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Of stones and clubs had braved th' alarms,
Shrunk from these new Vulcanian arms. 1
The spade so temper'd from the sledge,
Nor keen nor solid harm'd its edge,
Now met it, from his arm of might,
Descending with steep force to smite;
The blade snapp'd short-and from his

hand,
With rust embrown'd the glittering sand.
Swift turn'd M'Fingal at the view,
And call'd to aid th' attendant crew,
In vain; the Tories all had run,
When scarce the fight was well begun;
Their setting wigs he saw decreas'd
Far in th' horizon tow'rd the west.
Amazed he view'd the shameful sight,
And saw no refuge, but in flight:
But age unwieldy check'd his pace,
Though fear had wing'd his flying race;
For not a trilling prize at stake;
No less than great M'FINGAL's back.2 400
With legs and arms he work'd his course,
Like rider that outgoes his horse,
And labor'd hard to get away, as
Old Satan 3 struggling on through chaos;
'Til looking back, he spied in rear
The spade-arm'd chief advanced too near :
Then stopp'd and seized a stone, that lay
An ancient landmark near the way;
Nor shall we as old bards have done,
Affirm it weigh'd an hundred ton;4
But such a stone, as at a shift
A modern might suffice to lift,
Since men, to credit their enigmas,
Are dwindled down to dwarfs and pigmies,
And giants exiled with their cronies
To Brobdignags and Patagonias.
But while our Hero turn'd him round,
And tugg'd to raise it from the ground,
The fatal spade discharged a blow
Tremendous on his rear below:
His bent knee fail'd,5 and void of strength
Stretch'd on the ground his manly length.
Like ancient oak o'erturn'd, he lay,
Or tower to tempests fall’n a prey,
1 Postquam arma Dei ad Vulcania ventum est,
Mortalis mucro, glacies ceu futilis, ictu
Dissiluit; fulva resplendent fragmina arena.

-Virgil.

-The sword Was given him temper'd so, that neither keen Nor solid might resist that edge; it met The sword of Satan with steep force to smite Descending and in half cut sheer.--Milton. ? nec enim levia aut ludicra petuntur Præmia, sed Turni de

vita

et sanguine certant.–Virgil.

3 In Milton. * This thought is taken from Juvenal, Satire 15. 5 Genua labant

incidit ictus, Ingens ad terram duplicato poplite Turnus.

-Virgil.

Or mountain sunk with all his pines,
Or Aow'r the plow to dust consigns,
And more things else—but all men know

'em,
If slightly versed in epic poem.
At once the crew, at this dread crisis,
Fall on, and bind him, ere he rises;
And with loud shouts and joyful soul,
Conduct him prisoner to the pole.
When now the mob in lucky hour
Had got their en'mies in their power,
They first proceed, by grave command,
To take the Constable in hand.
Then from the pole's sublimest top
The active crew let down the rope,
At once its other end in haste bind,
And make it fast upon his waistband; 440
Till like the earth, as stretch'd on tenter,
He hung self-balanced on his centre.
Then upwards, all hands hoisting sail,
They swung him, like a keg of ale,
Till to the pinnacle in height
He vaulted, like balloon or kite.
As Socrates? of old at first did
To aid philosophy get hoisted,
And found his thoughts flow strangely

clear,
Swung in a basket in mid air :
Our culprit thus, in purer sky,
With like advantage raised his eye,
And looking forth in prospect wide,
His Tory errors clearly spied,
And from his elevated station,
With bawling voice began addressing:

"Good Gentlemen and friends and kin,
For heaven's sake hear, if not for mine!
I here renounce the Pope, the Turks, 459
The King, the Devil and all their works;
And will, set me but once at ease,
Turn Whig or Christian, what you please;
And always mind your rules so justly,
Should I live long as old Methus'lah,
I'll never join in British rage,
Nor help Lord North, nor Gen'ral Gage;
Nor lift my gun in future fights,
Nor take away your Charter-rights;
Nor overcome your new-raised levies,
Destroy your towns, nor burn your

navies; Nor cut your poles down while I've breath, Though raised more, thick than hatchel

teeth : But leave King George and all his elvesTo do their conq'ring work themselves." . And earth self-balanced on her centre hung.

-Milton. ? In Aristophanes' Comedy of the Clouds. Socrates is represented as hoisted in a basket to aid contemplation.

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They said, they lower'd him down in

state,
Spread at all points, like falling cat';
But took a vote first on the question,
That they'd accept this full confession,
And to their fellowship and favor,
Restore him on his good behaviour.

Not so our 'Squire submits to rule, But stood, heroic as a mule. "You'll find it all in vain," quoth he, "To play your rebel tricks on me. All punishments, the world can render, Serve only to provoke th' offender; The will gains strength from treatment

horrid, As hides grow harder when they're cur

ried. No man e'er felt the halter draw, With good opinion of the law; Or held in method orthodox His love of justice, in the stocks; Or fail'd to lose by sheriff's shears At once his loyalty and ears. Have you made Murrayi look less big, Or smoked old Williamsi to a Whig? Did our mobb’d Ol’vero quit his station, Or heed his vows of resignation ? Has Rivington,3 in dread of stripes, Ceased lying since you stole his types ? 500 And can you think my faith will alter, By tarring, whipping or the halter? I'll stand the worst; for recompense I trust King George and Providence. And when with conquest gain'd I come, Array'd in law and terror home, Ye'll rue this inauspicious morn, And curse the day, when ye were born, In Job's high style of imprecations, With all his plagues, without his pa

tience.” Meanwhile beside the pole the guard A Bench of Justice had prepared, 4 Were sitting round in awful sort The grand Committee hold their Court;

1 Members of the Mandamus Council in Mas. sachusetts. The operation of smoking Tories was thus performed. The victim was confined in a close room before a large fire of green wood, and a cover applied to the top of the chimney.

2 Thomas Oliver, Esq., Lieut. Governor of Massachusetts. He was surrounded at his seat in the country and intimidated by the mob into the signing of his resignation.

Rivington was a Tory Printer in New York. Just before the commencement of the war, party from New Haven attacked his press, and carried off or destroyed the types.

4 An imitation of legal forms was universally practiced by the mobs in New-England, in the trial and condemnation of Tories. This marks a curious trait of national character.

While all the crew, in silent awe,
Wait from their lips the lore of law.
Few moments with deliberation
They hold the solemn consultation;
When soon in judgment all agree,
And Clerk proclaims the dread decree; 520

“That 'Squire M'Fingal having grown
The vilest Tory in the town,
And now in full examination
Convicted by his own confession,
Finding no tokens of repentance,
This Court proceeds to render sentence:
That first the Mob a slip-knot single
Tie around the neck of said M'FINGAL,
And in due form do tar him next,
And feather, as the law directs;
Then through the town attendant ride him
In cart with Constable beside him,
And having held him up to shame,
Bring to the pole, from whence he came."

Forthwith the crowd proceed to ceck With halter'd noose M'FINGAL's neck, While he in peril of his soul Stood tied half-hanging to the pole; Then lifting high the ponderous jar, Pour'd o'er his head the smoaking tar. 540 With less profusion once was spread Oil on the Jewish monarch's head, That down his beard and vestments ran, And cover'd all his outward man. As when (So Claudian5 sings) the Gods And earth-born Giants fell at odds, The stout Enceladus in malice Tore mountains up to throw at Pallas; And while he held them o'er his head, The river, from their fountains fed, Pour'd down his back its copious tide, And wore its channels in his hide: So from the high-raised urn the torrents Spread down his side their various cur

rents; His flowing wig, as next the brim, First met and drank the sable stream; Adown his visage stern and grave Rollld and adhered the viscid wave; With arms depending as he stood, Each cuff capacious holds the flood; From nose and chin's remotest end, The tarry icicles descend; Till all o'erspread, with colors gay, He glitter'd to the western ray, Like sleet-bound trees in wintry skies, Or Lapland idol carved in ice. And now the feather-bag display'd Is waved in triumph o'er his head, And clouds him o'er with feathers missive, And down, upon the tar, adhesive:

Claudian's Gigantomachia.

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Not Maia's 1 son, with wings for ears,
Such plumage round his visage wears;
Nor Milton's six-wing'd 2 angel gathers
Such superfluity of feathers.
Now all complete appears our 'Squire,
Like Gorgon or Chimæra dire;
Nor more could boast on Plato's 3 plan
To rank among the race of man,
Or prove his claim to human nature,
As a two-legg'd, unfeather'd creature. 580

Then on the fatal cart, in state
They raised our grand Duumvirate.
And as at Rome 4 a like committee,
Who found an owl within their city,
With solemn rites and grave processions
At every shrine perform'd lustrations;
And least infection might take place
From such grim fowl with feather'd face,
All Rome attends him through the street
In triumph to his country seat:

590 With like devotion all the choir Paraded round our awful 'Squire; In front the martial music comes Of horns and fiddles, fifes and drums, With jingling sound of carriage bells, And trebel creak of rusted wheels. Behind, the croud, in lengthen'd row With proud procession, closed the show. And at fit periods every throat Combined in universal shout;

600 And hail'd great Liberty in chorus, Or bawl'd .confusion to the Tories.' Not louder storm the welkin braves From clamors of conflicting waves; Less dire in Lybian wilds the noise When rav'ning lions lift their voice; Or triumphs at town-meetings made, On passing votes to regulate trade.5

Thus having borne them round the town, Last at the pole they set them down; 610 And to the tavern take their way To end in mirth the festal day.

And now the Mob, dispersed and gone, Left 'Squire and Constable alone.

1 Mercury, described by the Poets with wings on his head and feet. An angel wing'd-six wings he wore.

-Milton. 3 Alluding to Plato's famous definition of Man, Animal bipes implume-a two-legged ani. mal without feathers.

* Livy's History.

5 Such votes were frequently passed at townmeetings, with the view to prevent the aug. mentation of prices, and stop the depreciation of the paper money.

The constable with rueful face
Lean'd sad and solemn o'er a brace;
And fast beside him, cheek by jowl,
Stuck 'Squire M'Fingal 'gainst the pole,
Glued by the tar this rear applied,
Like barnacle on vessel's side.

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But though his body lack'd physician,
His spirit was in worse condition.
He found his fears of whips and ropes
By many a drachm outweigh'd his hopes.
As men in jail without mainprize
View every thing with other eyes,
And all goes wrong in church and state,
Seen through perspective of the grate :
So now M'FINGAL's Second-sight
Beheld all things in gloomier light; 630
His visual nerve, well purged with tar,
Saw all the coming scenes of war.
As his prophetic soul grew stronger,
He found he could hold in no longer.
First from the pole, as fierce he shook,
His wig from pitchy durance broke,
His mouth unglued, his feathers flutter'd,
His tarr'd skirts crack'd, and thus he

utter'd. "Ah, Mr. Constable, in vain

639 We strive 'gainst wind and tide and rain! Behold my doom! this feathery omen Portends what dismal times are coming. Now future scenes, before my eyes, And second-sighted forms arise. I hear a voice, that calls away, And cries ‘The Whigs will win the day.' My beck'ning Genius gives command, And bids me fly the fatal land; Where changing name and constitution, Rebellion turns to Revolution, While Loyalty, oppress'd, in tears, Stands trembling for its neck and ears.

"Go, summon all our brethren, greeting, To muster at our usual meeting ; There my prophetic voice shall warn 'em Of all things future that concern 'em, And scenes disclose on which, my friend, Their conduct and their lives depend. There I?—but first 'tis more of use, From this vile pole to set me loose; Then go with cautious steps and steady, While I steer home and make all ready.

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END OF CANTO THIRD

1782. I hear a voice, you cannot hear, That says, I must not stay.--Tickell's Ballad.

Quos Ego--sed motos præstat componere fluctus.-Virgil.

POETRY OF THE REVOLUTION

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FROM "BRADDOCK'S FATE AND Come, every soldier, charge your gun,
AN ENCITEMENT TO REVENGE” And let your task be killing one;

Take aim until the work is done :
HIS EPITAPH

Don't throw away your fire;

For he that fires without an aim, Beneath this stone brave Braddock lies,

May kill his friend, and be to blame, Who always hated cowardice,

And in the end come off with shame, But fell a savage sacrifice;

When forced to retire.
Amidst his Indian foes.
I charge you, heroes, of the ground, O mother land, we think we're sure
To guard his dark pavilion round,

Sufficient is thy marine powers,
And keep off all obtruding sound,

To dissipate all eastern showers:
And cherish his repose.

And if our arms be blest,

Thy sons in North America Sleep, sleep, I say, brave valiant man, Will drive these hell-born dogs away Bold death, at last, has bid thee stand, 10

As far beyond the realms of day,
And to resign thy great demand,

As east is from the west.
And cancel thy commission :
Altho' thou didst not much incline,

Forbear, my muse, thy barbarous song, Thy post and honors to resign;

Upon this theme thou'st dweit too long, Now iron slumber doth confine;

It is too high and much too strong,
None envy's thy condition.

The learned won't allow :

co Much honor should accrue to him,

Who ne'er was at their Academ,
Their skulking, scalping, murdering tricks
Have so enraged old sixty-six,

Come, blot out every telesem;?

Go home unto thy plow.
With legs and arms like withered sticks,
And youthful vigor gone;

Aug. 20, 1755. That if he lives another year,

Tilden's Miscellaneous Poems on Divers Oc. Complete in armor he'll appear,

casions, chiefly to animate and rouse the SolAnd laugh at death, and scoff at fear, diers.-1756.

To right his country's wrong.
Let young and old, both high and low, TO ARMS, TO ARMS! MY JOLLY
Arm well against this savage foe,

GRENADIERS 3
Who all around environ us so;
The sons of black delusion.

To arms, to arms! my jolly grenadiers ! New England's sons, you know their way, Hark, how the drums do roll it along ! And how to cross them in their play, To horse, to horse, with valiant good And drive these murdering dogs away,

cheer; Unto their last confusion.

We'll meet our proud foe before it is

long. One bold effort o let us make,

Let not your courage fail you; And at one blow behead the snake;

Be valiant, stout, and bold;
And then these savage powers will break,

And it will soon avail you,
Which long have us oppress'd.

My loyal hearts of gold.
And this, brave soldiers, will we do,

? A name the author gives to this sort of If Heaven and George shall say so too: meter.-Author's Note. And if we drive the matter thro'

3"This jingling provincial ballad The land will be at rest.

posed in Chester county, Pennsylvania, while the army

on its march in the spring or 1 The author.

early summer of 1755."-Winthrop Sargent.

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THE DEATH OF WOLFE

See how, see how, they break and Ay be

fore us! See how they are scattered all over the

plain! Now, Now,-now, now, our country will

adore us! In peace, and in triumph, boys, when

we return again!
Then laurels shall our glory crown

For all our actions told:
The hills shall echo all around

My loyal hearts of gold.
Huzzah, my valiant countrymen !-again I

say Huzzah! 'Tis nobly done—the day's our

huzzah, huzzah ! "The History of an Expedition to Fort Du Quesne.”—1755.

own

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(Anon) Thy merits, Wolfe, transcend all human

praise, The breathing marble or the muses' lays. Art is but vain—the force of language

weak, To paint thy virtues, or thy actions

speak Had I Duché's or Godfrey's magic skill

, Each line to raise, and animate at willTo rouse each passion dormant in the

soul, Point out its object, or its rage controlThen, Wolfe, some faint resemblance

should we find Of those great virtues that adorn'd thy

mind. Like Britain's genius shouldst thou then

appear, Hurling destruction on the Gallic rearWhile France, astonish'd, trembled at thy

sight, And placed her safety in ignoble Alight. Thy last great scene should melt each

Briton's heart, And rage and grief alternately impart. With foes surrounded, midst the shades

of death, These were the words that closed the

warrior's breath"My eyesight fails !—but does the foe re

treat? If they retire, I'm happy in my fate!" 20

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