"And as for you, enlisted crew,

We'll raise your honours higher: Pray turn your eye, where you must lie, In yonder burning fire."

Then naked in those flames they're cast, Too dreadful 'tis to tell,

Where they must fry, and burn and die,
While cursed Indians yell.

Nor son, nor sire, these tigers spare,-
The youth, and hoary head,
Were by those monsters murdered there,
And numbered with the dead.

Methinks I hear some sprightly youth,
His mournful state condole:
"O, that my tender parents knew,
The anguish of my soul.

"But O! there's none to save my life,
Or heed my dreadful fear;

I see the tomahawk and knife,
And the more glittering spear.
When years ago, I dandled was
Upon my parents' knees,

I little thought I should be brought
To feel such pangs as these.

"I hoped for many a joyful day,
I hoped for riches' store-
These golden dreams are fled away;
I straight shall be no more.

"Farewell, foud mother; late I was,
Locked up in your embrace;

Your heart would ache, and even break,
If you could know my case.

"Farewell, indulgent parents dear,
I must resign my breath;

I now must die, and here must lie
In the cold arms of death.

"For O! the fatal hour is come,

I see the bloody knife,-
The Lord have mercy on my soul !"
And quick resigned his life.
A doleful theme; yet, pensive muse,
Pursue the doleful theme:
It is no fancy to delude,

Nor transitory dream.

The Forty Fort was the resort,
For mother and for child,

To save them from the cruel rage,
Of the fierce savage wild.

Now, when the news of this defeat,
Had sounded in our ears,

You well may know our dreadful woe,
And our foreboding fears.

A doleful sound is whispered round,
The sun now hides his head;

The nightly gloom forebodes our doom,
We all shall soon be dead.

How can we bear the dreadful spear,
The tomahawk and knife?

And if we run, the awful gun,

Will rob us of our life.

But Heaven! kind Heaven, propitious power! His hand we must adore.

He did assuage the savage rage,

That they should kill no more.

The gloomy night now gone and past,

The sun returns again,

The little birds from every bush,
Seem to lament the slain.

With aching hearts and trembling hands
We walked here and there,
Till through the northern pines we saw,
A flag approaching near.

Some men were chose to meet this flag,
Our colonel was the chief,
Who soon returned and in his mouth
He brought an olive leaf.

This olive leaf was granted life,
But then we must no more,
Pretend to fight with Britain's king,
Until the wars are o'er.

And now poor Westmoreland is lost,
Our forts are all resigned,
Our buildings they are all on fire,—
What shelter can we find?

They did agree in black and white,
If we'd lay down our arms,
That all who pleased might quietly
Remain upon their farms.

But O! they've robbed us of our all,
They've taken all but life,

And we'll rejoice and bless the Lord,
If this may end the strife.

And now I've told my mournful tale,
I hope you'll all agree,

To help our cause and break the jaws
Of cruel tyranny.

In the same year, appeared from the press of Thomas and Samuel Green, New Haven, a pamphlet entitled Poems, occasioned by several circumstances and reminiscences in the present grand contest of America for Liberty. The author has been ascertained by the Rev. Stephen Dodd, of East Haven church, who has republished the poems,* to have been the Rev. Wheeler Case, pastor of the Presbyterian church of Pleasant Valley, Dutchess county, New York. He states in his preface that some of the pieces have been written merely for amusement, and others with design to promote the cause of liberty, into whose Treasury he casts his mite in publishing them. They are quaint and spirited expressions of patriotism and piety, mainly elicited by the defeat of Burgoyne. The struggle is symbolized by a contest between the eagle and the crane, in which the latter (in 1776) is hopefully made to come off victorious. The "tragical death of Miss M'Crea" is celebrated with more feeling than art. In the verses, "An Answer to the Messengers of the Nation," with a text from Isaiah, the writer expresses the not uncommon feeling of the pulpit of those days towards General Washington, who was looked to as a deliverer under the protection of heaven, “the sword of the Lord and of Gideon."

We give two passages from this old volume for their earnestness and their historical value.

WASHINGTON.

Let not my theme by any be abus'd,

Tho' Zion's founded, means must yet be us'.
When foes with spears rush on us like a flood,
Curs'd be the man who keeps his sword from blood†
When wonders great for Zion have been done,
GOD and his people went to war as one.

Revolutionary Memorials, embracing Poems by the Rev. Wheeler Case. New York: M. W. Dodd. 1852. Jer. xlvili. 10.

Gideon went forth against a mighty host,
Three hundred men were all that he could boast;
Before these few the Midianites now fall.
It was one sword alone that did it all,
Een by the sword of God and Gideon.
What great exploits were done by Israel's King,
How we hear this hero viet'ry sing.

Where did he learn this skill, or whence this might?
The God of armies taught his hands to fight.
When Zion's foes against her did conspire,

Hail-stones from heaven were sent, and flames of fire.
To crush her foes and maintain her cause,
The God of nature alters nature's laws;

The sun and moon are stopp'd, they cease to run,
'Till Joshua's work is o'er, his work is done.
Joshua the hero, and the man of GOD,

Rais'd up his eye, his mandate sent abroad,
Thou sun, bright lamp of day, thou moon, stand still,
Nor dare advance to yonder Western hill,

"Till I have crush'd my foes and done JEHOVAH's will.
But why need we go back to ancient dates,
While wonders great are done within these States?
JEHOVAH'S power, his all-wise providence,
Hath been engag'd for us in our defence.
Let's eye that Providence, adore the hand,
That rais'd for us a Joshua in our land.

O what a blessing to the States! it is our bliss,
Great WASHINGTON was rais'd for such a day as this.
How good, how kind is most indulgent heav'n,
That such a leader to our army's giv'n!
What great exploits he and his troops have done!
How bravely they have fought, what vict'ries won.
It was the LORD that did their breasts inspire
With thirst for liberty and martial fire,
"Twas he their operations plann'd so well,
And fought for them, e'en when ten thousand fell.
When these affairs are view'd and duly scann'd,
He's blind that does not see JEHOVAH's hand.
See Washington thro' Jersey State retreat,
His foes rejoice-they thought that he was beat;
Howe him pursues with speed, he presses on,
He thought the day his own, the vict'ry won.
The secret friends of George their off rings bring,
They boldly raise their head, and own their King:
A gloom is spread around, alas! what grief,
We know not where to go to find relief.
A storm of snow and hail the LORD sent down,
A blessed season this for Washington:
He now return'd, and thro' the storm he press'd,
And caught twelve hundred Hessians in their nest.
Our hero pitch'd his tents near Trenton bridge,
Howe gather'd all his troops upon a ridge,
Not far from where his little army lay,
Impatient waits his vengeance to display,
Determin'd when the shades of night were o'er,
Great Washington should fall and be no more.
But he with skill consummate did retire,
Soon made the foe at Princeton feel his ire,
Leaving the valiant Howe to fight the fire.*

THE FALL OF BURGOYNE.

Is this Burgoyne, Burgoyne the great,
Who fill'd our land with woe,
And threaten'd vengeance from the state,
Is he now fell so low?

Is't he that made the earth to tremble,
That was so great a curse,

General Washington ordered a number of fires to be made, and kept burning till towards day. In the middle of the night he made a forced march to Princeton, where he attacked and took two regiments stationed there. In the morning Howe was preparing to attack Washington, and much elated with expectations of crushing him, sent out his spies to make discoveries; but to his great surprise was soon informed where Washington was, by hearing the heavy cannonade at Princeton.

That doth great Babel's king resemble,
Is he now weak like us?

To Indians he gives stretch no more,
Nor them supplies with knives
To stain our land with crimson gore,
With them to scalp our wives.
His threat'ning proclamation's stopp'd,
He's now o'erspread with gloom,
The wings with which he flew are cropp'd,
He has no elbow-room.

His titles he proclaims no more,

No more his triumphs spread,
His thund'ring cannon cease to roar,
And all his joys are fled.

Where is his great and mighty host,
That huge gigantic race,

The sons of Anak, Britain's boast?
They're pris'ners in disgrace.
Pris'ners to rebels, Yankies too,
O mortifying stroke!

They caught Burgoyne with all his crew,
Britons now wear the yoke.

Great WASHINGTON, that man of might,
Hath laid a snare for Howe,

Unless with speed he takes his flight,
He to the yoke must bow.

During this year Rivington's contributors kept up a constant succession of pasquinades. We quote a few:

LIN.

:

NEW YORK, October 24, 1778.

INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY.

We learn from Philadelphia, that there was lately exhibited in that city, an admirable Farce called INDEPENDENCE. Who was the author is not positively known. Some people are of opinion, that it is the work of a certain Quack Doctor, called FRANKOthers assert, that it is the joint production of the strolling company by whom it was acted; it is, however, generally allowed, that one Adams gave the first hint, contrived the plot, and cast the parts. It appeared in the exhibition so tragi-comical that the audience were at a loss whether to laugh or cry, they were, however, well pleased with the catastrophe, and joined heartily in the following chorus, which was sung by the excellent actor who played the part of the PRESIDENT. The celebrated Voltaire somewhere relates, that a song was the cause of the REFORMATION in France.

SONG.

Our farce is now finish'd, your sport's at an end,
But ere you depart, let the voice of a friend,
By way of a chorus the evening crown,
With a song to the tune of a hey derry down.

Derry down, down, hey derry down,
Old Shakspeare, a poet who should not be spit on,
Altho' he was born in the island called Briton,
Hath said that mankind are all players at best,
A truth we'll admit of, for the sake of the jest.
Derry down, &c.

On this puny stage we have strutted our hour, And have acted our parts to the best of our power That the farce has concluded not perfectly well Was surely the fault of the Devil in Hell.

Derry down, &c.

This Devil, you know, out of spleen to the church,
Will often times leave his best friends in the lurch,
And turn them adrift in the midst of their joy;
"Tis a difficult matter to cheat the old boy.
Derry down, &c.

Since this is the case, we must e'en make the best
Of a game that is lost; let us turn it to jest,
We'll smile, nay, we'll laugh, we'll carouse and we'll
sing,

And cheerfully drink life and health to the King.
Derry down, &c.

Let Washington now from his mountains descend, Who knows but in George he may still find a friend.

A Briton, although he loves bottle and wench,
Is an honester fellow than parlez vous French.
Derry down, &c.

Our great Independence we give to the wind,

And pray that Great Britain may once more be kind,

In this jovial song all hostility ends,

And Britons and we will for ever be friends.
Derry down, &c.

Boy, fill me a bumper, now join in the chorus,
There's happiness still in the prospect before us;
In this sparkling glass all hostility ends,
And Britons and we will for ever be friends.
Derry down, &c.

Good night, my good people, retire to your houses,
Fair ladies, I beg you convince your fair spouses,
That Britons and we are united in bliss,

And ratify all with a conjugal kiss.

Derry down, &c.

Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold,
The great cajolers are themselves cajol'd:
What, now, is left of continental brags,
Taxes unpaid, though payable in rags.
What now remains of continental force?
Battalions mouldering, waste without resource.
What rests there yet of continental sway?
A ruin'd people ripe to disobey;
Hate now of men, and soon to be the jest,
Such is your state, ye monsters of the west,
Yet must on every face a smile be worn,
Whilst every breast with agony is torn,
Hopeless yourselves, yet hope you must impart,
And comfort others with an aching heart.
Ill fated they, who, lost at home, must boast
Of help expected from a foreign coast,
How wretched is their lot to France and Spain,
Who look for succour, but who look in vain.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold,
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd.
Courage, my boys, dismiss your chilling fears,
Attend to me, I'll put you in your gears,
Come, I'll instruct you how to advertise
Your missing friends, your hide-and-seek allies.
O YES! if any man alive will bring
News of the squadron of the Christian King,
If any man will find out Count d'Estaing,
With whose scrub actions both the Indies rang;
If any man will ascertain on oath,

What is become of Monsieur de la Mothe;

Whoever these important points explains,
Congress will nobly pay him for his pains,
Of pewter dollars what both hands can hold,
A thimblefull of plate, a mite of gold;
The lands of some big Tory, he shall get,
And strut a famous Col'nel en brevet,
And last, to honour him (we scorn to bribe),
We'll make him chief of the Oneida tribe.

This was followed on the 27th of the same month by

THE SIEGE OF SAVANNAH.

Come let us rejoice,

With heart and with voice

Her triumphs let loyalty show, sir,
While bumpers go round
Re-echo the sound,

Huzza, for the King and Prevost, sir.

With warlike parade,

And his Irish brigade,

His ships and his spruce Gallic host, sir,
As proud as an elf,

D'Estaing came himself,

And landed on Georgia's coast, sir.

There joining a band,

Under Lincoln's command,

Of rebels and traitors and Whigs, sir, 'Gainst the town of Savannah,

He planted his banner,

And then he felt wonderous big, sir.

With thund'ring of guns,
And bursting of bombs,

He thought to have frighted our Boys, sir,

But amidst all their din,

Brave Maitland push'd in,

And Moncrieff cry'd," a fig for your noise, sir."

Scarce three thousand men,
The town did maintain,

'Gainst three times their number of foes, sir,
Who left on the plain,

Of wounded and slain,

Three thousand to fatten the crows, sir.

Three thousand? No less!

For the rebels confess

Some loss, as you very well know, sir,
Then let bumpers go round,

And re-echo the sound,

Huzza for the King and Prevost, sir.
Rivington's Gazette, Nov. 27, 1779.

A poem on Washington, dated in 1779, merits

insertion here.

Let venal poets praise a King
For virtues unpossess'd,

A volunteer, unbrib'd I sing
The Hero of the West.

When Gaul came on with rapid stride,
And vict'ry was the word,

First shone his country's future pride,
And flesh'd his maiden sword.

With conquest crown'd, from war's alarms,
To study bent his mind ;-
"Equal to both, to arts or arms
Indiffrently inclin’d.”

Elate with fancied pow'r and pride,
Impell'd by angry Jove;
Nor fates nor justice on their side,
The British legions move.

With them a tribe of foreign slaves
A mercenary band,

For plunder bold, inur'd to blood,
Invade his native land.

His country calls, to arms he flies,
Nor fears a tyrant's frown;
Leads heroes, favour'd by the skies,
To glory and renown.

In vain the British tyrant storms,
His thunders fright no more,—
His hardy vet'rans, vaiuly brave,
Shall fly the happy shore.

The willing Chiefs around him throng,
Impatient of delay;

Their noble ardour he restrains,

And points the surer way.

Pursue, Great Chief, the glorious race-
Thy country's sword and shield ;-
Thrice happy! bon alike to grace
The senate and the field.

New Hampshire Gazette, Oct. 12, 1779.

We now come to one of the most famous pieces of verse composed during the war. It owes its reputation, however, more to the untimely death of its author than to its own merits. Having already given, in our extract from Hamilton, the best account of the most memorable portion of André's life, we present without further preface

THE COW-CHASE.

CANTO I.

To drive the kine one summer's morn,
The Tanner took his way,

The calf shall rue that is unborn
The jumbling of that day.

* General Wayne's legal occupation.

And Wayne descending steers shall know
And tauntingly deride,

And call to mind in ev'ry low

The tanning of his hide.

Yet Bergen cows still ruminate
Unconscious in the stall,

What mighty means were used to get
And loose them after all.

For many heroes bold and brave
From New-Bridge and Tapaan,*
And those that drink Passaick's wave,
And those that eat Soupaun.

And sons of distant Delaware
And still remoter Shannon,
And Major Lee with horses rare
And Proctor with his cannon.

All wondrous proud in arms they came,
What hero could refuse,

To tread the rugged path to fame,
Who had a pair of shoes?

At six the Host with sweating buff,
Arrived at Freedom's pole,

When Wayne who thought he'd time enough,
Thus speechified the whole.

O ye whom glory doth unite

Who Freedom's cause espouse,

Whether the wing that's doomed to fight
Or that to drive the cows.

Ere yet you tempt your further way
Or into action come,
Hear, soldiers, what I have to say,
And take a pint of rum.

Intemp❜rate valor then will string,
Each nervous arm the better,
So all the land shall IO sing
And read the gen'ral's letter.
Know that some paltry Refugees,
Whom I've a mind to fright,
Are playing h-1 amongst the trees
That grow on yonder height.

Their Fort and block-houses we'll level,
And deal a horrid slaughter,

We'll drive the scoundrels to the devil,
And ravish wife and daughter.

I under cover of th' attack,

Whilst you are all at blows,

From English Neighb'rhood and Tinack*
Will drive away the cows.

For well you know the latter is
The serious operation,

And fighting with the Refugees
Is only recreation.

His daring words from all the crowd,
Such great applause did gain,
That every man declared aloud

For serious work with Wayne.
Then from the cask of rum once more
They took a heady gill,
When one and all they loudly swore,
They'd fight upon the hill.'

But here the Muse has not a strain
Befitting such great deeds,
Huzza, they cried, huzza for Wayne,
And shouting-did their needs.

* Villages in New Jersey.

CANTO II.

Near his meridian pomp, the sun
Had journey'd from the hor'zon,
When fierce the dusky tribe mov'd on,
Of heroes drunk as poison.

The sounds confused of boasting oaths,
Re-echoed thro' the wood,

Some vow'd to sleep in dead men's clothes
And some to swim in blood.

At Irving's nod 'twas fine to see,
The left prepare to fight,

The while the drovers, Wayne and Lee,
Drew off upon the right.

Which Irving 'twas fame don't relate,
Nor can the Muse assist her,
Whether 'twas he that cocks a hat
Or he that gives a glister.

For greatly one was signalized,
That fought at Chesnut-Hill,
And Canada immortalized,
The vender of the pill.

Yet their attendance upon Proctor,
They both might have to boast of;
For there was business for the doctor,
And hats to be disposed of.

Let none uncandidly infer,

That Stirling wanted spunk,

The self-made peer had sure been there,
But that the peer was drunk.
But turn we to the Hudson's banks,
Where stood the modest train,
With purpose firm tho' slender ranks,
Nor car'd a pin for Wayne.

For them the unrelenting hand
Of rebel fury drove
And tore from ev'ry genial band,
Of friendship and of love.

And some within a dungeon's gloom,
By mock tribunals laid,
Had waited long a cruel doom,
Impending o'er their head.

Here one bewails a brother's fate
There one a sire demands,
Cut off, alas! before their date,
By ignominious hands.

And silver'd grandsires here appear'd
In deep distress serene,

Of reverend manners that declared,
The better days they'd seen.
Oh cursed rebellion these are thine,
Thine all these tales of wo,
Shall at thy dire insatiate shrine
Blood never cease to flow?
And now the foe began to lead
His forces to th' attack:
Balls whistling unto balls succeed,

And make the block-house crack.
No shot could pass, if you will take
The Gen'ral's word for true;

But 'tis a d-ble mistake,
For ev'ry shot went thro'.

The firmer as the rebels pressed,

The loyal heroes stand;

Virtue had nerv'd each honest breast,

And industry each hand.

In valour's phrensy, Hamilton
Rode like a soldier big,

* Vide Lee's Trial.

And Secretary Harrison,

With pen stuck in his wig.
But lest their Chieftain Washington,
Should mourn them in the mumps,'
The fate of Withrington to shun,
They fought behind the stumps.
But ah, Thaddeus Posset, why
Should thy poor soul elope?
And why should Titus Hooper die,
Ah die-without a rope?
Apostate Murphy, thou to whom.
Fair Shela ne'er was cruel;

In death shalt hear her mourn thy doom,
Ouch wou'd ye die my Jewel?

Thee Nathan Pumpkin, I lament,

Of melancholy fate,

The gray goose stolen as he went,
In his heart's blood was wet.
Now as the fight was further fought,
And balls began to thicken,

The fray assum'd, the Gen'rals thought,
The colour of a licking.

Yet undismay'd the chiefs command,
And to redeem the day,

Cry, SOLDIERS CHARGE! they hear, they stand,
They turn and run away.

CANTO III.

Not all delights the bloody spear,

Or horrid din of battle,

There are, I'm sure, who'd like to hear,

A word about the cattle.

The chief whom we beheld of late,
Near Schralenberg haranguing,
At Yan Van Poop's, unconscious sat
Of Irving's hearty banging.
Whilst valiant Lee, with courage wild,
Most bravely did oppose

The tears of woman and of child,

Who begg'd he'd leave the cows.
But Wayne, of sympathizing heart,
Required a relief,

Not all the blessings could impart
Of battle or of beef.

For now a prey to female charms,
His soul took more delight in
A lovely hamadryad's‡ arms,

Than driving cows or fighting:
A nymph, the Refugees had drove
Far from her native tree,
Just happen'd to be on the move,
When up came Wayne and Lee.
She in mad Anthony's fierce eye
The hero saw portray'd,

And all in tears she took him by
The bridle of his jade.§

Hear, said the nymph, O great commander!
No human lamentations;

The trees you see them cutting yonder,
Are all my near relations.

And I, forlorn! implore thine aid,

To free the sacred grove:

So shall thy prowess be repaid
With an immortal's love.