 | Collected poems of Samuel Davies : 1723-1761 |  |
170
[FRONTIER WARFARE]
[_]
Extract from a poem on the barbarities of the French, and their savage allies and proselytes, on the frontiers of Virginia. By Sam. Davies, A.M.
Long had a mungrel French and Indian brood
Our peaceful frontiers drench'd with British blood.
There Horror rang'd, and her dire ensigns bore,
Raw scalps her trophies, stiff with clotted gore;
The heart and bowels smoaking on the ground,
Still warm with life, and mangled corpses round.
There buzzards riot, and each ravenous fowl,
And all the monsters of the desart howl,
And gnaw the naked bones; there mix in fight,
Like Gallic tyrants, for their neighbour's right.
Our peaceful frontiers drench'd with British blood.
There Horror rang'd, and her dire ensigns bore,
Raw scalps her trophies, stiff with clotted gore;
The heart and bowels smoaking on the ground,
Still warm with life, and mangled corpses round.
There buzzards riot, and each ravenous fowl,
And all the monsters of the desart howl,
And gnaw the naked bones; there mix in fight,
Like Gallic tyrants, for their neighbour's right.
See yonder cottage, once the peaceful seat
Of all the pleasures of the nuptial state.
The sturdy son, the prattling infant, there,
And spotless virgin, bless'd the happy pair.
In gentle sleep, undreaming ill, they lay;
But oh! no more to see the chearful day.
Mad with the passions of an Indian foul,
The tawny furies in the thickets prowl,
Thro' the dark night, and watch the dawn of day,
To spring upon their unsuspecting prey.
The musket's deadly sound, or murder's screams,
Alarm the slumb'rers, and break off their dreams.
They start, and struggle, but in vain the strife,
To save their own, a child's, or parent's life,
Or dearer, still, a tender bleeding wife.
Now mingling blood with blood, confus'd they die,
And blended in promiscuous carnage lie.
Brains, hearts and bowels, swim in streams of gore,
Besmear the walls, and mingle on the floor.
Men, children, houses, cattle, harvests, all,
In undistinguishing destruction fall.
The infernal savages lift up the yell,
And rouse the terrors of the lowest hell:
Suck the fresh wound, in bloody puddles swill,
And thence imbibe a fiercer rage to kill.
From the raw skull the hairy scalp they tare,
And the dire pledge in savage triumph wear.
Of all the pleasures of the nuptial state.
The sturdy son, the prattling infant, there,
And spotless virgin, bless'd the happy pair.
In gentle sleep, undreaming ill, they lay;
But oh! no more to see the chearful day.
Mad with the passions of an Indian foul,
The tawny furies in the thickets prowl,
Thro' the dark night, and watch the dawn of day,
To spring upon their unsuspecting prey.
The musket's deadly sound, or murder's screams,
Alarm the slumb'rers, and break off their dreams.
They start, and struggle, but in vain the strife,
To save their own, a child's, or parent's life,
Or dearer, still, a tender bleeding wife.
171
And blended in promiscuous carnage lie.
Brains, hearts and bowels, swim in streams of gore,
Besmear the walls, and mingle on the floor.
Men, children, houses, cattle, harvests, all,
In undistinguishing destruction fall.
The infernal savages lift up the yell,
And rouse the terrors of the lowest hell:
Suck the fresh wound, in bloody puddles swill,
And thence imbibe a fiercer rage to kill.
From the raw skull the hairy scalp they tare,
And the dire pledge in savage triumph wear.
But see! on Mononghala's fatal banks,
Blood flow in larger streams, and thicker ranks
Of heroes fall. Unfortunately brave,
Braddock alone was honour'd with a grave;
A hasty grave, in consternation made,
And there, uncoffin'd and unshrouded, laid.
There Halket, Shirley, there a num'rous band
Of brave Virginians, (oh! my native land!
How great thy loss! yet greater thy renown,
To call these brave heroic souls thy own.)
Ah! there they fell, to wolves and bears a prey,
Or human savages, more fierce than they.
There men and steeds in common ruin lie;
Some lifeless; wounded some; some seek to fly,
In vain; the skulking savages forsake
Their Thickets; and their thirst of blood to slake,
Like furious lions, rush into the field,
To butcher those not mercifully kill'd.
Now direr terrors o'er the wounded spread,
They envy now their fellow-soldiers dead.
For simple death, or death by hands of men,
Was now a privilege they wished in vain.
Now horrid shrieks, and dying groans and cries,
Mixt with wild shouts of Indian triumphs rise:
Tygers and bears felt pity at the sound,
And wilds, and vales, and mountains trembled round.
The dying now just ope' the closing eye,
And tawny murd'rers hov'ring o'er them spy.
The ear just stopt in death perceives their yell,
And trembles lest it be the cry of hell.
The wounded feel the blow that ends the strife,
Extinguishing the faint remains of life,
And kindly leaves them senseless to the scalping knife.
Infernal weapon!—Death o'erspreads the plain
With heaps of carnage: pray'rs and tears are vain.
Loud cries for mercy vengeance but provoke,
And supplicating hands but tempt the stroke.
The bended knee but stoops to take the blow,
As hell itself, implacable's the foe.
There toss'd in heaps, or scattered o'er the plain,
Naked, unburied, lie the mighty slain.
The soil is with their blood luxuriant grown,
And still their bones lie whitening in the sun.
There birds of prey long fed, and wheel'd their flight;
And savage beasts carous'd and howl'd by night.
Oh fatal spot! with theee be nam'd no more,
Cannae, Pharsalia, wash'd with Roman gore:
There men with men, here hellish furies fight,
Riot in slaughter, and in blood delight.—
Blood flow in larger streams, and thicker ranks
Of heroes fall. Unfortunately brave,
Braddock alone was honour'd with a grave;
A hasty grave, in consternation made,
And there, uncoffin'd and unshrouded, laid.
There Halket, Shirley, there a num'rous band
Of brave Virginians, (oh! my native land!
How great thy loss! yet greater thy renown,
To call these brave heroic souls thy own.)
Ah! there they fell, to wolves and bears a prey,
Or human savages, more fierce than they.
There men and steeds in common ruin lie;
Some lifeless; wounded some; some seek to fly,
In vain; the skulking savages forsake
Their Thickets; and their thirst of blood to slake,
Like furious lions, rush into the field,
To butcher those not mercifully kill'd.
Now direr terrors o'er the wounded spread,
They envy now their fellow-soldiers dead.
For simple death, or death by hands of men,
172
Now horrid shrieks, and dying groans and cries,
Mixt with wild shouts of Indian triumphs rise:
Tygers and bears felt pity at the sound,
And wilds, and vales, and mountains trembled round.
The dying now just ope' the closing eye,
And tawny murd'rers hov'ring o'er them spy.
The ear just stopt in death perceives their yell,
And trembles lest it be the cry of hell.
The wounded feel the blow that ends the strife,
Extinguishing the faint remains of life,
And kindly leaves them senseless to the scalping knife.
Infernal weapon!—Death o'erspreads the plain
With heaps of carnage: pray'rs and tears are vain.
Loud cries for mercy vengeance but provoke,
And supplicating hands but tempt the stroke.
The bended knee but stoops to take the blow,
As hell itself, implacable's the foe.
There toss'd in heaps, or scattered o'er the plain,
Naked, unburied, lie the mighty slain.
The soil is with their blood luxuriant grown,
And still their bones lie whitening in the sun.
There birds of prey long fed, and wheel'd their flight;
And savage beasts carous'd and howl'd by night.
Oh fatal spot! with theee be nam'd no more,
Cannae, Pharsalia, wash'd with Roman gore:
There men with men, here hellish furies fight,
Riot in slaughter, and in blood delight.—
| Collected poems of Samuel Davies : 1723-1761 | |