river's course you keep,
And pass the rugged, narrow, dangerous steep.
Thence vales and mountains rude promiscuous lie,
And wretched huts disgust the passing eye;
Sure sign of sloth within, that will not toil,
But starves in rags upon the richest soil.
Through Wilhalvossing now your steps you bend,
Where numerous herds and pastures rich extend;
But hens and sheep here lucklessly decay,
To wolves and foxes sly a nightly prey.
High on the steep that near Tioga soars,
Where deep below the parted river roars,
With cautious steps and throbbing hearts you go,
And eye the gulph profound that yawns below,
Or from the height sublime, around descry
One waste of woods encircling earth and sky;
Now sunk in hoary woods you scour along,
Rousing the echoes with your jovial song,
Through scenes where late the sculking Indian trod,
Adorned with scalps and smeared with infants' blood.
See Nature's rudest scenes around you rise,
Observe some ancient trees stupendous size,
Gaze while the startled deer shoots bounding by,
And wish the deadly rifle at your eye;
Or stop some settler's fertile fields to see,
And say, so our own fields shall shortly be.
Ten days of tedious toil and marching past,
The long-expected scenes appear at last,
The lake through chequering trees, extended blue_
Huzza! huzza! Old Seneca's in view;
With flying hat you hail the glorious spot,
And every toil and every care's forgot.
So when of late we plowed the Atlantic waves,
And left a land of despots and their slaves,
With hearts o'erjoyed Columbia's shores we spied,
And gave our cares and sorrows to the tide.
Still with success may all your toils be blest,
And this new enterprise crown all the rest.
Soon may your glittering axe with strength applied
The circling bark from massy trunks divide.
Or, wheeled in air, while the deep woods resound,
Bring crashing forests, thundering to the ground.
Soon may your fires in flaming piles ascend,
And girdled trees their wintry limbs extend;
Soon may your oxen clear the roots away,
And give the deep black surface to the clay,
While fields of richest grain and pasture good,
Shall wave where Indians strayed and forests stood,
And as you sweat the rustling sheaves among,
The adjoining woods shall echo to your song.
These are the scenes of purest joy below,
From these health, peace, and independence flow.
Blest with the purest air and richest soil,
What generous harvests recompense your toil.
Here no proud lordling lifts his haughty crest,
No scoundrel landlord tramples the opprest,
No thief in black demands his tenth in sheaves,
But man from God abundantly receives.
In rustic dress you cheerful range the woods,
Health makes you gay, and simple manners good.
Society's whole joys your bosoms know,
And Plenty's smiling bliss, without its woe.
Farewell, dear Bill, thy hardy toi's pursue;
Keep Independence constantly in view;
Fear not success. If one attempt should fail,
Fate yields when strength and constancy assail.
Store up thy harvests, sow thy winter grain,
Prepare thy troughs the maple's juice to drain.
Then, when the wintry North outrageous blows,
And nought is seen but one wide waste of snows,
Ascend the fleeting height, and, like the wind,
Sweep o'er the snows and leave the woods behind,
Along the rugged swamp and mountain high,
'Mid rocks and narrows, make thy horses fly;
Shoot o'er the Susquehanna's frozen face,
And bleak Wyoming's lofty hills retrace,
Nor let the hunter's hut, or ven'sons stale,
Or his loved bottle, or his wondrous tale
Of bears and deer, thy lingering steps detain,
But swift descend and seek the southern plain.
Here where the clouds of Philadelphia rise,
And little Milestone's scattered village lies;
Where o'er the road the pointed eagle waves,
And Ralph's good grog the shivering sinner saves.
Here shall thy faithful friend, with choicest store
Of wine and roast-beef, welcome thee once more,
And friendship's social joys shall crown the whole,
"The feast of reason, and the flow of soul."
Recited by the Author, in the character of a poor pedlar, in the
Pantheon, Edinburgh, in the debate on the question "Whether
is Disappointment in Love, or the Loss of Fortune hardest to
bear."
BOUT-GATES I hate, quo' girning Maggy Pringle,
Syne harled Watty, greeting, through the ingle.
Since this fell question seems sae lang to hing on,
In twa-three words I'll gie ye my opinion.
I wha stand here, in this bare scoury coat,
Was ance a packman, wordy mony a groat:
I've carried packs as big's your meikle table;
I've scarted pats, and sleepit in a stable :
Sax pounds I wadna' for my pack ance ta'en,
And I could bauldly brag 'twas a' mine ain.
Aye! thae were days indeed, that gart me hope,
Aeblins, through time, to warsle up a shop:
I kend my Kate wad grapple at me than.
O Kate was past compare! sic cheeks! sic een,
Sic smiling looks, were never, never seen.
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