 | The Last Poems of Philip Freneau |  |
57
The Military Ground
The Hills remain!—but scarce a man remains
Of all, who once paraded on these lands,
Yet the rough soil some vestiges retains
Of camps, and crowds, and military bands.
I mark, I trace a spot renowned in fame,
And something, still, may Fancy's pencil claim.
Of all, who once paraded on these lands,
Yet the rough soil some vestiges retains
Of camps, and crowds, and military bands.
I mark, I trace a spot renowned in fame,
And something, still, may Fancy's pencil claim.
Here walked the man, to live to distant times,
Born, to a world its freedom to restore,
While 'midst a war of rancour and of crimes,
Fell at his feet the shafts of foreign power;
And they, who trod this verge of Hudson's stream,
Won all he wished, with duty, love, esteem.
Born, to a world its freedom to restore,
While 'midst a war of rancour and of crimes,
Fell at his feet the shafts of foreign power;
And they, who trod this verge of Hudson's stream,
Won all he wished, with duty, love, esteem.
To raise such scenes, pourtray such crimes again,
To draw the picture of a land distressed,
Another Gage should cross the Atlantic main,
Another Navy float on Hudson's breast,
Some new Cornwallis to the charge return,
Burgoyne arrive, and Howe for conquest burn.
To draw the picture of a land distressed,
Another Gage should cross the Atlantic main,
Another Navy float on Hudson's breast,
Some new Cornwallis to the charge return,
Burgoyne arrive, and Howe for conquest burn.
Here flamed the fires that flash'd beyond the wave
And struck with anguish, terror, and despair
The Chiefs who little to their monarch gave
But sky built castles, and the brow of care:
Manhattan's island saw their rise and fall,
To dine on wormwood, and to sup on gall.
And struck with anguish, terror, and despair
The Chiefs who little to their monarch gave
But sky built castles, and the brow of care:
Manhattan's island saw their rise and fall,
To dine on wormwood, and to sup on gall.
Ambition's aims, with hateful avarice join'd
Would worlds subdue, if worlds could yet be found,
Bend to one Yoke the myriads of mankind
Debase their tribes, & chain them to the ground:
To such the muse her offerings will disdain,
Nor shall they live in her celestial strain.
Would worlds subdue, if worlds could yet be found,
Bend to one Yoke the myriads of mankind
Debase their tribes, & chain them to the ground:
To such the muse her offerings will disdain,
Nor shall they live in her celestial strain.
58
This vision, life!—how cheerly, once, was trod
This glittering field, when all was mirth and glee,
Their views accomplished, and their fame abroad,
And Patriots, still, though curs'd with Poverty.
Naught are they now—all decomposed to clay,
Or wrecks of men, and hastening to decay.
This glittering field, when all was mirth and glee,
Their views accomplished, and their fame abroad,
And Patriots, still, though curs'd with Poverty.
Naught are they now—all decomposed to clay,
Or wrecks of men, and hastening to decay.
The vulture screams!—approaching night I see,
This scene of Soldiers soon will be concealed,
Where, once, perhaps, they met at yonder tree,
Where, once, no doubt, my friend, like us they smiled
To think that George, the terror of mankind,
Here, to another George a world resign'd.
This scene of Soldiers soon will be concealed,
Where, once, perhaps, they met at yonder tree,
Where, once, no doubt, my friend, like us they smiled
To think that George, the terror of mankind,
Here, to another George a world resign'd.
| The Last Poems of Philip Freneau | |