[Poems by Tompson in] Benjamin Tompson : Colonial Bard ::

With the Death of Antonomies the Grand Indian Sachem; And a RELATION of a Fortification begun by Women upon Boston Neck. Together with an Elegy on the Death of John Winthrop Esq; late Governour of Connecticott, and Fellow of the Royal Society.

Written by an Inhabitant of Boston in New England to his Friend in London. With Allowance. LONDON Printed for N. S. 1676.

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A NARRATIVE OF New Englands PRESENT CALAMITIES.

15 April 1676.

WHAT means this silence of Harvardine Quills
Whilst Mars Triumphant thunders on our Hills?
Have Pagan Priests their Eloquence confin'd
To no mans use but the mysterious Mind?
Have PAWAWS charm'd that Art which was so rife
To crouch to every DON that lost his life?
But now whole Towns and Churches fire and die,
Without the pity of an Elegy.
Nay, rather should my Quills, were they all Swords,
Wear to the Hilts in some lamenting words:
I dare not stile them Poetry, but Truth,
The dwindling products of my crazie youth;
If these Essays shall rouze some quainter Pens
'Twill to the Author make a rich amends.

Marlburies Fate.

WHen London's fatal Bills were blown abroad,
And few but Specters travel'd on the Road,
Not Towns, but Men in the black page inroll'd
Were in Gazets by Typographers sold;
But our Gazets without Errata's Must
Report the Plague of Towns reduc'd to Dust:
And Feavors, but ere while to Tenants sent
Arrest the Timbers of the Tenement.

Ere the late ruines of poor Groton's cold,
Of Marlburies peracute Disease we're told;
The feet of such, who neighb'ring dwellings urn'd
Unto its ashes, not its doors return'd.
So what remain'd of Tears as yet unspent
Are to its final gasps a Tribute lent.

If Painter ever track my Pen, let him
An Olive colour mix, these Elves to trim;

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Of such an hue, let many hundred Thieves
Be drawn like Scarecrows clad with Oaken leaves,
Exhausted of their Verdant Life, and blown
From place to place without a home to own:
Draw Devils like themselves, upon their cheeks
Those Banks of Grease and Mud a plat for Leeks;
Whose dangling Locks Medusa's Snakes resemble,
With grizly looks would make Achilles tremble.
Limn them besmear'd with Christian blood, and oyl'd
With fat out of white humane Bodies boyld.
Draw them with Clubs like Mauls, all full of stains;
Like Vulcan's anvelling New Englands brains:
Let round be gloomy Forrests, and thick Rocks;
Where like to Castles they may hide their Flocks:
Till opportunity their constant friend,
Shall jogge them Vulcan's Worship to attend.
Shew them like Serpents in an avious path,
Waiting to sow the Fire-balls of their wrath.
Much like AEneas, in his cloak of mist,
Who undiscover'd, move where ere they list.
Cupid some tell us, had two sorts of Darts,
But we feel none, but such as drill our hearts;
From Indian sheaves which to their shoulders cling,
Upon the Word they quickly feel the string.
Hide first the Sun beneath the Earth, and quench
In Thetis boul the Stars; the Lunar Wench
So mutable in fashions, make her happe
To lie a slumbering in Apollo's lappe.
Let Earth be made a Screen to hide our woe,
From Heaven's Monarch, and his Ladies too:
And least our jealousie think they partake,
For the Red Stage with Clouds a Curtain make.
Let Doggs be gagg'd, and every quickning sound,
Be charm'd to silence: here and there all round,
The Town, to suffer. From a thousand holes
Let crawl those Fiends with brands and firing Poles.
Paint here an House and there a Barn on fire,
With Holocausts ascending in a spire.
Here Granaries, yonder the Churches smoke,
Which Vengeance on the Actors did invoke.
Let Morpheus with his Leaden Keys have bound
In Feather beds some, some upon the Ground,
That none may burst his drousie Shackles till

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The Bruitish Pagans have obtain'd their will,
And Vulcan files them off. Then Zeuxis paint
The phrensie glances of the Sinking Saint.
Draw there the Pastor for his Bible crying,
The Souldier for his Sword, the Glutton frying
With Streams of glory fat. The thin-jaw'd Miser,
Ah had I given this, I had been wiser.
Let here the Mother seem a Statue turn'd,
At the sad object of her Bowels burn'd.
Let the unstable Weakling in belief,
Be mounting Ashur's Horses for relief.
Let the half Convert seem suspended 'twixt
The Dens of Darkness and the Planets fixt.
Ready to quit his hold and yet hold fast
By the great Atlas of the Heavens vast.
Paint Papists mutt'ring over apish Beads,
Whom the Blind follow while the Blindman leads.
Let ATTAXIE be mounted on a Throne,
Imposing her Commands on every one:
A many-headed Monster without Eyes,
To see the Wayes which wont to make men wise.
Give her a Thousand Tongues with Wings and Hands
To be Ubiquitary in commands:
But let the Concave of her Soul appear,
Washt Clean and Empty, quite of all but fear.
One she bids run, another stay, a third
She bids betake him to his rusty Sword;
This to his treasure, t'other to his Knees,
Some Counsels she to fry, and some to freeze:
These to the Garrisons, those to the Load;
Some to run empty, some to take the Load.
Thus while Confusion, most mens hearts divide,
Fire doth the small Exchequer soon decide.
Thus all things seeming ope or secret foes,
An Infant may grow gray before a close.
But yet my hopes remain in perfect strength,
New England will be prosperous once at length.

Providences Fate.

WHy muse we thus, to see the Wheels run cross,
Since Providence it self, sustains a loss:
Should Providence, but one day miss its watch,

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I fear the Enemy would all dispatch.
Resplendent Phoebus would forget to shine,
The wandring Planets, to forget their Line.
The Stars run all out of their proper spheres,
And quickly fall together by the eares;
The Ocean would forget to ebbe and flow,
The Mother cease the tender babe to know.
Kingdoms would jostle out their Kings and set,
The Vile Mechanick up who next they met:
Or rather Kings, and Kingdoms, with the World,
Would into Chaos its first rise be turn'd:
This sacred Providence of the Most High,
None can outlive and write its Elegy.
But of a solitary Town I write,
A place of darkness, yet receiving light
From Pagans hands; a miscellaneous nest
Of Errours, Hectors, where they sought a rest
Out of the reach of Laws, but not of God;
Since they have smarted by the common Rod.
'Twas much I thought it did escape so long,
Which sacred truth did manifestly wrong;
For one Lots sake perhaps, or else I think,
Justice did long at great offenders wink.
'Tis happy for them, if their filth and dross,
Be cleansed off, though by a common loss.

Seaconk Plain Engagement.

ON our Pharsalian Plain, containing space
For Caesar's Armies, Pompey's to outface,
An handful of our men are walled round,
With Tawny Bands, anon their pieces sound
A Madrigal; like Hail the Bullets fly,
An Emblem of Heavens Artillery.
Heres Hosts to Handfuls, of a few they leave
Fewer to tell how many they bereave.
Fool hardy Fortitude, it had been sure,
Thousands of Shot, and Arrows to endure:
Without all hopes of some requital too,
So numerous and pestilent a foe.
Most Fought like Dragons; through this Indian mist,
The Beams of Valour break where e'r they list.
Who died ('tis thought) sold lives at such a rate,

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As doth the fury of the foes abate.
Some musing a Retreat, and thence to run,
Have in an instant, all their business done.
They Sink, and Die, their wonted sorrows weight,
They Tumble at their Feet, and follow strait.
Here Captious ones, without their Queries lie,
The Quaker here, the Presbiterian by.
The Scruple dormant lies of thee and thou,
And most as one to Deaths dominion bow.
Such who out-live the fate of others fly,
Into the Neighbouring Swamps of misery.
Those who might die like men, like beasts must range,
Uncertain whither for a better change.
Such Natives hunt and chase with Tygers mind,
And plague with Cruelties such as they find.
When shall this showre of Blood be over? when?
Quickly we pray (good Lord) say thou Amen.

Rehoboth's Fate.

I Once conjectur'd that these Figures hard,
To reverend Newman's Bones would have regard.
But were all Saints they met, it were all one case,
They owe no Reverence to an Angels Face.
But where they fix their Monstrous Lion Paw's,
They Rend without remorse or heed to Laws
Rehoboth here in our plain English Rest,
They ransack, NEWMAN's Reliques they molest.
Here all the Town is made a publick stage,
Whereon these Nimrods act their Monstrous rage;
And Cruelties which Paper stain'd before,
Are acted to the life here ore and ore.
Let this, dear Lord, the sad Conclusion be
Of poor New-Englands fatal Tragedie.
Let not the Glory of thy former work,
Blasphemed lie by Pagan, Jew, or Turk.
But in New-Englands Ashes write thy Name,
So fair all Nations may expound the same.
Out of these Ruins, let a Phoenix rise,
That may outshine the first, and be more wise.

Another black Parenthesis of woe,
The Printer wills that all the world should know.

109

Upon the setting of that Occidental Star John Winthrop Esq;

Governour of Connecticott Colony, Member of the Royal Society; who deceased in his Countreys Service 6 April 1676.

NIne Muses, get you all but one to sleep,
But spare Melpomene, with me to weep.
From you whose bleared Eyes have Lectures read,
Of many of our English Heroe's dead.
I beg a glance from Spectacles of Woe,
(Quotidian Gazets) Brave Winthrop to.
Whose death Terrestrial Comets did portend,
To every one who was his Countreys friend.
The Blaze of Towns was up like Torches light,
To guide him to his Grave, who was so fit
To rule, or to obey, to live or die:
(A special Favorite of the Most High)
Monarch of Natures Secrets, who did hold,
Its grand Elixir named the Star of GOLD.
Or else the World mistakes, and by his deeds,
Of Daily Charities Expence he needs.
But had he it, he wiser was than so,
That every Ape of Artists should it know.
He had the System of the Universe,
Too Glorious for any to Rehearse.
As Moses took the Law in Clouds and Fire;
Which Vulgars barr'd at distance much admire.
Thus was he taught the precious Art of healing,
(Judge we but by success) at Gods revealing.
He mounted up the Stairs of Sciences,
Unto the place of Visions which did please.
Where on the Pinacle of worldly skill,
On Kingdoms of all Arts, he gaz'd his fill.
Into his Thoughts Alembick we may think,
He crouded Stars to make a Diet Drink.
(I mean) Terrestrial Stars which in the Earth,
Receive their vitals and a Mineral Birth:
That Proteus, Mercury, he could compel,
Most soberly well fixt at home to dwell.
Of Salt (which Cooks do use for Eggs and Fishes)
He made a Balsom better than all Riches;
And Sulphur too provided for mens woe,
He made an Antidote Diseases to.

110

This Terrene three, were made by Fire his friends,
To bring about his ARCHIATRICK ends.
He saw the World, which first had only shade,
And after rich Embroideries on it laid,
Of Glorious Light; how the Homogeneal spark,
Did first Rebell against the Central dark.
He saw the Jemms how first they budded, and
The Birth of Minerals, which put to stand
Natures grand Courtiers. He knew the Womb
From whom the Various Tribes of Herbs did come.
He had been round the Philosophick sea,
And knew the Tincture if there any be:
But all his Art must lie, there's no Disease
Predominant, where he doth take his Ease:
Outliving Theophrast, he shew'd thereby
Himself Hermetick, more surpassing high
TRISMEGESTOS I'll stile him; first in Grace,
Thrice great in ART, the next deserving place;
Thrice High in humble Carriage, and who,
Would not to Highest Meekness ready bow?
England and Holland did great Winthrop woe;
Both had experienc'd Wonders he could doe.
But poor New-England stole his humble Heart,
From whose deep Wounds he never would depart:
His Councel Balsome like, he poured in,
And plaistred up its Breaches made by sin.
Natives themselves, in parlies would confess,
Brave Winthrops Charity and Holiness.
The Time he rul'd, War never toucht his bound,
When Fire, and Sword, and Death, raged all round.
Above whose reach he reigns in Glories Rays,
Singing with all the Saints his Makers praise.

EPITAPHIUM

GReater Renown than Boston could contain,
Doth underneath this Marble-stone remain:
Which could it feel but half so well as we,
'Twould melt to Tears and let its Prisoner free.

Chelmsfords Fate.

ERe Famous Winthrops Bones are laid to rest,
The Pagans Chelmsford with sad Flames arrest;

111

Making an artificial day of night,
By that Plantations formidable light.
Here's midnight shreekes, and soul amazing groanes,
Enough to melt the very Marble-stones:
Fire-brands, and Bullets, Darts, and Deaths, and Wounds,
Confusive Noyses every where resounds:
The Natives shouting, with the English cries:
With all the Cruelties the Foes devise,
Might fill a Volume: but I leave a space,
For mercies yet successive in their place:
Not doubting but the foes have done their worst,
And shall by Heaven, suddainly be curst.

Sudburies Fate.

ONce more run Lacquey Muse the Councel tell,
What sad Defeat our hopeful Band befell:
Since Fifty odd of Valours choicest Sons,
Sinke into Deaths retiring Room at once.
The Natives Scouts, like living baits were trail'd,
With Umbrages of mighty Rocks and Holes;
(Fit Pallaces for such perfideous souls.
Some to our Linx-ey'd Centinels appear,
And quickly run as if possest with fear:
Ours chase, they halt; We gain, they lightly fly,
As if some Gad be stung upon the Thigh.
One while they linger, falsly to give hope,
While to trapan, is their disguized scope;
Into a Labyrinth) or a natural maze,
Of hideous thickets and unbeaten wayes;
Ours close pursue them, and as close their fate,
Smelling their Treachery when 'twas too late,
A Race of Natives, as if newly hatcht,
Starts from their Dens, and soon our friends dispatch,
Here was of Indians too a plenteous Fair,
The Chapmen Devils, hovering in the Air:
But ah with Tears I may the Reader tell,
A little Host of English down there fell:
Two hardy Captains, many manly hearts,
Then felt the Bullets with the venom'd darts,
The Parents Vesture with the purple stain'd
Of his Ascanius by him newly braind.
Euryalus his Soul reaks through the wound,

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Of Nisus gasping by upon the ground;
While the Rutilian like enraged bears,
The Garments; with Mens Skins, asunder tears:
One seeks his Head, scrambling for breathing room,
By Lethal pangs; a second reads his doom
In Vellome Rolls, flead off his right hand man:
Which they send home for Sagamores to tan;
With Scalpes, according to whose number they,
Receive brave Titles and some rich Array:
Our numerous Scars, like stars in bodies shone,
Who have for each a glorious Trophie wone:
From this Aceldama they post away,
To the Grand General for their ready pay:
While fellow Soudiers who escape the dint,
Bounce our Exchecquers, but find little in't.

CELEUSMA MILITARE.

BUt know stout hearts that Diadems and Crowns,
Will powre down from Heaven after your wounds;
And you shall find in Honours Lists a place,
Where Dastard Spirits dare not shew their Face.

About this time Died Major Willard Esq; who had continued one of our Senators many years, and Head of the Massachuset Bands. In 23 April 1676.

EPITAPHIUM.

GReat, Good, and Just, Valiant, and Wise,
New-Englands common Sacrifice:
The Prince of War, the Bond of Love,
A True Heroic Martial Dove:
Pardon I croud his Parts so close,
Which all the World in measure knows.
We envy Death, and well we may,
Who keeps him under Lock and Key.

His Praises will, or are more largely celebrated; but let this be accepted according to the Nature of my Writings, which are but Brief and General.

The Indians threaten to Dine at Boston on our Election.

THe hungry Dogs, scenting the bay good Cheer,
Give out Bravadoes that they will be here.

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But hopes we have of an Election day,
Although their Votes and Proxies keep away.
We think they will our Ammunition smell,
Which from our friends beyond Sea us befell.

M. J. Antonomies the Grand Sachems Death.

A Breathing time of silence had my Pen,
But finds a scribling matter once agen.
In Narraganset Land near Paquetuck,
The English with the Natives try a pluck:
Here in an Isthmus pitcht the foes their tents,
Here quartered their naked Regiments:
Some grope for Lobsters, some to clamp banks run,
And some lie beautifying in the Sun:
Some sit in Council, others treating squaws;
Some grinding parcht Corn with the Querns their Jawes.
Some sing their Captains dooms, others are lousing,
Some pawawing, some wenching, and some drousing.
And herein ANTONOMIE among the rest,
All up in Wampam Belts, most richly drest:
Sate as the Dagon of their motley crew,
Not thinking that his downfal would insue:
Whose Pedegree should I presume to write,
To Hesiods Theognis run I might.
Our Checquer'd Bands of Whites and Tawnies joyn'd,
These in their close Retirements quickly find;
Down to the Earth our Martial gallants fall,
And like to insects on the Natives crawl.
Old UNCUS tribe who ever had been true,
Upon the moving Forrest nimbly flew.
The English them as they are flying meet,
And multitudes they tumble at their feet.
Some captiv'd, others wounded, many slain,
Like Hydra's Heads, yet ne'r the less remain.
And here that Lucifer receives defeat,
Who scorns with any less then Princes treat.
What Necklace could New-England better please,
Then Heads strung thick upon a thred of these,
Him they dispatch, and hundreds more are hurl'd,
Him to attend upon in th'other world:
Whose hunting bouts will heavily go on,
His Legs must stay until the Head come on.

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That phansie which so stifly they maintain,
That such on hunting go who hence are slain:
I hope ere long will quite convinced be,
By many Heads chopt off as fine as he:
His (a brave present) kist the grateful Hand,
Of Dons who in our Southern Tract command.

Least such Moecaenas's beyond Sea should,
Restrain their yearly showrs of Goods and Gold,
Be pleas'd to know there is an hopeful race,
Who as you oft have been inform'd have grace.
These are confin'd under Christian Wings,
And hopes we have never to feel their stings.
A natural Prison wall'd with Sea and Isles,
From our Metropolis not many miles,
Contains their swarms: hither upon advice,
Some Grandees venturing powerful and wise;
In a small Vessel on a time did tend,
Three Dons with their great Apostolick friend:
Ere they arrive a Barge runs down their Boat,
Mean-while these Worthies three must sink or float.

Their Loaves for comfort round about them swam,
And from their Bottles Neptune drinks a dram,
He gap'd for men and all, but as God pleas'd
By sturdy tackles of that care he's eas'd,
With like observance to November's day,
Keep the remembrance of this passage pray.

On the Fortifications began by Women upon Boston Neck.

A Grand attempt the Amazonian dames,
Contrive, whereby to glorify their names.
A Ruffe for Bostons Neck of mud and turfe,
Reaching from side to side, from surfe to surfe.
Their nimble Hands spin up like Christmass Pies.
Their pastry by degrees on high doth rise.
Their Wheeles at home count it an Holyday
While Mistresses are working they may play.
A tribe of Peticoates with manly hearts,
Forsake at home their Pasticrust and Tarts:

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To knead the dirt, their Samplers down they hurle,
Their undulating Silks they closely furle.
The Pickaxe one as a Commandress holds,
Another at her awkness gently scolds.
One holds her side, while Hypocondrick fumes,
Do tympanize her Pericardian roomes
This puffs and sweats, the other grumbles why
Can't you promote your work so fast as I.
Some dig and delve, while others hands do feel,
The little Waggons weight with single wheel;
And least some fainting fit, the weak surprize,
They want not Sack and Cakes; they are more wise.
These brave Essays drew forth mens nervous hands,
More like to Daubers than to Martial Bands.
These do the work and sturdy Bulwarks raise,
But those who first began deserve the praise.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

New-Englands Tears FOR HER Present Miseries:

OR, A Late and True RELATION of the CALAMITIES of NEW-ENGLAND Since APRIL last past.

With an Account of the Battel between the English and Indians upon Seaconk Plain: