Poems of Freneau | ||
TO THE MEMORY Of the brave AMERICANS,
under General GREENE, in South Carolina, who fell in the action of September 8, 1781.
AT Eutaw springs the valiant died:
Their limbs with dust are cover'd o'er—
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
Their limbs with dust are cover'd o'er—
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
If in this wreck of ruin, they
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite thy gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite thy gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!
69
Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign;
Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign;
Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
You too may fall, and ask a tear:
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear—
You too may fall, and ask a tear:
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear—
They saw their injur'd country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear—but left the shield,
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear—but left the shield,
Led by thy conquering genius, GREENE,
The Britons they compell'd to fly:
None distant view'd the fatal plain,
None griev'd, in such a cause, to die—
The Britons they compell'd to fly:
None distant view'd the fatal plain,
None griev'd, in such a cause, to die—
But, like the Parthian, fam'd of old,
Who, flying, still their arrows threw;
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.
Who, flying, still their arrows threw;
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.
Now rest in peace, our patriot band;
Though far from Nature's limits thrown,
We trust, they find a happier land,
A brighter sun-shine of their own.
Though far from Nature's limits thrown,
We trust, they find a happier land,
A brighter sun-shine of their own.
1781
Poems of Freneau | ||