endure Hail! patriots, hail! by me inspired be! The characters of the play consist of the leading statesmen of England, who are introduced under descriptive names, Bute being Lord Paramount, Mansfield Lord Mocklaw, &c.; Gage figures as Lord Boston, and Washington, Lee, and Putnam appear in propriâ persona. The scene is laid in England, and at Lexington and Bunker's Hill. The dialogue is in prose and somewhat stiff. The following song is sung by one of two shepherds, near Lexington, who have a discussion of public affairs "after the defeat and flight of the Regulars." Roger says, "This is the First of May; our shepherds and nymphs are celebrating our glorious St. Tammany's day; we'll hear the song out, and then join in the frolic, and chorus it o'er and o'er again. This day shall be devoted to joy and festivity." IV. Whilst under an oak his great parliament sat, V. His subjects stood round, not the least noise or sound, Whilst freedom blaz'd full in each face; So plain were the laws, and each pleaded his cause, That might Bute, North, and Mansfield disgrace, my brave boys. VI. No duties, nor stamps, their blest liberty cramps, A king, though no tyrant was he; He did ofttimes declare, nay sometimes would swear The least of his subjects were free, my brave boys VII. He, as king of the woods, of the rivers and floods, Had a right all beasts to control; Yet, content with a few, to give nature her due; So gen'rous was Tammany's soul, my brave boys. VIII. In the morn he arose, and a hunting he goes, For his breakfast he'd take a large venison steak, IX. While all in a row, with squaw, dog and bow, With feathery head he ra: g'd the woods wide: X. His jetty black hair, such as Buckskin saints wear, XL The strong nervous deer, with amazing career, And, like Sampson, wou'd tear wolf, lion or bear, XIL When he'd run down a stag, he behind him would lag, For, so noble a soul had he; He'd stop, tho' he lost it, tradition reports it, To give him fresh chance to get free, my brave boys. XIII With a mighty strong arm, and a masculine bow, And as sure as he shot, it was ever his lot, XIV. His table he spread where the venison bled, He'd laugh and he'd sing, tho' a saint and a king, XV. Then over the hills, o'er the mountains and rills, And ne'er in his days, Indian history says, XVI. On an old stump he sat, without cap or hat, When supper was ready to eat, Snap, his dog, he stood by, and cast a sheep's eye; For ven'son, the king of all meat, my brave boys. XVII. Like Isaac of old, and both cast in one mould, XIX. As old age came on, he grew blind, deaf and dumb, And blaz'd like the tail of a comet, brave boys. XX. What country on earth, then, did ever give birth, To such a magnanimous saint? His acts far excel all that history tell, And language too feeble to paint, my brave boys. XXI. Now, to finish my song, a fall flowing bowl And with punch and wine paint my cheeks for my saint, And hail ev'ry first of sweet May, my brave boys. We have next to present a poem, which, though dated from a distant city, has the true home spirit of the time. To the tune of "Smile Britannia.” Whirl, whirl thy rapid car; Fire each firm breast with noble zeal, For years the iron rod Has hover'd o'er our heads, Whose power all Europe dreads; But Freedom's sons all fears despise. Thought fear made us complain. Has steel'd the tyrant's soul; He bids his thunders roll, Us to defend our right They foreign troops employ, Each pulse new ardors fire, They boast their power by sea, Our navy soon they'll see, Wide o'er the ocean spread; Britain not long shall boast her reign O'er the wide empire of the main. Throughout the universe Our commerce we'il extend, Each power on the reverse Shall seek to be our friend, Whilst our sons crown'd with wealth immense, Sing WASHINGTON and COMMON SENSE. Bordeaux, July 1, 1776. Freeman's Journal, or New Hampshire Gazette, The poets seem to have felt the spur of the passage of the Declaration of Independence, and the newspaper corners of the time abound with patriotic lines. We select two, which we have not found in any reprinted forın. ON INDEPENDENCE. Come all you brave soldiers, both valiant and free, But from merciless tyrants we'll set ourselves clear. Heaven's blessing attending us, no tyrant shall say That Americans e'er to such moasters gave way; But, fighting, we'll die in America's cause, Before we'll submit to tyrannical laws. George the Third, of Great Britain, no more shall he reign, With unlimited sway o'er these free states again; Lord North, nor old Bute, nor none of their clan, Shall ever be honor'd by an American. May heaven's blessing descend on our United States, But from all earthly tyrants we mean to be free. Unto our brave generals may heaven give skill, Our armies to guide and the sword for to wield; May their hands taught to war and their fingers to fight, Be able to put British armies to flight. And now, brave Americans, since it is so, That we are independent we'll have them to know, That united we are, and united we'll be, And from all British tyrauts we'll try to keep free. May heaven smile on us in all our endeavours, Keep us from invaders, by land and by sea, August 17, 1776. A continuation of Hudibras, in Two Cantos, written in the time of the Unhappy Contest between Great Britain and America, in 1777 and 1778, published in London in the latter year, contains a parody, with comments, on the Declarction of Independence, and may with propriety be inserted here. We are without clue to the name or place of nativity of the author, but it is probably an American production. When in the course of human things, Break bonds by which they were connected; First, let this downright maxim strike, 'Mong these we lay the greatest stress, For surely no one can believe, Without receiving check or stop here, ⚫ And should they afterwards be tir'd, As the wise authors shall think best. Of great abuse and usurpation, And rule us by despotic sway; It is our right and our intent, During the winter which followed the battle of Trenton occurred. We have a ballad in its honor. BATTLE OF TRENTON. On Christmas day in '76, Our ragged troops with bayonets fix'd, The Delaware see, the boats below, Our object was the Hessian band, Great Washington he led us on, Their pickets storm'd, the alarm was spread, Were marching into town. Some scamper'd here, some scamper'd there, And some for action did prepare, But soon their arms laid down. Twelve hundred servile miscreants, With all their colours, guns, and tents, Were trophies of the day: The frolic o'er, the bright canteen, Now, brothers of the patriot bands, And as life you know is but a span, One of the patriotic productions of the same year was a poem, in a pamphlet of fifteen pages, commenting in a severe but not equally forcible style on the conduct of Lord North. We quote the title-page, confident that the reader will not "ask for more." The Continental Key of the Liberties of America; in three parts. Perhaps the critics of the age, May find a fault in ev'ry page, Well, they have their faults, I have mine. If any man should ask the price, One or two shillings take your choice, New York, printed for Elijah Weige, 1776. *McCarty's Songs, 1. 24. We are indebted to the Curiosities of American Literature, by R. W. Griswold, printed as an Appendix to a reprint (New York, 1843) of D'Israeli's Curiosities, for two spirited productions on the defeat of Burgoyne. THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE.. When Jack the king's commander Through all the crowd he smiled and bow'd The city rung with feats he'd done In Portugal and Flanders, And all the town thought he'd be crown'd The first of Alexanders. To Hampton Court he first repairs To kiss great George's hand, sirs; The "Lower House" sat mute as mouse And "all the peers," with loudest cheers, Then off he went to Canada, Next to Ticonderoga, With great parade his march he made To such as staid he offers made Of" pardon on submission; But savage bands should waste the lands But ah, the cruel fates of war! This boasted son of Britain, When mounting his triumphal car The sons of Freedom gathered round, And when they'd fain have turn'd their back In vain they fought, in vain they fled, To save the rest soon thought it best Brave St. Clair, when he first retired Knew what the fates portended; And Arnold and heroic Gates His conduct have defended. Thus may America's brave sons With honour be rewarded, And be the fate of all her foes The same as here recorded. THE NORTH CAMPAIGN. Come unto me, ye heroes, Concerning many a soldier, Burgoyne, the king's commander, With full eight thousand reg'lars, He thought he could not fail; VOL. I.-29 With Indians and Canadians, And his cursed Tory crew, On board his fleet of shipping He up the Champlain flew. Before Ticonderoga, The first day of July, Appear'd his ships and army, And we did them espy. Their motions we observed Full well both night and day, And our brave boys prepared To have a bloody fray. Our garrison they viewed them, As straight their troops did land, He found we must surrender, The fifth day of July, then, Till when near Hubbardton, To Albany retreated, Of all the North bereft. And him with shouts of gladness Where first the Mohawk's waters To take the stores and cattle But little did they know then, Our stores and stock to steal: Bold Starke would give them only A portion of his lead; With half his crew ere sunset The nineteenth of September, The morning cool and clear, Brave Gates rode through our army, Each soldier's heart to cheer; * St. Leger. A man employed by the British as a spy, was taken by Arnold, and at the suggestion of Colonel Brooks sent back to St. Leger with such deceptive accounts of the strength of the Americans as induced him to retreat towards Montreal.. 'Burgoyne," he cried, "advances, But we will never fly; The news was quickly brought us, There was no sign of fear; We met at noon that day, Six hours the battle lasted, Each heart was true as gold, The British fought like lions, And we like Yankees bold; Which made them think us beat; They saw before their eyes Which did them much surprise. Of fighting they seem'd weary, Or from our works our forces The seventh day of October, The British tried again,— That they might thus retreat; But vain was his endeavour Though death was all around us, Not one of us would fly. But when an hour we'd fought them, And they began to yield, Great God, who guides their battles The course he should pursue. He order'd Arnold forward, To Saratogue did steer; As we came nigh the village, They'd burn'd each house to ashes, Now here's a health to Arnold, Now finish'd is my story, My song is at an end; Heaven nerves the soldier's arm, And vain is their endeavour Who strive to do us harm. To these we may add a third on the same subjeet, from McCarty's National Song Book. THE PROGRESS OF SIR JACK BRAG. Said Burgoyne to his men, as they pass'd in review, These rebels their course very quickly will rue, They with men have now to deal, And we soon will make them feel- That a loyal Briton's arm, and a loyal Briton's steel, Can put to flight a rebel, as quick as other foe, boys! Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-o-o-o, boys! As to Sa-ra-tog' he came, thinking how to jo the game, Tullalo, tullalo, tullało, boys! He began to see the grubs, in the branches of his fame, He began to have the trembles, lest a flash should be the flame, For which he had agreed his perfume to forego, boys! No lack of skill, but fates, Shall make us yield to Gates, The devils may have leagued, as you know, with the States, But we never will be beat by any mortal foe, boys! Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-0-0-0, boys! Burgoyne, like André, amused himself with literature. He was the author of four five-act plays, three of which, The Maid of the Oaks, The Lord of the Manor, and The Heiress, are comedies. The fourth, Richard Coeur de Lion, is an "Historical Romance," from the French of M. Sédaine. The four were published with a few miscellaneous poems, and a Life of the Author, in two volumes, 8vo. London, 1808. The comedies are in prose, interspersed with songs, and were acted by the |