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NEW JERSEY
AND THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

A SERIES OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY THE NEW
JERSEY SOCIETY OF THE SONS OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION

PATRIOTIC POEMS OF
NEW JERSEY

CHOSEN AND ANNOTATED BY
WILLIAM CLINTON ARMSTRONG

Copyright, 1906, by
NEW JERSEY SOCIETY SONS OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION

Cb IS.9JS

NEW JERSEY SOCIETY
OF THE
Sons of The American Revolution

OFFICERS AND MANAGERS
ELECTED JANUARY, 1906

OFFICERS.
President  Hon. J. Franklin Fort, East Orange
First Vice-President  Andrew W. Bray, Newark
Second Vice-President  Elias O. Doremus, East Orange
Secretary  James Rankin Mullikin, Newark
Treasurer  Oscar H. Condit, East Orange
Registrar  John Jackson Hubbell, Newark
Historian  William C. Armstrong, New Brunswick
Chaplain  Rev. Eugene Brooks, Dover
BOARD OF MANAGERS.
Phillip H. Hoffman  Morristown
Franklin Murphy, jr.,  Newark
Hon. John S. Applegate  Red Bank
Gen. Joseph W. Congdon   Paterson
Rev. Charles L. Pardee  Orange
James Cotton Holden  Madison
George Rowland Howe   East Orange
Lovell H. Carr  Elizabeth
Edwin A. Rayner  Newark
Edward S. Atwater  Elizabeth I.

PATRIOTIC POEMS
PREFACE.

The following poems are published by the New Jersey Soc
iety of the Sons of the A merican Revolution, under the supervision
of its Historian, Mr. William Clinton Armstrong
In presenting to the public this collection of the Patriotic
Poems of New Jersey it may not be considered irrelevant to
present a brief sketch of the Society under whose auspices it is
published. The New Jersey Society of the Sons of the American Revo
lution was formed in 1889 by a number of the citizens of this
State who were members of the New York Society of the Sons
of the Revolution but who were not permitted by that organiza
tion to form a separate State society. This Society was founded
upon a liberal construction of the principles of the American
Revolution; upon a basis of the purest patriotism and with the
highest conception of the duties of citizens of the Republic.
Its requirements demand that its members shall be lineal de
scendants of the men who achieved American Independence.
Its organization infringed no patent; trespassed upon no pre
serves; set up no theory of States' rights, simply sought to en
large the scope of its activities, to revive the memories of the
heroic past and to perpetuate those memories for all time.
Soon after its organization, forecasting the future, hoping
to bind all the States in an indissoluble bond, it bent its efforts
towards the establishment of a National Society, in which effort
it was eminently successful; and delegates from thirty States
met in a general congress at Louisville, Ky., in April, 1890, and
with a unanimity almost unprecedented laid broad and deep
the foundations of our Society
As the New Jersey Society is, therefore, the parent society
of the now National Society, it seems due its founders that this
statement should be incorporated in this little book of patriotic
poems The contemplation of the heroic self-sacrifice of our ances
tors has inspired many a poet to describe the events and inci
dents of the Revolutionary war in thrilling verse and epic poem.
It is very gratifying to be able to present in this anthology so
many selections relating to Trenton, Assunpink, Princeton,
Monmouth and Springfield, so dear to the memory of Jerseymen
of patriotic ancestry.
However, it is very far from being our wish to limit the use
of the word patriotic to military events, and therefore no apology

OF NEW JERSEY
is needed for including in this volume many poems of a non-
military character.
We have not made our selections along narrow lines ; it has
been our aim to cover a wide range of topics. Several poems
have been included which are descriptive of the natural scenery
of our State, her mountains and her rivers, her sea shore and
coast waters. And as to intellectual culture the praises of
Princeton and Rutgers, both founded in colonial days and each
a pillar of strength to the American cause, are sung in Old Nas
sau and On the Banks of the Old Raritan ; as to religious devotion
the spirit of a sturdy faith beams forth from The Old Stone
Church and Divident Hill.
Of the authors represented in this book, four were Jersey-
men of National reputation as able and zealous Revolutionary
patriots: Philip Freneau as the Poet of the American Revolu
tion, John Witherspoon and Francis Hopkinson as Signers of
the Declaration of Independence, and William Livingston as
New Jersey's brilliant war governor. Other Jerseymen ap
pearing here as writers of verse, who were active supporters of
the same good cause, are John Cooper of Woodbury, a member
of the State Senate, Captain James Moore of Princeton, Captain
Moses Guest of New Brunswick, and Major Richard Howell,
afterward Governor of New Jersey. The poem Volunteer Boys
for Old Jersey's Defense was written by a soldier in the Conti
nental army; and McFingal is an extract from a mock-epic
which did effective service by covering the Tories with ridicule.
If to the foregoing we add the five anonymous poems which we
know were written and sung during the war itself, we have in
this book twenty-eight poems written by the patriots of 1776
themselves. As the study of history is a necessary part of a liberal edu
cation the Historian has endeavored to give to such poems as
The Battle of the Kegs and The British Prison-Ships a historical
setting which will enable even girls and boys to appreciate the
wit and humor of the one and the fierce denunciations of the
other. In preparing the explanatory notes the author thereof
has had in mind the needs of young people who are already
familiar with the general course of the Revolution and its prin
cipal events, but who have not that minute knowledge of local
detail which is necessary for an adequate understanding of many
of the poems. In order that there may be no possible mis
understanding on the part of any one interested, it is deemed

PATRIOTIC POEMS

proper to state that the compiler is alone responsible for all the
notes attached to the various poems.
The grateful acknowledgments of the Society are extended
to the following publishers and authors for permission to use
copyrighted matter: to Funk and Wagnalls Company, to John
Wiley and Sons, to Richard G. Badger and Company, to Harper
and Brothers, to Charles Scribner's Sons, to the Century Com
pany, to the Good Roads Magazine, and to Houghton, Mifflin
and Company, the only authorized publishers of the works of
Bret Harte and Edmund Clarence Stedman.
The thanks of the Society are due also to Miss Virginia W.
Cloud, Miss Eleanor A. Hunter, Miss Sarah M. Davy, Mrs. Ed
ward C. Lyon, Mrs. Arthur H. Noll, Mrs. James W. Trimble,
Mrs. Frederic Drummond, Mrs. Laura E. Richards, Rev. Joseph
F. Folsofn, Dr. Louis Bevier, Dr. Merrill E. Gates, Howard H.
Fuller, William H. Fischer, Will Carleton, James J. Roche,
Isaac R. Pennypacker, Thomas Fleming Day, Richard W.
Gilder, Horace Traubel, literary executor of Walt Whitman,
and to Charles D. Piatt for seven poems from his Ballads of
New Jersey in the Revolution.
The poems and publications of the parties above-named,
and also the poems of persons mentioned elsewhere in this book,
are protected by copyright; and all rights are reserved to the
respective publishers and authors.

OF NEW JERSEY

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Our Gallant State (An extract)  Thomas Ward 1
New Jersey  Mary C. Gates 2
The Jerseyman's Resolve  Capt. James Moore 3
Washington — A Toast  Francis Hopkinson 4
Volunteer Boys for Old Jersey's Defense  Henry Archer 4
Our Women  Anonymous 6
The Centenarian's Story  Walt Whitman 7
The Maryland Battalion  John W. Palmer 12
Washington's Victories in New Jersey  Anonymous 14
The Ballad of Daniel Bray  Joseph Fulford Folsom 15
Ballad of Sweet P  Virginia Woodward Cloud 18
The Battle of Trenton  Anonymous 20
Washington at Trenton  Sara Wiley Drummond 22
The Surprise of Trenton  Henry William Herbert 23
The Battle of Trenton  Henry Kollock How 30
The Retreat of Seventy-Six  Thomas Ward 37
Assunpink and Princeton  Thomas Dunn English 48
The Jersey Road  Good Roads Magazine 5 1
Washington at Princeton  Charles D. Piatt 52
Washington at Princeton  Caroline F. Orne 53
General Mercer at Princeton  Charles D. Piatt. 56
To His Excellency General Washington. . . .Gov. William Livingston 56
Go On Illustrious Chief  John Witherspoon 59
Room for America  Francis Hopkinson 60
Great News from the Jerseys  Anonymous 61
The Birds, the Beasts and the Bat  Francis Hopkinson 64
Retreat of the British Army (An Extract) . . . .John Branson 66
The Battle of Monmouth  Thomas Dunn English 67
The Battle of Monmouth  Sara Wiley Drummond 72
The Longest Battle  Will Carleton 7 5
Molly Maguire at Monmouth  William Collins 80
Sergeant Molly  James Jeffrey Roche 82
Molly Pitcher  Laura Elizabeth Richards 84
The Spur of Monmouth  Henry Morford 86
McFingal (An Extract)  John Trumbull 89
Light Horse Harry at Paulus Hook  Charles D. Piatt 91
Simcoe's Raid up the Raritan Valley  Capt. Moses Guest 93
The Martyr, Joseph Hedden, Jr  Thomas Ward 94
Parson Caldwell at Springfield  Charles D. Piatt 98
Caldwell of Springfield  Bret Harte 100
The Cow Chace  Maj. John Andre 101
Sergeant Champe  Anonymous 116
Captain Josh Huddy  William H. Fisher 120
Weehawken  Robert Charles Sands 122
Aaron Burr's Wooing  Edmund Clarence Stedman 123
The Raid on Ramapo  Thomas Dunn English 125
Jack the Regular  Thomas Dunn English 127
The Falls of the Passaic  Washington Irving 132
Rock of the Passaic Falls  Oliver Crane 133
Eagle Rock  Joseph Fulford Folsom 135
A Visit to Washington's Headquarters  D. A. W. 137
An Old Mirror  Y. F. 138
II.

; PATRIOTIC POEMS

TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Washington Headquarters  Charles D. Piatt 139
Washington's Headquarters  Henry Nehemiah Dodge 142
A Call on Lady Washington  Charles D. Piatt 144
Fort Nonsense  Charles D. Piatt 145
Anna Kitchel's Protection  Charles D. Piatt 147
Rhoda Farrand  Eleanor A. Hunter 148
Divident Hill  Elizabeth Clementine Kinney 152
Fuit Ilium  Edmund Clarence Stedman 154
Governor Paterson's Barge on the Raritan. .. .Capt. Moses Guest 157
Ode to the Raritan  John Davis 158
Rutgers College Hymn  Louis Bevier, Jr. 159
On the Banks of the Old Raritan  Howard Newton Fuller 160
The Towers of Princeton  Robert Bridges 161
Old Nassau  Harlan Page Peck 162
The Builders (An Extract)  Henry VanDyke 163
Battle Monument  Richard Watson Gilder 165
To Delia  Francis Hopkisnon 166
Delia, Pride of Borden's Hill  Francis Hopkinson 167
The Delaware  Oliver Crane 168
The Delaware River  Thomas Ward 169
The Battle of the Kegs  Francis Hopkinson 173
Fancies at Navesink  Walt Whitman
Had I the Choice  ,  177
Proudly the Flood Comes In  178
Neversink  Philip Freneau 178
The Coasters  Thomas Fleming Day 179
On Barnegat Shoals  William H. Fischer 181
Patroling Barnegat  Walt Whitman 182
The Men of the Jersey Shore  William H. Fischer 183
To the Dog Sancho  Phillip Freneau 184
Monmouth Ten Years after the Battle  Henry Morford 185
Gloucester Spring  Nathaniel Evans 187
Hannah Ladd's Pass  John Cooper 189
Ballad of the British Ship Delight  Lucy Weeks Trimble 190
The Old Stone Church  Francis DeHaes Janvier 191
The Country Printer  Philip Freneau 193
Revolutionary Scenes  Sara M. Davy 197
The Jersey Blues  Isaac R. Pennypacker 200
The British Prison-Ships  Philip Freneau 201
Captain Jones's Invitation  Philip Freneau 222
Sir Harry's Invitation  Philip Freneau 224
New Roof  Francis Hopkinson 225
Welcome to Washington  Gov. Richard Howell 227
The Bower  Capt. Moses Guest 228
Jersey Blue  Gov. Richard Howell 230
Ode to New Jersey  Anonymous 232
Our Whole Country (An Extract) .... Henry Nehemiah Dodge 233
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES  . 235
INDEX TO AUTHORS  246

III.

OF NEW JERSEY

DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Philip Freneau, Poet of the American Revolution  Frontispiece.
Freneau never allowed his portrait to be painted, although
often urged to do so by his friends, and although sittings
were solicited by such artists as Jarvis and Peale. The picture
of him presented herewith is the one sketched by Frederick
Halpin, an English portrait painter who settled in New
York City in 1842. This picture by Halpin was pronounced
by Freneau's children to be a satisfactory likeness.
Lord Stirling, of Basking Ridge, N. J  13
Major-General in the Continental Army.
The original portrait, which is in the possession of Dr. Robert
Watts of New York City, was painted by Benjamin West.
Washington Crossing the Delaware  32
The original, which is now in the Boston Museum of Fine
Arts was painted by Thomas Sully. The etching was by
W. Humphrey and the engraving by C. G. Lang. Another
picture entirely different but bearing the same name, and
which is now in the Kunsthalle, Bremen, was painted in
1850 by Emanuel Leutze.
Washington at the Second Battle of Trenton  49
The original which is now in the gallery at Yale University
was painted in 1792 by Col. John Trumbull at the request
of the city of Charlestown, S. C. It represents Washington
at sunset on January 2, 1777, looking across Assunpink
creek and inspecting the camp of Cornwallis. Every part
of Washington's dress and even the trappings of his horse
are accurate in every detail, having been drawn by the
artist from the original objects.
Molly Pitcher at the Battle of Monmouth  67
This is from the picture by D. M. Carter, engraved by John
Rogers. The original is in St. Louis, Mo.
Washington's Headquarters at Morristown  140
With pictures of General and Lady Washington.
This mansion, which ranks next to Mt. Vernon in historic
interest, was built by Colonel Jacob Ford, Jr., in 1774
and was occupied by Washington and his military family
from December, 1779, to June, 1780. The pictures of the
Washingtons are from engravings after the Athenaeum
Eortraits by Gilbert Stuart; the originals are in the
oston Museum; there are many replicas and variants.
Trenton Battle Monument  165
This is a column of white granite, 150 feet high, in the
Roman-Doric style. The cornerstone was laid December
26, 1891, and the monument was dedicated October 19, 1893
Francis Hopkinson, of Bordentown, N. J  175
A Signer of the Declaration of Independence.
This is a detail from a picture painted in 1785 by Robert
Edge Pine. The original painting shows Hopkinson seated
at a table in a library, with books on the table and a column
at the back.
IV.

PATRIOTIC POEMS

DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Jersey, a British Prison-Ship  208
Inserted through the courtesy of Mr. Philip H. Hoffman,
of Morristown, N. J. The original was drawn by Captain
Thomas Dring, of Providence, R. I., a patriotic seaman,
who was a prisoner on the Jersey and who wrote the
Recollections of the Jersey Prison-Ship.

IIV.

pgrwf *wli

Philip Freneau
Of Monmouth County, New Jersey
The Poet of the American Revolution

OUR GALLANT STATE.

O ye her sons, keep fresh her story !
Swell with her precious memories !
Carve in brass her victories !
Shout for her fields of glory !

TRENTON ! All hail forever !
First dawning of the joyful day
That swept the clouds of night away.

PRINCETON ! All hail forever !
Where dying Mercer pierced the line
And broke the charm of discipline.

MONMOUTH ! All hail forever !
That made despairing foes recoil
Disgusted with the ungracious soil.

Such are the jewels rare
The State upon the front shall wear
Throughout all time.
Thomas Ward. M

PATRIOTIC POEMS

NEW JERSEY.
Ye Thirteen Stars of Light,
Hung in our stormy night
Of blood and war,
Still through uncounted years
Burn on, undying spheres !
Shine far, amid thy peers,
New Jersey's Star !
Twas on thy central field,
Sure victory first was sealed:
Here turned war's tide !
Ever live Trenton's name !
Princeton's and Monmouth's fame
Written in words of flame
Deathless abide !
For us our God hath wrought;
For us thy heroes fought;
So are we free !
Third on the ringing roll,
Thy hand endorsed the scroll,
Pledge of a nation's soul
To Liberty !
Our Century's vast increase
Rounds its full orb in peace:
To God be praise !
Increase in every part
Trade in each port and mart,
Our learning and our art,
Be His always !
From elemental strife,
From our great nation's life,
Deep, restless, broad,
Blend Thou a mighty chord
Of myriad music, Lord,
Ascending in one word: —
That word be, God !
Master of men and states,
Builder Whose will creates
Nations and powers !

[21

OF NEW JERSEY
The pillars Thou dost place,
With lily-work of grace
Crown Thou, that all the praise
Thine be, not ours. Mary C. Gates.
Third on the Scroll of Fame. — The first three States to ratify the
Constitution of the United States were Delaware, Pennsylvania and New
Jersey; they ratified it during December, 1787, in the order named and
on these days respectively, — the seventh, the twelfth and the eighteenth.
This poem was read in Kirkpatrick chapel, Rutgers college, at a
meeting of the State Historical Society in celebration of the centennial
of New Jersey's ratification of the Constitution of the United States.

THE JERSEYMAN'S RESOLVE.
A Marching Chant of the New Jersey Militia
1776.
I love with all my heart
The independent part ;
To obey the Parliament
My conscience won't consent.
I never can abide
To fight on England's side;
I pray that God may bless
The great and grand Congress ;
This is my mind and heart,
Tho none should take my part.
The man that's called a Tory,
To plague, it is my glory ;
For righteous is the cause,
To keep the Congress laws.
To fight against the king
Bright liberty will bring.
Lord North and England's king,
I hope that they will swing.
Of this opinion I
Resolve to live and die. Capt. James Moore. [31

PATRIOTIC POEMS
WASHINGTON. A TOAST
Written in 1777.
'Tis Washington's health — fill a bumper around,
For he is our glory and pride ;
Our arms shall in battle with conquest be crowned,
Whilst virtue and he's on our side.
'Tis Washington's health — and cannons should roar,
And trumpets the truth should proclaim ;
There can not be found, search the world all o'er,
His equal in virtue and fame.
'Tis Washington's health— our hero to bless
May heaven look graciously down!
Oh! long may he live our hearts to possess,
And freedom still call him her own !
Francis Hopkinson.

VOLUNTEER BOYS FOR OLD JERSEY'S DEFENSE.
A TOAST
Hence with the lover who sighs o'er his wine,
Chloes and Phillises toasting,
Hence with the slave who will whimper and whine,
Of ardor and constancy boasting.
Hence with love's joys,
Follies and noise,
The toast that I give is the Volunteer Boys.
Nobles and beauties and such common toasts,
Those who admire may drink, sir;
Fill up the glass to the volunteer hosts,
Who never from danger will shrink, sir.
Let mirth appear,
Every heart cheer,
The toast that I give is the brave volunteer.

Here's to the squire who goes to parade,
Here's to the citizen soldier;

[4]

OF NEW JERSEY

Here's to the merchant who fights for his trade
Whom danger increasing makes bolder.
Let mirth appear,
Union is here,
The toast that I give is the brave volunteer.
Here's to the lawyer who, leaving the bar,
Hastens where honor doth lead, sir,
Changing the gown for th°. ensigns of war,
The cause of his country to plead, sir.
Freedom appears,
Every heart cheers,
And calls for the health of the law volunteers.
Here's to the soldier who, battered in wars
And safe to his farm-house retired,1
When called by his country, ne'er thinks of his scars,
With ardor to join us inspired.
Bright fame appears,
Trophies uprear,
To veteran chiefs who became volunteers.
Here's to the farmer who dares to advance
To harvests of honor with pleasure;
Who, with a slave the most skillful in France,
A sword for his country would measure .
Hence with cold fear,
Heroes rise here;
The ploughman is changed to the stout volunteer.
Here's to the peer, first in senate and field,
Whose actions to titles add grace, sir;
Whose spirit undaunted would never yet yield
To a foe, to a pension or place, sir.
Gratitude here
Toasts to the peer
Who adds to his titles, The Brave Volunteer.
Thus the bold bands for old Jersey's defence,
The muse hath with rapture reviewed, sir;
With our Volunteer Boys as our verses commence,
With our Volunteers Boys they conclude, sir •
Discord or noise
Ne'er damp our joys,
But Health and Success to the Volunteer Boys.
Henry Archer.

[5]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

OUR WOMEN.
All hail! superior sex, exalted fair,
Mirrors of virtue, Heaven's peculiar care;
Formed to enspirit and ennoble man,
The immortal finish of Creation's plan!
Accept the tribute of our warmest praise
The soldier's blessing and the patriot's bays!
For fame's first plaudit, we no more contest
Constrained to own it decks the female breast
While partial prejudice is^ quite, disarmed, '; i
And e'en pale envy with encomiums charmed,
Freedom no more shall droop her languid head,
Nor dream supine on sloth's lethargic bed,
No more sit weeping o'er the veteran band —
Those virtuous, brave protectors of her land —
Who, nobly daring, stem despotic sway
And live the patriot wonders of the day.
For lo! these sons her glorious work review,
Cheered by such gifts and smiles and prayers from youl
More precious treasure in the soldier's eye
Than all the wealth Potosi's mines supply.
And now ye sister angels of each state,
Their honest bosoms glow with joy elate,
Their gallant hearts with gratitude expand
And trebly feel the bounties of your hand.
And winged for you their benedictions rise,
Warm from the soul and grateful to the skies!
Nor theirs alone. The historian-patriots, fired,
Shall bless the generous virtue you've inspired,
Invent new epithet to warm their page
And bid you live admired from age to age,
[ With sweet applauses dwell on every name,
Endear your memories and embalm your fame.
And thus the future bards shall soar sublime
And waft you glorious down the stream of time ;
[6]

OF NEW JERSEY
The breeze of panegyric fill each sail,
And plaudits pure perfume the increasing gale.
Then freedom's ensign thus inscribed shall wave,
The female patriots who their country save !
Till time's abyss, absorbed in heavenly lays,
Shall flow in your eternity of praise. Anonymous.
During the early part of the year 1780, the condition of the Contin
ental army was especially deplorable. The soldiers were weak from want
of food; they were without meat for days at a time, without sufficient
clothing, without medicine, without forage, without money, without
credit, and sometimes almost without hope.
It is to the honor of the women of the Revolution that they de
vised a systematic plan for raising funds for the relief of the soldiers;
and they carried out their plan with great vigor. A public meeting for
organization was held by the ladies of New Jersey, at Trenton, on the
Fourth of July, 1780; a subscription was opened, and a committee was
appointed to correspond with influential ladies in each of the thirteen
counties of the State. Among those who were active in this good work
in our State may be named Miss Cadwalader, Mrs. Cox, Mrs. Dickenson,
Mrs. Forman, Mrs. George Morgan, Mrs. William Paterson, Mrs. Jonathan
Deare (Frances Phillips), Mrs. John Neilson (Catherine Voorhees) , Mrs.
Richard Stockton (Annis Boudinot), the two Mrs. De3' of Preakness,
and Lady Stirling (Susan Livingston) of Baskingridge.
(;,;,;!) °\ The sentiments of this song, which was composed at that time and
sung by the soldiers in camp, are therefore not the empty flatterings of a
drawing-room; but they voice the heartfelt thanks of the soldiers them
selves to all those ladies throughout the thirteen colonies who had "illus
trated the nobility of their sentiments and the virtue of their patriotism
by>fgenerous subscriptions to the suffering soldiers of the American
army".

THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY.

Volunteer of 1861-2, (at Washington Park, Brooklyn assisting
H', the Centenarian).
Give me your hand old Revolutionary,
The hill-top is nigh, but a few steps, (make room gentlemen) ,
Up the path you have followed me well, spite of your hundred
and extra years,
You can walk old man, though your eyes are almost done,
Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve
f"Si me.
Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means,
On the plain below recruits are drilling and exercising,
There'is the camp, one regiment departs to-morrow, [7]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Do you hear the officers giving their orders?
Do you hear the clank of the muskets?
Why what comes over you now old man ?
Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively ?
The troops are but drilling, they are yet surrounded with smiles,
Around them at hand the well-drest friends and the women,
While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down,
Green the midsummer verdure and fresh blows the dallying
breeze,
O'er proud and peaceful cities and arm of the sea between.
But drill and parade are over, they march back to quarters,
Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clapping !
As wending the crowds now part and disperse — but we old maa,
Not for nothing have I brought you hither— -we must remain,
You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell

The Centenarian.
When I clutched your hand it was not with terror,
But suddenly pouring about me here on every side,
And below there where the boys, were drilling, and up the
slopes they ran,
And where the tents are pitched, and wherever you see south and
south-east and south-west,
Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods,
And along the shores, in mire, (now filled over) came again and
suddenly raged.
As eighty-five years a-gone no mere parade receiv'd with ap
plause of friends,
But a battle which I took part in myself- aye long ago as it is,
I took part in it,
Walking then this hilltop, this same ground
Aye, this is the ground.
My blind eyes even as I speak behold it re-peopled from graves,
The years recede, pavements and stately houses disappear,
Rude forts appear again, the old hoop'd guns are mounted!
I see the lines of rais'd earth stretching from river to bay,
I mark the vista of waters, I mark the uplands and slopes';
Here we lay encamp 'd, it was at this time in summer also.'
[8]

OF NEW JERSEY

As I talk I remember it all, I remember the Declaration,
It was read here, the whole army paraded, it was read to us here,.
By his staff surrounded the General stood in the middle, he held
up his unsheath'd sword,
It glittered in the sun in full sight of the army.
'Twas a bold act then — the English war-ships had just arrived,
We could watch down the lower bay where they lay at anchor,
And the transports swarming with soldiers.
A few more days and they landed, and then the battle.
Twenty thousand were brought against us,
A veteran force furnished with good artillery.
I tell you not now the whole of the battle,
But one brigade early in the forenoon brder'd forward to engage
the red-coats,
Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march'd,
And how long and well it stood confronting death.
Who do you think that was marching steadily, sternly confront*
ing death?
It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong,
Rais'd in Virginia and Maryland, and most, of them known per
sonally to the General.
Jauntily forward they went with quick step toward Gowanus'
waters,
Till of a sudden unlook'd for by defiles through the woods, gain'd
at night,
The British advancing, rounding in from the east, fiercely playing
their guns,
That brigade of the youngest was cut off and at the enemy's
mercy.
The General watched them from this hill,
They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their envirsn
ment,
Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the
middle,
But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning
them! 1 [9]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

It sickens me yet, that slaughter!
I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General.
I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish.
Meanwhile the British manoeuvr'd to draw us out for a pitch'd
battle,
But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch'd battle.
We fought the fight in detachments.
Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the luck
was against us,
Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us back
to the works on this hill,
Till we turn'd menacing here, and then he left us.
That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two
thousand strong,
Few return'd, nearly all remain in Brooklyn.
That and here my General's first battle,
No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not conclude
with applause,
Nobody clapp'd hands here then.
But in darkness in mist on the ground under a chill rain,
Wearied that night we lay foil'd and sullen,
While scornfully laugh'd many an arrogant lord off against us
encamp 'd,
Quite within hearing, feasting, clinking wineglasses together over
their victory.
So dull and damp and another day,
But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing,
Silent as a ghost while they thought they were sure of hirn, my
General retreated.
I saw him at the river-side,
Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation;
My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pass'd
''"over. _ ;
And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for
the last time.
Every one else seem'd fill'd with gloom,
Many no doubt thought of capitulation.
[10]

OF NEW JERSEY

But when my General pass'd me,
As he stood in his boat and look'd towards the coming sun
I saw something different from capitulation.
Terminus.
Enough, the Centenarian's story ends,
The two, the past and present, have interchanged,
I myself as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now
speaking.
And is this the ground Washington trod?
And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he
cross'd,
As resolute in defeat as other generals in their oroudest triumphs?
I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward,
I must preserve that look as it beam'd on yon rivers of Brooklyn.
See — as the annual round returns the phantoms return,
It is the 27th of August and the British have landed,
The battle begins and goes against us, behold through the smoke
Washington's face,
The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march'd forth to
intercept the enemy,
They are cut off, murderous artillery from the hills plays upon
them,
Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag,
Baptized that day in many a young man's bloody wounds,
In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers', tears.
Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive that you are more
valuable than your owners supposed;
In the midst of you stands an encampment very old,
Stands forever the camp of that dead brigade. Walt Whitman.
From Leaves of Grass by permission of Horace Traubel; copy
right 1891.

The Americans ^ere defeated at the battle of Long Island on Au
gust 27, 1776, by an army of British veterans under Generals Howe and
Cornwallis. Half the Americans were busy fortifying Brooklyn heights; the
other half had been thrown forward and were holding the line of wooded
hills which extended from Greenwood cemetery eastward The left wing
[11]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

was commanded by Sullivan; and the right wing, by Lord Stirling, New
Jersey's highest officer and only majoivgeneral in the Continental army.
Howe landed his army at Gravesend, encamped for several days
at Flatbush, and then began operations before daylight on the mornin;
of the 27th, turning the American left and capturing Sullivan himself.
He then pushed Cornwallis forward to trap the American right by cutting
off Stirling's retreat.
Howe's battle was planned with skill and executed with vigor and.
success. From the British point of view, the only hitch in the prograin
of the entire day's work was caused by the daring and magnificent charges.
of the Maryland Battalion under Lord Stirling who held open the narrow
road at the Cortelyou house and thus enabled hundreds of the retreating
Americans to escape.
Washington had been in New York City, but he crossed the East
river and reached the American line of fortifications in time to see Lord'
Stirling lead the gallant Marylanders in charge after charge against over
whelming odds, sacrificing themselves in order to prevent the capture of
their comrades. Washington wrung his hands in anguish, and exclaimed, "My God,
what brave fellows must I this day lose."

THE MARYLAND BATTALION.
In the battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776.
From For Charlie's Sake by permission of Funk & Wagnalls Company;
Copyright 1901.
This stirring ballad is a death-song. The author takes us in imagi
nation to the first battle fought after the Declaration of Independence,
to the first field where American soldiers in regular line of battle ever
charged a foe on open ground. He pictures to us the crisis of the battle,
the very moment when duty required a selected band to advance to cer
tain death in order to hold the road open for the escape of their comrades.
Altho it was a day of disaster, the memory of the battle of Long Island is.
brightened and endeared by the courage, discipline and self-sacrifice of
Maryland's Four Hundred, led in person by Major-General Lord Stirling
of New Jersey.
The poet writes this song as though it came from the lips of these-
young heroes as they align their ranks for the first desperate charge.
They recall their homes and mothers and sweethearts; they describe the
booming of guns heard from distant parts of'the battlefield, and tell kow
they had held at bay all the morning the cohorts of Grant; and then thev
turn to their general, "O Stirling, good Stirling," and announce thei'r
readiness for the work assigned them; and then as the trumpet sounds.
"Tralara," they salute the flag, send a last greeting to the loved ones at
home ,and move forward to action.
Spruce Macaronis, and pretty to see,
Tidy and dapper and gallant were we;.
Blooded, fine gentleman, proper and tall;
Bold in a fox-hunt and gay at a ball;
Prancing spldados so martial and bluff,
Billets for bullets, in scarlet and buff —
[12]

Lord Stirling
Of Somerset County, New Jersey
Major General in the Continental Army

OF NEW JERSEY

But our cockades were clasped with a mother's low prayer,
And the sweethearts that braided the sword-knots were fair.
There was grummer of drums humming hoarse in the hills.
And the bugle sang fanfaron down by the mills;
By Flatbush the bagpipes were droning amain,
And keen cracked the rifles in Martense's lane;
For the Hessians were flecking the hedges with red,
And the grenadiers' tramp marked the roll of the dead.
Three to one, flank and rear, flashed the files of St. George,
The fierce gleam of their steel as the glow of a forge.
The brutal boom-boom of their swart cannoneers
'Was sweet music compared with the taunt of their cheers
For the brunt of their onset, our crippled array,
And the light of God's leading gone out in the fray!
Oh, the rout on the left and the tug on the right!
The mad plunge of the charge and the wreck of the flight!
When the cohorts of Grant held stout Stirling at strain,
And the mongrels of Hesse went tearing the slain;
When at Freeke's Mill the flumes and the sluices ran red,
And the dead choked the dyke and the marsh choked the dead!
"O Stirling, good Stirling! How long must we wait?
Shall the shout of your trumpet unlease us too late?
Have you never a dash for brave Mordecai Gist,
With his heart in his throat, and his blade in his fist?
Are we good for no more than to prance in a ball,
When the drums beat the charge and the clarions call?"
Tralara! Tralara! Now praise we the Lord
For the clang of His call and the flash of His sword!
Tralara! Tralara! Now forward to die;
For the banner, hurrah! and for sweethearts, good-bye!
"Four hundred wild lads!" Maybe so. I'll be bound
""Twill be easy to count us, face up, on the ground.
If we hold the road open, tho' Death take the toll,
We'll be missed on parade when the States call the roll —
When the flags meet in peace and the guns are at rest,
And fair freedom is singing Sweet Home in the West.
John Williamson Palmer:,

The British general, James Grant, starting from Gravesend and
marching northward along the edge of New York Bay, encountered the
American pickets about daylight at the house of Judge Martense, and driv
ing them back found the American army under Lord Stirling drawn up
across the road. The two armies faced each other for two hours, fighting [13]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

at long range. Meanwhile Cornwallis by a flank march had gained the
rear of the Americans and was firing his cannon as a signal to let Grant
know that it was time for him to close in on Stirling who was thus trapped
between the two British divisions.
Stirling himself heard the signal and knew exactly what it meant,
so he hurried his troops back toward Brooklyn; but he was too late, for
Cornwallis' skirmishers had already reached the road. Stirling promptly
placed himself at the head of the Maryland troops to open the road and
to keep it open until the main body of his command could escape by wad
ing the marsh below the dike at Freeke's mill or by walking on the dike
itself. Stirling charged CornwaUis' grenadiers and drove back the head
of the column ; he charged again, forcing the enemy to take refuge in the
Cortleyou house and even driving the gunners from the battery in the
dooryard. Cornwallis hurried forward re-enforcements. Three times
more did the gallant Marylanders rally and charge; but at last, hemmed
in on all sides and overpowered by numbers but rejoicing that their com
rades had escaped, those who were alive surrendered. They had held the
road open; but two hundred and fifty of them had died on the field, and
the others including Lord Stirling himself became prisoners of war. It
was this costly sacrifice that saved the right wing of the Continental
army from destruction; and their heroic devotion is commemorated by
a stately monument in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, bearing this inscripton
In Honor of
MARYLAND'S FOUR HUNDRED
Who on this battlefield on
August 27, 1776.
Saved the American Army.

WASHINGTON'S VICTORIES IN NEW JERSEY.
When British troops first landed here,
With. Howe commander o'er them,
They thought they'd make us quake with fear,
And carry all before them;
With thirty thousand men or more,
And she without assistance,
America must needs give o'er,
And make no more resistance.
But Washington, her glorious son,
Of British hosts the terror,
Soon, by repeated overthrows,
Convinced them of their error;
Let Princeton and let Trenton tell,
What gallant deeds he's done, sir,
And Monmouth's plain where hundreds fell,
And thousands more have run, sir. Anonymous.
[14]

OF NEW JERSEY
THE BALLAD OF DANIEL BRAY.
December, 1776.
The Delaware, with stately sweep,
Flows seaward as when armies fought:
But they who struck for freedom sleep
Beneath the soil their valor bought.
At Rosemont, inland, Daniel Bray,
In lonely grave, with rest hard won,
Waits for his country's voice to say:
"He brought the boats to Washington."
At Trenton lay the Hessian host,
Pluming their pride with gay parade;
They thought the freeman's cause was lost
And hoped his last brave stand was made;
But safe on Pennsylvania's shore,
The master patriot aimed the blow
Which thenceforth in the nation's lore
Would mark oppression's overthrow.
To Captain Bray on Kingwood height
A horseman sped by field and brake,
Till on his door, at dead of night,
He knocked, and bade the soldier wake>
A hasty mount, a quick farewell,
And then miles down the frozen track,
Like musket shots the hoof-beats fell,
While Mary slept and dreamed him back.
Down Stony Batter Hill they sped,
Across Duck's Flat; then up the slopes
To Rittenhouse (where sleep the dead)
Their coursers climbed with steadier lopes ;
The ten-mile creek is left behind,
Gilboa's slant is swiftly run;
At Coryell's the inn they find,
And waiting them, great Washington.
That hour Bray heard his general say:
"Seize all the boats from Easton down,
And guard them safe, by night and day,
Until we cross to take the town."

[IS]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The echoes of a noble voice
Hied with him from that meeting place,
Praise made the soldier's heart rejoice,
And spurred his zeal to quicker pace
Ere gray dawn paled o'er Hunterdon,
He ranged a circuit twelve miles wide,
For brave Gearheart of Flemington,
And Johnes of Amwell countryside.
To foil the Tory's cunningness,
With squads in hunter's garb uncouth,
They pierced the Jersey wilderness,
From Ringoes to the Lehigh's mouth.
Then downward on the broader stream,
They drove by night their project bold,
With but the planet's wintry gleam
To cheer them in the bitter cold.
December's slashing wind cut keen
O'er ice-cakes massed with frosty grip;
And longside, in the dusky sheen,
They watched the chill black waters slip.
Beneath the river's gloomy banks,
And where the friendly ferry plied,
They seized the craft with scanty thanks,
And launched them on the swirling tide:
Through eddies deep, and rapids swift,
They guided sure their precious fleet;
Minding the rock and treacherous rift,
And creeks where angry currents meet.
No hostile shot disturbed the verge,
Where ghostly woods loomed drear and dark
No voice, except the hound's sad dirge,
Or, far away, the wolf's gruff bark;
But sometimes 'cross the distant slope,
A farmhouse shed its candle ray,
And warmed the wand'rer's heart with hope
Of fireside joys and freedom's day.
The river's speech is low and weird,
It bears no tales of deeds long past ;
But Bray, ere morning light appeared,
His boats by Malta Isle made fast;

|16]

OF NEW JERSEY

And on that famous Christmas night,
They bore the heroes o'er the tide,
Who broke the spell of Britain's might,
And flung the Hessian mob aside.
The Delaware shall ever flow
Through sacred soil, forever free,
And every free-born child shall know
The tale of Trenton's victory:
And till the stars shall cease to shed
Their light o'er hilly Hunterdon,
Of Daniel Bray it shall be said:
"He brought the boats to Washington."
Joseph Fulford Folsom.

Daniel Bray was a captain in the Second regiment of the Hunter
don county militia. He was born at Baptisttown, Hunterdon county,
N. J., October 12, 1751, and died at Kingwood, in the same county,
December 5, 1809.
Washington abandoned Jersey in the early part of December,
1776, the last man of the rear-guard under Lord Stirling reaching the
Pennsylvania shore on December 8th, about midnight. To prevent the
passage of the British, all boats had been removed from the Jersey shore;
but Washington soon had far deeper plans in mind; he wished a httle
fleet of boats collected so that he and his army might recross the river at
will. Accordingly he summoned Captain Bray and directed him to
gather secretly all the river-craft that could be found on the Delaware
from Phillipsburg downward.
Associated with Capt. Bray in this undertaking were Capt. Jacob
Gearhart and Adj. Thomas Johnes; these three met at Baptisttown, about
three miles inland, to make their plans and engage the assistance of others.
They worked at night disguised as hunters; and no easy task it was to
find the boats hidden away in creeks by their owners, to cut them out of
the ice and to keep them from being swamped in the rapids while taking
them down the icy current in the darkness.
Capt. Bray and his companions worked at this for ten nights and
succeeded in collecting about twenty-five craft, including fourteen Dur
ham boats, four scows and several rafts for the transportation of cannon;
all these they hid behind Malta, a heavily-wooded island opposite Lam-
bertville. Thus were the boats gathered for Washington's famous crossing. [17]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
BALLAD OF SWEET P.
Christmas night, 1776.
Mistress Penelope Pen wick, she
Called by her father, "My Sweet P,"
Painted by Peale, she won renown
In a clinging, short- waisted satin gown;
A red rose held by her finger tips,
And a smile held back from her roguish lips
William Penwick, the jolly wight,
In clouds of smoke, night after night,
Would tell a tale in delighted pride,
To cronies who came from far and wide,
Always ending, — with candle he, —
"And this is the picture of my Sweet P !
The tale? — "Twas how Sweet P did chance
To give to the British a Christmas dance.
Penwick's house an outpost stood,
Flanked by the ferry and banked by the wood ;
Hessian and British quartered there
Swarmed through chamber and hall and stair.
Fires ablaze and candles bright,
Soldier and officer feasted that night.
The enemy? Safe, with a river between,
Black and deadly and fierce and keen,
A river of ice and a blinding storm, — •
So they made them merry and kept them warm.
But while they mirth and roistering made
Up in her dormer window stayed
Mistress Penelope Penwick apart,
With fearful thought, and sorrowful heart.
Night after night her candle's gleam
Had sent through the dark its hopeful beam ;
But the nights they came and passed again
With never a sign from, her countrymen;
For where beat a heart so brave, so bold,
As to baffle the river's bulwark cold?
Penelope's eyes and her candle's light
Were mocked by the storm that Christmas night.

[18]

OF NEW JERSEY
But harken ! Suddenly a missile stung
And shattered her casement pane, and rung
At her feet ! 'Twas a word from the storm outside,
She opened her dormer window wide,
A wind-swept figure halted below,
The ferryman, old and bent and slow,
And a murmur rose upward, only one,
Thrilling and powerful, — " Washington !
With jest and laughter and candles bright,
It was two by the stairway clock that night
When Penelope Penwick tripped her down,
Dressed in the short-waisted satin gown;
With a red rose cut from her potted bush; —
There fell on the rollicking crowd a hush.
And she stood in the soldiers' midst, I ween,
The daintiest thing they e'er had seen !
She swept their gaze with her eyes most sweet,
And patted her little slippered feet;
"'Tis Christmas night, sirs," quoth Sweet P,
"And I wish to dance ! — Will you dance with me?"
O but they cheered ! Ran to and fro,
Each for the honor bowing low;
But with smile and charm and witching grace
She chose him pranked with officer's lace,
And shining buttons, and dangling sword, —
I'll warrant he strutted him proud as a lord !
Doffed was enmity, donned was glee, —
O she was charming, that Sweet P !
When it was over and blood aflame,
Came the eager cry, "A game !" "A game !"
"We'll play at forfeits," Penelope cried,
"If one holds aught in his love and pride
"Let him lay it down at my feet in turn,
And a fine from me shall he straightway earn !"
What held each one in his love and pride? —
Quick flew a hand unto every side,
Each man had his sword and nothing more,
And the swords they clanged in a heap on the floor.

[19]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Standing there in her satin gown,
With candlelight on her yellow crown,
And at her feet was a bank of steel, —
I'll wager the look was caught by Peale !
Penelope held her rose on high,
"I fine each one for a leaf to try !"
She plucked the petals and blew them out,
A rain of red they fluttered about
Over the floor and through the air, —
Rushed the officers here and there,
When hark ! A cry ! The door burst in !
"The enemy !"
Tumult, terror and din !
Flew a hand unto every side, —
Swords? — Penelope, arms thrown wide,
Leaped that heap of steel before,
The swords behind her upon the floor,
And faced her countrymen staunch and bold,
Who dared a river of death and cold,
Who swept them down on a rollicking horde
And found they never a man with a sword !
And so it happened, — but not by chance —
That in '76 was given a dance,
By a witch with a rose and a satin gown,
Painted in Philadelphia town,
Mistress Penelope Penwick, she
Called by her father "My Sweet P."
Virginia Woodward Cloud.
From A Reed by the River by permission of the author;
Copyright 1902 by Richard G. Badger.

THE BATTLE OF TRENTON.
December 26, 1776.
On Christmas day in seventy-six,
Our ragged troops with bayonets fixed,
For Trenton marched away,
The Delaware see ! the boats below !
The light obscured by hail and snow !
But no signs of dismay.

[20]

OF NEW JERSEY
Our object was the Hessian band
That dared invade fair freedom's land,
And quarter in that place.
Great Washington he led us on,
Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun,
Had never known disgrace.
In silent march we passed the night,
Each soldier panting for the fight
Though quite benumbed with frost.
Greene, on the left, at six began;
The right was led by Sullivan
Who ne'er a moment lost.
Their pickets stormed, the alarm was spread
That rebels risen from the dead
Were marching into town.
Some scampered here; some scampered there;
And some for action did prepare,
But soon their arms laid down.
Twelve hundred servile miscreants,
With all their colors, guns, and tents,
Were trophies of the day.
The frolic o'er, the bright canteen
In center, front, and rear, was seen
Driving fatigue away.
Now, brothers of the patriot bands,
Let's sing deliverance from the hands
Of arbitrary sway;
And as our life is but a span,
Let's touch the tankard while we can,
In memory of that day Anonymous.
Nescit Pericula, the Latin words found inscribed on one of the
standards or battle flags, captured with the Hessians at Trenton, may be
translated "He does not know danger," and means "He is perfectly
fearless." The resistance offered by the surprised Hessians on that fam
ous occasion was very weak; their timid action belied their vaunting
motto. The attempt to explain away this glaring inconsistency between
word and deed, by suggesting a new interpretation of the motto, is what
Vres point to the following epigram which appeared at the time in the
ew Hampshire Gazette
The man who submits without striking a blow,
May be said, in a sense, no danger to know;
I pray then, what harm, by the humble submission,
At Trenton was done by the standard of Hessian? [21]

&

PATRIOTIC POEMS
WASHINGTON AT TRENTON.
December 26, 1776.
The dazzling sun drops down and out of sight ;
Clouds, bowled from the horizon, toss on high ;
Across the ice a glancing pallid light
Flows from the lucid amber of the sky.
Hark to the booming of the Delaware !
The rising wind lashes the branches frore.
And now a steadier sound breaks on the air —
Trampling of the troops that gather on the shore.
Black falls the sudden dark, time presses — haste !
This desperate chance to seize a distant foe
Demands all speed. Across the ice-clogged waste
Of churning waters still the boats move slow.
Firm stands the intrepid Chief in patient strength;
Knox shouts above the roaring of the tide.
In waning night the stream is passed at length,
They form in columns on the further side.
The storm drives slantingly the sleet; down shed
From swaying pines slip weights of slush below,
The soaked and ragged soldiers, buffeted,
Leave tracks of blood along the drifted snow.
'Tis Christmas night, when children dance about
The glistening tree with all its joys beneath.
Say, do these fathers hear the first glad shout?
Lo, two have fallen now in frozen death !
What wonder they are sick at heart and throw
Their wet and useless muskets fiercely by !
In every anguished breast new terrors grow
As gray dawn glimmers in the cloud-hung sky.
But Washington: "They cannot fight, you say?
The powder's wet, they fling their muskets down?
Then give them bayonets; we fight to-day.
Advance and charge ! For we must take the town
He dominates the pain; the numb despair;
The shivering fear retreats, a thing apart
From patriot warfare, and to each man there
Goes forth the courage of his own great heart.
[22]

OF NEW JERSEY
They part to right and left. Round each block-house
The moving columns creep. "Now, give the word!"
The Hessians, wakened from their long carouse,
Rise dazed to see the flashing of the sword.
Frantic the cries: "Turn out! Turn out! The foes!"
The drums are rattling, trumpets crash the alarm.
The outposts fly and wildly fire below
From upper windows of each captured farm.
Swiftly they train their cannon in the street ;
But ere the fire breaks forth to check and slay,
Two heroes charge upon them bold and fleet,
Stop not for wounds, and drag the guns away.
And he that planned is he that rules the strife —
Great Washington still in the vanguard rides,
Unhealing those that beg him guard his life,
Like towering flame his warrior ardor guides
Brave Rahl has fallen, the Hessian flag droops low.
The Chief whose genius led this wondrous way
Speaks now his single thought with face aglow:
"O, for our country what a glorious day ! "
Sara Wiley Drummond.
From Poems Lyrical and Dramatic by permission of John Wiley & Sons
Copyright 1900.

THE SURPRISE OF TRENTON
December 26, 1776

Eighteen hundred years had passed,
Lacking only twenty-four,
Since the Saviour, one-begotten,
Meek the virgin mother bore —
Shepherds on that very night
In the fields their watch did keep ,
While the busy world around
Silent lay, and bathed in sleep —

When the angel of the Lord
Came upon them, and a light
Great and glorious shone about
Through the gloom of the wintry night;

[23}

PATRIOTIC POEMS

And the heavenly host was heard
Singing loud o'er field and fen.
"Glory be to God in the Highest,
Peace on Earth, Good will to men."

Lowly in his cradle-manger
Then the infant Saviour slept,
While the maiden mother o'er him
Tears of humble gladness wept;
And the Magi found him there,
Who had followed from afar,
When they saw it in the East,
The Redeemer's holy star;

For the star it went before them,
And the wise ones followed on,
Till it stood above the spot,
And their joyous goal was won;
Humbly then they bowed the knee,
Humbly did their gifts unfold,
Gifts of ivory, and aloes,
Myrrh, and frankincense, and gold.

Eighteen hundred years had passed,
Eighteen hundred years and eight,
Since the Saviour, one-begotten,
Bowed him to a felon's fate —
Nailed upon the cursed tree
Suffered then our God and Lord —
Peace to men he came to leave —
"Peace he left not, but a sword ! "

Noon it was of Christmas night
On the wintry Delaware,
Sullenly the falling snow
Floated through the murky air,
Sullenly the flooded river
Moaned the whitening shores along,
Sullenly the drifting ice
Groaned and tossed i' the current strong.

Not a star was in the sky,
"Not a sound was on the breeze,
Not a voice or stir there was
In the thickly feathered trees —
[24]

OF NEW JERSEY

Only through the heavy gloom
Muttered low the mournful rushing
Of the deep and dismal stream,
Through its icy fetters gushing.
Lonely were the streets of Trenton,
Trenton town by the Delaware —
Quartered there were the British horse !
Quartered the bearded Hessians there !
Deep the snow on the roofs above !
Deep i' the trackless roads below —
Hark to the bell ! 'twas midnight chime !
Oh ! but the strokes were stern and slow I
Not a guard was on his post —
Not a round its circuit made —
What the risk in such a storm?
Where the foe that should invade?
Far beyond the flooded stream,
Pennsylvania wilds among;
For the patriot army lay,
Frail, disjoined, and unstrung —
Washington, who late so glorious
Braved in equal arms his king,
Sees the boasted bird victorious
Sadly droop its baffled wing.
"Soldiers, spread the Christmas feast —
Soldiers, fill the bumper fair —
Pass the bottle ! pile the hearth !
Cutting cold is the wintry air —
"Let the toast our country be,
From whatever country we !
Sons of German Fatherland !
Britons ever bold and free !
Comrades, troll the jolly stave —
Pass the bottle — fear no wrong !
For the rebel hosts are weak,
And the wintry river strong !
"Tush ! they dare not ! We who drove them
Weak and weary, faint and few —
Tracked them, weaponless and wounded,
O'er the roads by the bloody dew, • [25]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Which to every painful print
Trickled from their shoeless feet
Tush ! the craven dove as soon
Shall the fearless falcon meet ! '
Madly raged the jovial rout —
Loud the bursts of loyal song
Rang amid the drifting storm,
Rang the snowy fields along !
Little deemed the roistering crew
As their revelry they plied,
What avengers stern and sure
Gathered on the icy tide —
Gathered, soon their glee to mar,
Hearts afire ! and hand on hilt !
Redder liquor far than wine
Long ere morning shall be spilt —
Hark the deep and solemn hum,
Louder than the river's flow,
Rising heavier through the night,
Nearer through the drifting snow
"Tis the hum of mustered men —
Barges with their burthen brave
Painfully and long are tossing
On the fierce and freezing wave ;
Horse and foot and guns are there,
Struggling through the awful gloom —
Soon their din shall rouse the foe !
Rouse him like the trump of doom !
Firm, as some gigantic oak,
Stood their chief on the hither shore,
Marking how his comrades true
Prospered with the laboring oar ;
Marking how each barge and boat
Slowly battled to the strand,
Marking how the serried lines
Mustered as they came to land [
Calm and high his noble port —
Calm his mighty face severe —
None had seen it change with doubt,
None had seen it pale with fear —
[26]

OF NEW JERSEY
And it showed as grandly now.
In that wild and perilous hour,
Fraught with wisdom half divine,
Fraught with more than mortal power —
Steadily he stood and gazed —
Not a cloud upon his brow —
Calmer in the banquet hall
Never had he been than now !
Yet his fate was on the cast —
Life ! and fame ! and country ! all !
Sterner game was never played —
Death or Freedom — win or fall !
Fall he — and his country's hope
Sets, a sun no more to rise !
Win he — and her dawning light
Yet may fill the unf athomed skies
Fall he — and his name will wane,
Rebel chief of a rebel band !
Win he — it shall live forever,
Father of his native land !
Silent stood he- — grave and mute,
Listening now the distant roar
From the half -heard town, and now
Gazing on the crowded shore —
Crowded with the patriot host,
Burning for the vengeful fray — ¦
Ear, and eye, and heart, erect,
Waiting for the trumpet's bray !
Silent — till the latest boat
Safe had stemmed the wheeling tide,
Till the latest troop was banded,
Heart to heart, and side by side.
Then he turned his eyes aloft,
Moved his lips for a little space,
Mighty though he was, he bowed him
Meekly to the throne of grace.
'God of battles, Lord of might,
Let my country but be free,
To thy mercies I commend me —
Glory to thy Son and Thee ! "

[271

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Then he waved his arm aloft
With a martial gesture proud —
"Let your march," he said, "be silent,
Till your cannon speak aloud."
Silent was their rapid march
Through the mist of rain and sleet,
For the deep and drifted snow
Gave no sound beneath their feet —
Clashed no musket, beat no drum,
As they fleeted through the gloom,
Liker far, than living men,
To the phantoms of the tomb.
Morn was near, but overcast;
In the dim and rayless sky
Not a gleam foreshowed his coming,
Yet the pallid sun was nigh —
Morn was near — but not a guard
Heard their march or saw them come —
Lo ! they form ! the very dogs
In the fated town were dumb !
Hark ! the bell ! the bugle's blast !
Hark ! the loud and long alarms !
Beat the drums — but all too late !
All too late they beat to arms !
Forth they rush in disarray,
Forming fast with fearful din —
"Open now, ye mouths of flame !
Pour your crashing volleys in ! "
See ! the sharp and running flash !
Hark ! the long and rattling roll !
There the western muskets blaze '.
Every shot a mortal soul !
Vain was then the Hessian's yager —
Vain the English horseman's steel !
Vain the German's hardihood —
Vain the Briton's loyal zeal !
Fast they fall the best and bravest;
Unavenged and helpless fall,
Rallying their men dismayed,
Campbell bold and gallant Rahl!
[28]

OF NEW JERSEY
Then before that murderous hail,
Thick, incessant, sure as death,
Reel the shattered columns back !
Gasp the dying chiefs for breath !
Lo !'t is o'er ! their arms they ground !
All, that brave men can, did they ! 3
Fought, while fight they could ! then yielded !
What avails the hopeless fray?
What avails the horse's might,
Though his neck be clothed in thunder?
What the cannon's fiery breath
Riving rock-built forts asunder ?
What avails the speed of navies
Rocking on the subject tide?
Nothing ! when the Lord of Hosts
Battles on the righteous side.
He who giveth not the race
To the swift — nor to the strong
War's red honor — but alway
Strengthens those who suffer long !
Surely He on Trenton's night
Steeled our mighty champion's heart !
Gave him wisdom, gave him power,
So to play his destined part !
Beat the fiercest down before him,
Turned the bravest back to fly !
Covered aye his head in battle,
That no hair of it should die !
Held him steadfast in the right,
Till his glorious task was o'er,
And no hostile banner waved
On Columbia's hallowed shore —
Till his name was spread abroad,
For a nation's freedom won,
All-honored from the setting
To the rising of the sun.

From Life and Writings of Frank Forrester;
Copyright 1882 by Orange Judd Company.

Henry William Herbert [29]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
THE BATTLE OF TRENTON.
THE TIMES THAT TRY MEN'S SOULS
This land is ours and we are free!
We dwell in peace and calm security:
For his our sires strove long and wearily,
And with their blood gained our dear liberty.
For when oppressors o'er the waves
Doomed us to die a race of slaves,
And sent their fleets and armies here
To frighten men who felt no fear,
Our fathers saw the gathering storm —
They watched the clouds,
But feared no harm.
Uprising in their might, they stood
To breast the strong invading flood,
And like firm rocks that guard the shore
Where lofty billows dash and roar,
Though most o'erwhelmed by rising woes,
They stood the storm, beat back their foes.
On Jersey's soil that tempest broke
With thunder's roar and lightning's stroke.
The wasteful waves washed wild and high,
Destructive, towering to the sky.
On Trenton's plain that tide was turned —
On Princeton's field hope's bright star burned:
Old Monmouth's sands drank up that flood —
Destructive, dark, and dyed with blood.
Upon thy banks, majestic Delaware —
Now calm, now peaceful, now serenely fair
The crash, the carnage, and the cry of war
Burst on the air and rang from shore to shore.
Where by the moonlight, 'neath the woodland's shade
Now strolls the lover with his bright-eyed maid;
Where by the roadside, wandering from their home,
The bleating sheep run grazing as they roam —
Far different acts in other days were done,
Far different sights lay open to the sun.
For two long years the clouds of bloody war
Had driven peace and plenty from our shore ;
F30]

OF NEW JERSEY
Where bloomed the rose, and white wheat waved its head,
There grew the thistle and the tare instead;
Where stood the cottage on the hill's green brow
There's nothing left to mark that cottage now;
And he who reared it for a happy home
Was turned a wanderer on the world to roam.
The Indian scalping-knife had gone
Through hamlet and through frontier tcwn ;
The Hessian's sabre reeked with blood
From old and young, the brave and good.
The British bayonet was wet
With brothers' blood — we can't forget —
The outcast Tory's hellish crew
Did what the savage scorned to do —
No mercy shown to silvery hairs,
To maiden's tears or woman's prayers;
The infant sleeping on its bed
Must die, because from rebels bred.
Our little band had slowly fled —
Half clothed, half disciplined, half fed —
Before the exulting British foe,
Marching with pomp and royal show;
And they who pledged their lives and honor
To shield our cause — protect our banner —
In that dark hour and night of gloom
"That tried men's souls," feared for their doom.
Unshaken in that band was one — ¦
The great, the glorious Washington;
He to the God of armies cried,
"In Thee we trust, in Thee confide!
Jehovah, stretch Thy mighty arm
And shield our righteous cause from harm!"
The Almighty, from His throne on high,
Looked on our land with pitying eye;
He interposed His matchless power
And saved us in that trying hour.
THE MARCH ON TRENTON.
In Trenton when the sun was set,
The Hessians at their quarters met;
And while the brilliant candles shine,
They pass along the sparkling wine- [31]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

For Christmas day had come and gone,
The joyful hours were nearly flown;
With a merry laugh, our country's foe
Enjoy the minutes as they flow,
And many a soldier sang with glee
Of blue-eyed maids in Germany.
On Pennsylvania's wintry shore
The chilling blast howled loud and sore!
When lulled the winds, there echoed then
The heavy tramp of armed men.
Columbia's sons haste to the strife
To strike for liberty and life.
George Washington was at their head!
A gallant band and nobly led;
Then wheeling down, rank pressing rank,
They eager crowd the river's bank ;
Dark Delaware's wide, wasteful wave
Washed wild and high, a watery grave;
The rushing ice, with crash and roar,
Dashed madly past the stormy shore;
Quick to the boats the soldiers leap
To breast the waves and cross the deep ;
They brave the storm and blast of heaven,
Dark through the ice though madly driven;
Each sturdy oar is strongly plied
To gain the river's distant side;
The helmsmen strive with eager eye
To pierce the gloom, and white shore spy;
And soon they see the snow-clad banks,
Soon reach the shore with joy and thanks.
Each soldier casts aside his oar
And leaps upon the Jersey shore;
Then wheeling into line, they go
Struggling with wind and pelting snow.
They come from hills and rivers far,
In freedom's cause to brave the war;
There's one from Susquehanna's side,
He's left his home and youthful bride;
And there are men, brave mid the brave,
Whose farms o'erlook the Hudson's wave;

[32]

OF NEW JERSEY

And in that band of men so true
Is many a gallant Jersey Blue ;
And Pennsylvania's sons are there
And gallant men from Delaware.
Brave old Virginia's riflemen
Came from their homes and native glen;
New England's sons, her boast and pride,
Leaving their homes and fireside
Stood to support Columbia's war
Upon the banks of Delaware.
Chilled with the blast and wintry snow —
Half naked, weary, filled with woe —
But with undaunted hearts they stand
Impatient — waiting the command.
Then rang the voice of Washington —
"My noble men! Press onward! On!"
Upon the word the bugle rings,
And forward every soldier springs.
THE SURPRISE AND ATTACK.
And darker then the black night grew,
And louder then the wild wind blew,
And faster flew the flakes of snow,
And higher still the snow-drifts grow.
No rattling drum nor shrieking fife
Was heard amid the tempest's strife.
The struggling horse and staggering men
Press on the march with toil and pain,
Staining the snow with bloody feet
Battling the blast, the cold and sleet.
In Trenton, sheltered from the storm
The Hessians slept, nor dreamed of harm;
The sentries at the outposts placed
With sullen steps their watches paced;
No watch-dog's bark disturbed the night,
No cock's shrill clarion challenged fight;
The whirlwind's blast and tempest's moan
Fell on the sentry's ear alone,
When suddenly a signal gun
Told to our men the march was done,
And to the sleeping Hessian host
Of dangers near and battle lost.

[33]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

As angry bees protect their hive
And from their stores the plunderers drive,
So turned the Hessians out in force
To check our columns' onward course.
But Sullivan went thundering on,
And onward charged George Washington;
They charged on men who firmly stood
Waiting the shock with burning blood ;
For they had fought on foreign field
Were used to conquer, not to yield.
But they were struggling with the free —
Men who had drawn for liberty,
Men who had braved the torrent's force,
Men who had watched the whirlwind's course,
Men who had laid the forest low,
Had fought and quelled the savage foe ;
Men who had looked from mountain height
And seen their homes and wheat fields white,
Their cattle grazing on the plain,
Then turned unto the chase again ;
And when at evening they returned,
Their children gone, their cottage burned,
Paused not to weep in vain, distressed
With sorrow weighing down their breast;
But to the rescue of their young,
With manly hearts they nobly sprung ;
And struggling desperately alone
(No mercy asked, no mercy shown,)
Amid the forest's gloomy shade
Avenged their wrongs with bloody blade,
Rescued from harm and savage grasp
With joy again their young they clasp.
In column now these men advanced,
Their serried ranks terrific glanced,
Their gallant hearts beat high and fast —
Upon that charge the die was cast.
Then death rode riot through the bloody street,
For death holds revel when stern warriors meet.
Heaps upon heaps the hireling Hessians fall,
Poor purchased private and brave general Rahl.
"Hurrah ! Hurrah ! ! Hurrah ! ! !" our gallant soldiers shout,
"The foemen falter, flee — it is a rout, a rout!"
[34]

OF NEW JERSEY

Then forward pressed our fast prevailing ranks,
Drove in their front and chased their scattered flanks.
As forest leaves the wild winds blow,
As eddying wheels the drifting snow,
So fell the Hessian force before
The onward course our column bore.
No refuge could the f oeman find ;
Beset in front, pursued behind,
They yield unto the fate of war
Upon the banks of Delaware.
Proud hour was that for freedom's cause
Foretelling peace and equal laws:
For Bethlehem's star on Palestine
On Christmas eve did brightty shine, —
The Stars and Stripes on Trenton's plain
Gave freedom to the world again.

THE MONUMENT AT TRENTON
And shall no column mark this spot?
And shall these heroes be forgot?
No! while the race of men shall last,
While memory recalls the past,
Altho no monumental pile
May mark the field for mile on mile,
The glory of that day will be
As lasting as eternity.
Yet rear a monument of stone
Before the last, lone, lingering one
Who shared the dangers of that day
By the stern reaper Death is called away.
Not that with him the race of heroes died ;
'Oh, no!" the streets of Monterey replied.
Our brothers' blood as nobly now does flow,
Witness ye hills, ye plains, ye vales, ye dales of Mexico,
We fear not that the memory of one name
Of those who gave a luster to our country's fame
Will fade. From childhood's lisping lips we hear
Of Knox, Monroe, and Stark the mountaineer,
And many names of those who dared
Rush on the foe when half the land despaired
And from that field sent up a victor's shout
When fled the foe in hurried headlong rout. [3S]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

They well deserve our homage and our praise.
Those daring men of dark and gloomy days ;
Nations have deemed those worthy of proud monuments
Who conquered in the breach-scaled lofty battlements.
These conquered famine, foes, and traitor-plot
Build high their column on this hallowed spot ,
That there the thanks of "millions yet to be "
May rise a grateful tribute to their memory.
Shall we who dwell in peace and calm security
For which our sires strove long and wearily ;
Whose bright swords saved us from the chains of slaves —
Live sluggard lives and fill ungrateful graves?
No! Jerseymen are brave and honor mighty deeds.
In every foremost rank of war New Jersey leads.
Long ere this nineteenth century's onward course runs out,
Uprear their column with a mighty shout:
Yes! found it deep, and rear it towards the sky,
That its fair form may catch the traveler's eye,
And strangers ask with wonder all the while
What means this column — who built up this pile?
Then with a generous pride we well can say,
Here fought our fathers — here they gained the day;
Our liberty was won by those who fought and bled;
And we their children reverence them now dead,
And in their footprints follow, follow true;
And, rallying round our flag, the red, the white, the blue —
No stripe obscured — no single star erased —
Will never see our much-loved soil disgraced —
True to our rights — the people's sovereignty —
Freedom of conscience and no bigotry.
Sons of New Jersey, guard the mighty dead,
For you they fought, for you they freely bled.
Their ashes now repose beneath your sod'
Their spirits gone to glory and to God,
We have held converse face to face
With the last relics of that noble race ;
With rapt ear listened as we heard them tell
Our nation's history and have marked it well.
Those of a future day will only know
From us the story of their toil and woe.
Their valor, victory, wisdom, prudence, all, —
Plain as the writing on Belshazzar's wall,
Let us inscribe it high on blocks of stone,
That men may read, not hear of it alone.
[36]

OF NEW JERSEY

Let tyrants read it and their thrones o'erthrow ;
Let traitors read it and their plots forego ;
Let patriots mark it — and their spirits long
Like them to live in marble and in song.
For their great deeds will last till endless days,
The statesman's model and the poet's praise.
Long may their valor, virtue and their truth
Inspire the bosoms of our generous youth
To heed their bright example, and revere
Their noble deeds and hold their memory dear.
Then for our country's future we need dread
No sad mishap ; virtue by valor led
Will ever win. We fear no monarch's frown ; God is our king J
To Him we bow, to Him our praises sing.
Then let us pray to heaven with one accord,
For Israel's God, Jehovah, is our Lord:
Oh God ! protect us and our country's cause
Our Constitution and our equal laws. Henry Kollock How.

THE RETREAT OF SEVENTY-SIX.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
"What flying band with thundering tread
Along the bridge disordered led,
With rapid and alarming stamp
Now hurries o'er the tide?
Waking the pattering echoes far and wide,
On — on they come — tumultuous come!
With rattling arms and clamoring drum:
Till all the wooden arches round
Challenge aloud the intruding sound
And clank for clank, and stamp for stamp rebound!"
,Thus spake a stranger to the crowd
New-gathered on Passaic's banks,
Drawn by the din of trampling ranks
Resounding far and loud.-

[37]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

A skulking and half-hidden knave
From out the group this answer gave:
"It is the rebel band,
In arms, audacious to withstand
The legions of their lawful king,
Now flying fast with broken wing."
"Base renegade! 'tis false!" replied
A crippled veteran at his side.
With locks all wintry-white and waving:
"No rebels these a righteous monarch braving
The holiest cause that ever prayers
Of good men rose to aid, is theirs:
No! these are honest patriots — steeled
With Justice' sword and Freedom's shield —
Alas! With other armor scarce, or none:
Sprung from the shop, the woods, the field,
To die, perchance, but not to yield,
Till all their country's wounds are healed,
And all their rights are won!
Long, long have they besought in vain
Their rulers to relax their chain:
Unheard was every prayer:
Thus writhing with the pain, what wonder
The frenzied struggles of despair
At last should rend the galling links asunder?
My kindred share their country's fate:
Two sons I boast in yonder train,
And one lies on Long Island plain —
Had these old limbs their strength again
I were not here to prate!
"Whence haste they now thus spent, forlorn,
Half-armed, half-clad, on winter-morn,
With bleeding feet unshod and torn?
And as their wheeling ranks advance,
Why turn they back with anxious glance,
As if some danger tracked the rear?
"Alas! their dearest hopes are crossed:
Defeated, driven, the city lost,
Surrendered every fort and post
Before them shame and fear:
Behind, with all the royal host,
Cornwallis stops the rear:

[38]

OF NEW JERSEY

Despair, disgrace
In every face,
No glance along their panic lines
With still unquailing courage shines,
Save his, in whom they trust alone,
The gallant chief who leads them on :
But he is Washington!
Oh! that he now would turn, and stand!
Stop! leader of the flying band —
Freedom, and the wailing land
Beseeching, cling around thy knees:
Oh, shield them from their enemies!
The sacred soil by foes is trod:
Drive back th' invaders to the waves!
One freeman on his native sod
Can match a score of slaves:
Stop! Better were the deadliest fight
Than such un worth)' flight:
All is not lost — or if it be,
Still stand! — the dead at least are free:
Why shun the strife that must begin?
Ranged by yon stream in phalanx fast,
Convince the world, though crushed at last,
You have deserved to win:
Stand all, that narrow bridge before,
And ere one foeman passes o'er,
With your free bodies pave the floor
That tyranny may see
Her path to power so ghastly dread,
O'er bloody causeway of the dead,
Appalled, she shall not dare to tread
But leave the free land free!
"They're gone!— why should they list to me?
And fast beyond the hills afar
Sink the last plumes of passing war.
Yet shone there in their leader's eye
A fixed enduring energy —
A beacon steady in the storm's turmoil:
There must be hope, hope even in flight,
While such an eye as that keeps bright ;
He may retreat, yet scorn to fly;
And thus his forces gathering,
Sudden as bended steel, may spring
With terrible recoil!"

[39]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
II.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!
"Hark! again the martial stamp
On the hollow bridge resounds,
From the steepy shore rebounds,
Peopling thick with sounds the air;
Mid shouting horns and glittering armor fair!
See! in dazzling pomp advancing,
Banners flaunting, horses prancing,
Seas of plumes in billows dancing!
And far away the frosty bayonets glancing!
Hark, harmonious music, sent
From many a breathing instrument,
Pouring from their mellow throats
Streaming hoards of golden notes:
That the ear
4 Which turns to hear,
Cloyed at last with luscious treasure,
Sickens with delirious pleasure
Till rattling bugle-call, and cymbal-clash
Startle the host — and arms and armor flash
With sudden glory there!
While ever and anon
The trumpet's lawless tone
Rips up with rent outrageous the broad air.
What troops are these in burnished armor fair?'
At which the busy knave once more
Intruded answer as before:
'It is the royal host
Sent from England's distant coast
In full accoutred pomp, to bring
The rebel crew submissive to their King:"
"Silence that raven's horrid croak!"
The veteran then impatient broke :
"These are the foes of whom I spoke,
The tyrant's blood-hounds dread."
"A goodly sight!" the stranger cried:
"How gaily pass their ranks of pride
Along the bridge successive led!
First in the glittering course,
Stately slow, with conscious force,

[40]

OF NEW JERSEY

Snorting, prance the gallant horse!
Clattering with irregular beat
Tumultuous ring the mingled iron feet:
Now in banded order tramp
Ranks of foot, with timing stamp
Clad in robes of gory shade,
Livery of their dreadful trade ;
O'er their heads, the breezes braving,
St. George's bloody banner-cross is waving:
Now o'er the trembling bridge with groaning jar
Rolls lumbering on the ponderous cannon-car:
'But who are these which last appear,
With foreign garb and reckless air,
In shaggy caps of savage hair?
No British troops so wildly stare:
What strangers have we here?"
"This!" cried the old man, and clenched his hand
'This is the hireling Hessian band
Bought and sold
With British gold:
Sent, with murderous heart and brand,
To subdue this savage land:
Come with robberies and fires,
Come with rapine all unsparing,
Terror of the sick and old:
Insulting helpless women — scaring
Children whom their arms enfold,
And butchering their sires.
"Ah! while I watch yon mighty host
I feel as every hope was lost;
Their dazzling arms grow foully dark
As I their coming horrors mark — •
Horrors that o'er my sense already fleet:
I hear yon cannon's stunning din
O'erwhelming Pity's voice within:
I hear those horns, whose song ascends
With voice of angels, urge to deeds of fiends :
I see the horse with trampling feet
The fractured breasts of brethren beat:
Those glittering tubes already roar —
I hear their fatal bullets whistle:
I see their steely points that bristle
Grow crimson wet with kindred gore:
Come back! ye scarlet legions dread — [41f

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Oh! think on what ye do!
'Tis brothers' blood ye seek to shed:
The curse of Cain will brand your head,
And ghosts of all the murdered dead
Your visions will pursue!
Loose not those hireling wolves to howl —
On kindred homes and fields to prowl,
On kindred flesh to prey!
Be generous in your pride of power!
Have mercy now in triumph's hour,
And further havoc stay! —
Alas! they hasten on their way,
Nor heed what prating age may say ;
But urge their cruel course,
Untouched by pity or remorse-
Come back! ye bloody fiends of war,
Ye slaves of tyrants bloodier far;
Defeated as your victims are,
Still have they mortal fangs to scar
Ye shall not crush unstung!
Yes! One free fragment of a blade
Ere this has deadliest havoc made
Invaders' ranks among;
For Freedom is a tigress, bayed:
'Beware! touch not her young! '

They're gone beyond the hills afar:
Convulsive, faint, no longer shrill,
Along Passaic's lonely brink
Swell the last clarion-notes of passing war,
That heave, and sink —
Heave and sink,
And all again is still
III.
'Tis night along the Delaware —
'Tis merry Christmas night;
And all the holiday may share,
Save yonder band of patriots there-
Preparing for the fight.
Extended on the opposing coast
Is quartered all the royal host,
Scattered in many a post

[42]

OF NEW JERSEY
"Now ! " the patriot captain said,
"Clip their wings while they are spread ! "
Rattling hail, and drizzling sleet
'Gainst their freezing faces beat :
Lo ! in many a shallow boat
Thick-crowded on the stream they float,
With horse and cannon laden low,
Fast whitening in the driving snow:
With darkness, storm, and foes before,
While round them, with alarming roar,
Fragments of massive ice rush crashing on the shore !
'Tis night along the Delaware —
'Tis merry Christmas night,
And all the holiday may share:
The Hessian ranks throw off their care,
And Trenton rings right merrily
With strangest warrior-minstrelsy :
"Glory greet the roving band !
"What though banished far to roam —
"Soldiers ever find a home !
"When unwelcome thoughts o'ercome,
"Still with drinking
"Banish thinking !
"Glory greet the exiled band !
"Let the toast be Father-land !
"Till peep of morning light:
"Fill high the can!
"Fill high the can
"To Glory's prize — the soldier's mark:
'The toast — the toast be Father-land!
"Till peep of morning — "
Hark !
Hark to the deadly volley's rattle !
Hark to the shout — the crash of battle !
To arm ! to arms ! they rush, they form —
The post surprised — the vanguard beat
No hope is left them but retreat !
Away ! — their foes hold every street —
'Tis Washington that guides the storm
And flight and strife alike are vain:
Surrounded, humbled, in despair,
A thousand men surrender there,
And Rahl, their chief, is slain t [43]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

v.
'Tis night along Assanpink stream,
And wide the flaming watch-fires gleam;
While here and there, from either shore,
The bellowing cannon rarely roar,
As if to clear their rugged throats
To chant to-morrow's death-hymn notes;
For, quickened with the late disgrace,
Cornwallis rushed with force apace
From royal 'scutcheon to efface
The foul, corroding stain ;
To-morrow shall the shame atone —
For that shoal, narrow creek alone
Divides the foes in twain.
What now can save the little band?
Behind, — the frozen Delaware,
Too frail an army's weight to bear
Would yet all passing boats withstand:
Before, around them all the land
Is mastered by the foe:
And were it not, the moistening sky
Has mired the ways, they cannot fly;
Loud shout the royal chivalry !
"To-morrow with a blow
Will lay the ragged rebels low ! "
Oh ! God of suffering right, be with them now !
VI.
'Tis morn along Assanpink stream,
And paling watch-fires dimly gleam:
Cornwallis heads his bright array —
But ah ! the rebels — where are they?
Gone with all their tools of war !
Tent, cannon, stores, and baggage-car —
All save their fires alone !
At midnight fell a sudden cold,
That froze the yielding earth to stone —
Oh, sure from pitying Heaven it came !
And back with all their force they rolled,
Safe-shielded by the treacherous flame:
But whither are they gone ?

[44]

Washington at the Second Battle of Trenton
January 2, 1777

OF NEW JERSEY
Hark ! cracking cannon in the rear
Ring sharply on the frosty air —
The British leader, struck with wonder;
Cries "Can that be thunder?"
Yes ! 'tis thunder tears the sky —
Yes ! those crashing bolts that fly
Shall rend the ears of Tyranny —
Those lightnings blast her form !
A tempest bursts on Princeton plain
Of iron hail, and leaden rain,
Which, ere its fury hush again,
Shall strew the ravaged earth with slain:
'Tis Liberty that wings the whirlwind storm!
See her chosen son
Lead her scanty forces on!
Half-armed, half-trained in warlike arts,
No matter! dangerous still:
The steel they boast is in their hearts,
And heaven will teach them skill —
Hark their leader's trumpet-tones of cheer!
"One stout blow will set us clear
The first report that stuns his ear
Will bring Cornwallis furious here
We must at once break through the rear —
We must — we can — we will!"
Then cannon oped the dreadful revel —
Then muskets dropped in deadly level,
And Murder, as the signal broke,
Threw o'er the foes his sulphurous cloak,
The better in its folds of smoke
His bloody work to do:
And deeds were done so foul, alas!
Himself, all butcher as he was,
In face of heaven had shuddered to revie
But vain the patriot's bold attack —
The van is checked — 'tis beaten back!
Oh Freedom's God! must all be lost!
At once, uncountirig every cost,
Their chief, whose zeal with danger rose,
A starry standard seizes there,
And waves it through the sulphurous air,
Then spurs between the foes!
Thickens the din, the smoke, the flash;

J4S]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The bayonet thrust, the sabre gash;
The heated combatants, grown rash,
Madly on each other dash;
But God defends the right:
On Freedom bids the victory light,
But claims a hero for His prize ;
For shattered in the front of fight,
Devoted Mercer lies!
A stubborn remnant yet maintain
Their stand within the college fane:
The muses' hallowed halls they stain
With all the wreck of fight.
The victor summons — and they yield;
Triumphant now he quits the field
Before the royal vanguard daunts the sight.
Cornwallis comes with thundering speed —
Revenge his raging senses blinds —
Too late! 'tis past the hour of need:
His dead along his track he finds,
His living, scattered to the winds!
And sheltered mid the hills afar,
The rebels, in his grasp at night,
Themselves victorious from the fight,
With all the spods of war!
Astounded at the daring feat,
At once he sounds retreat:
And leaves the soil he late profaned,
Save by the captured foe, unstained.
VII.
Applauding shouts the land rang round,
Of triumph, and of victory!
Then hope first pierced the gloom profound,
And then the stars, which rose in shame
When the young banner 'gan to fly,
First peeped through trouble's cloudy sky
And sparkled on the eye!
And Joy the bright alliance crowned
Which Freedom made with Fame,
When Trenton grew a battle-cry,
And Princeton found a name.

[46]

OF NEW JERSEY
Then broke the auspicious day!
As hope new arms to courage gave
Fast rolled successes wave on wave.
All brightly gilt with glory's morning ray:
The Lion, blinded, in despair,
Slunk baffled to his lair:
While boldly high
The Eagle of unquailing eye
Soared sunward with a scream of joy,
And flapped his wings for victory!
And as the vapors fold by fold
Before the light retreating rolled,
Lo! Freedom on the lofty stand
Of Alleghanian mountains towered, and blazed,
Sole sovereign of the land:
Long, long from man in mists concealed,
Then first with every charm revealed,
Her form august she raised:
August, yet gracious, and her brows were bound
With lustrous stars that like a glory crowned.
Her front looked on the Atlantic shore:
One beckoning hand, outheld before,
Waved welcome to the world!
And one, to point the promised ground
She proffered to her guest,
Turned backward to th' unmeasured west,
Whose desert wealth of soil spread widely round,
Still spreading, spreading, till the roar
Of sounding seas at length proclaimed its bound;
Where, heaving without rest,
Pacific's solemn billows curled,
And broke unheard along the lonety shore!
Then, at the radiant light
Poured lavish from her presence bright,
The mighty crowd
Of gazing nations, awed, with homage bowed;
And hailed, with paeans hailed the fairest queen,
That through all time benighted earth had seen,
To rule her race, and lead to glory on:
And trebly hailed the youthful land,
Whose Heaven-directed band
Had showed the world how Freedom should be won!
Thomas Ward.
[47]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
ASSUNPINK AND PRINCETON.
January 2 and 3, 1777.
Reprinted by permission from "The Boys' Book of Battle Lyrics,"
Copyright, 1885, by Harper and Bros.
Glorious the day when in arms at Assunpink
And after at Princeton the Briton we met;
Few in both armies — they'd skirmishes call them,
Now hundreds of thousands in battle are set.
But for the numbers engaged, let me tell you,
Smart brushes they were, and two battles that told;
There 'twas I first drew bead on a foeman —
I, a mere stripling, not twenty years old.
Tell it ? Well, friends, that is just my intention;
There's nothing a veteran hates and abhors
More than a chance lost to tell his adventures,
Or give you his story of battles and wars.
Nor is it wonder old men are loquacious,
And talk, if you listen, from sun unto sun;
Youth has the power to be up and be doing,
While age can but tell of the deeds it has done.
Ranged for a mile on the banks of Assunpink,
There, southward of Trenton, one morning we lay,
When, with his redcoats all marshalled to meet us,
Cornwallis came fiercely at close of the day —
Driving some scouts who had gone out with Longstreet,
From where they were crossing at Shabbaconk Run —
Trumpets loud blaring, drums beating, flags flying —
Three hours, by the clock, before setting of sun.
Two ways were left them by which to assail us,
And neither was perfectly to their desire —
One was the bridge we controlled by our cannon,
The other the ford that was under our fire.
"Death upon one side, and Dismal on t'other,"
Said Sambo, our cook, as he gazed on our foes ;
Cheering and dauntless they marched to the battle,
And, doubtful of choice, both the dangers they chose.
Down at the ford, it was said, that the water
Was reddened with blood from the soldiers who fell;
[48]

OF NEW JERSEY

As for the bridge, where they tried it, their forces
Were beaten with terrible slaughter, as well.
Grapeshot swept causeway, and pattered on water,
And riddled their columns, that broke and gave way:
Thrice they charged boldly, and thrice they retreated;
Then darkness came down, and so ended the fray.
How did I get there? I came from our corn-mill
At noon of the day when the battle begun.
Bringing in flour to the troops under Proctor ;
'Twas not very long ere that errand was done.
Up to that time I had never enlisted,
Though Jacob, my brother, had entered with Wayne;
But the fight stirred me ; I sent back the horses,
And made up my mind with the rest to remain.
We camped on our side — the south — of Assunpink,
While they bivouacked for the night upon theirs;
Both posting sentries and building up watch fires,
With those on both sides talking over affairs.
"Washington's caught in a trap," said Cornwallis,
And smiled with a smile that was joyous and grim ;
"Fox ! but I have him ! " — the earl had mistaken;
The fox, by the coming of daylight, had him.
Early that night, when the leaders held council,
Both St. Clair and Reed said our action was clear
Useless to strike at the van of our foemen —
His force was too strong ; we must fall on his rear.
Washington thought so, and bade us replenish
Our watchfires till nearly the dawn of the day ;
Setting some more to make feint of intrenching,
While swiftly in darkness the rest moved away.
Marching by Sandtown, and Quaker Bridge crossing,
We passed Stony Creek a full hour before dawn,
Leaving there Mercer with one scant battalion
Our foes to amuse, should they find we were gone;
Then the main force pushed its way into Princeton,
All ready to strike those who dreamed of no blow ;
Only a chance that we lost not our labor,
And slipped through our fingers, unknowing, the foe.

Mawhood's brigade, never feeling its danger,
Had started for Trenton at dawn of the day;

[49]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Crossed Stony Creek, after we had gone over,
When Mercer's weak force they beheld on its way;
Turning contemptuously back to attack it,
They drove it with ease in disorder ahead —
Firelocks alone were no match for their cannon —
A fight, and then flight, and brave Mercer lay dead.
Murdered, some said, while imploring for quarter —
A dastardly deed — if the thing had been true —
Cruel our foes, but in that thing we wronged them,
And let us in all give the demon his due.
Gallant Hugh Mercer fell sturdily fighting,
So long as his right arm his sabre could wield,
Stretching his enemies bleeding around him,
And then, overpowered, fell prone on the field.
Hearing the firing, we turned and we met them,
Our cannon replying to theirs with a will;
Fiercely with grape and with canister swept them ,
And chased them in wrath from the brow of the hill.
Racing and chasing it was into Princeton,
Where, seeking the lore to be taught in that hall,
Redcoats by scores entered college, but stayed not —
We rudely expelled them with powder and ball.
Only a skirmish, you see, though a sharp one-
It did not last over the fourth of an hour ;
But 'twas a battle that did us this service —
No more, from that day, had we fear of their power.
Trenton revived us, Assunpink encouraged,
But Princeton gave hope that we held to the last;
Floodtide had come on the black sullen water,
And ebbtide forever and ever had passed
Yes ! 'twas the turn of the tide in our favor —
A turn of the tide to a haven that bore.
Had Lord Cornwallis crossed over Assunpink
That day we repelled him, our fighting were o'er.
Had he o'ertaken us ere we smote Mawhood,
All torn as we were, it seems certain to me,
I would not chatter to you about battles,
And you and your children would not have been free.
Thomas Dunn English.
[50]

OF NEW JERSEY
THE JERSEY ROAD.
January 2, 1777.
It was years ago. Two armies lay
Encamped at night near the king's highway
Leading from Princeton to Trenton down,
When Whigs fought fiercely the British Crown.
Twas a winter thaw — it was raw and damp
To the Yankee Council in Trenton camp.
Washington's veterans shook their heads,
"We are trapped it seems by the cursed Reds,
We must fight— there's no other way to do,"
But the General calmly around him drew
The great gray cloak that they so well knew
And into the outer darkness strode
Till he reached the fence by the Jersey road.
That Jersey road! 'Twas a sight to see!
The mire was up to a horse's knee;
As the British knew, when on yonder steep,
In their tents, they sank into peaceful sleep
And dreamed of victory won with ease
On the morrow with raw recruits like these.
In front — the enemy, fixed and fast;
Around — deep roads that could not be passed;
Behind, the Delaware, wild and black,
Like an angered snake was in his track ;
The patriot army could not go back.
Was Washington crushed by the awful load?
Nay. He knelt and prayed by the Jersey road.
History tells what happened then,
How right in the view of his anxious men
The sleet storm ceased and the stars came forth,
With a sharp wind out of the ice-bound North;
How, almost before the prayer was done,
The answer came and escape was won ;
How out of reach of the frowning hosts
The handful of patriots moved like ghosts
Leaving their fires to burn till day,
The British thinking the rebels lay
In the jaws of battle, an easy prey,

|5i|.

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Nor dreamed the truth that the morning showed
How Heaven had hardened the Jersey road. Anonymous.
From the Good Roads Magazine, Copyrighted.

"The march of the army had been rendered much more expedi
tious, than it could otherwise have been, by a fortunate change of weath
er. On the evening of the second, it became excessively cold, and the
roads which had become soft, were rendered as hard as pavement." —
John Marshall, in his Life of Washington.
"Providence favors the manoeuver. The weather having been
for two days warm, moist and foggy, the ground is become quite soft,
and the roads to be passed so deep, that it will be extremely difficult, if
practicable, to get on with the cattle, carriages, and artillery. But
while the council is sitting, the wind suddenly changes to the north
west, and it freezes so hard, that by the time the troops are ready to move,
they pass on as though upon a solid pavement." — William Gordon in
History of the American Revolution.

|52|

WASHINGTON AT PRINCETON.
January 3, 1777
On, to the battle's front
Rides the undaunted chief;
On, past his quailing troops,
On, towards the charging foe;
Halts there unmovable.
Well know his wavering men
What means that last appeal, —
"Rally, boys, rally !"
Full in the battle's brunt
There stands their dauntless chief
While forms the foeman's Une: —
'Ready ! Aim ! Fire !
— the dread
Roar of their musketry
Answers to ours, — the smoke
Hides him we love —
O God!
rapped in that murky cloud
hat sight awaits our gaze?

OF NEW JERSEY

Has he too fallen, pierced, —
Pierced by the deadly shot
Hurled in by friend and foe? —
Ha ! see — the foe is flying.
While mid the dead and dying
We hail our hero chief
Scatheless beyond belief —
"Thank God !"— "Away, away I
On, on ! and win the day !" Charles D. Piatt.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution, by permission of
Charles D. Piatt; copyright, 1896.

WASHINGTON AT PRINCETON
January 3, 177
The Assunpink was choked with dead
Between us and the foe;
We had mowed their ranks before our guns,
As ripe grain is laid low;
But we were few and worn and spent —
Many and strong were they,
And they waited but the morning dawn
To fall upon their prey.
We left our camp-fires burning
That their ruddy gleaming light
Might hide from Lord Cornwallis
Our hurried march by night.
While fiery Erskine fretted
At his leader's fond delay,
All silently and swiftly
We were marching on our way.
For the British troops at Princeton,
Our little force was bound,
We tracked with bare and bleeding feet
The rough and frozen ground;
All night we hastened onward,
And we spoke no word of plaint;

[53]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
Tho we were chilled with bitter cold,
With toil and fasting faint.
We hailed with joy the sunlight
As o'er the hills it streamed
And through the sharp and frosty air
On the near homesteads beamed.
We were weary, we were hungry;
Before us lay good cheer,
And right gladly to the hearth-fires
Our eager steps drew near.
But sudden on our startled sight
Long lines of bayonets flashed;
The road's aglow with scarlet coats !
The British on us dash !
The smoke- wreaths from our volleys meet;
Then hand to hand the fight;
Proud gallant Mercer falls; our lines
Are wavering in flight !
"Press on ! " cried Mawhood, "by St. George,
The rebel cowards fly; M
We'll sweep their ranks before our charge
As storm-winds from the sky." A,
They burst with bold and sudden spring
As a lion on the prey;
Our ranks of worn and wearied men
To that fierce rush gave way.
Black was the bitter moment,
And well nigh all was lost;
But forth there sprang a god-like form
Between us and the host.
The martyr fires of freedom
In his flaming glances burned,
As his awful countenance sublime
Upon the foe he turned;
And reining in his gallant steed
Alone amid the fight,
Like an angel of the Lord he stood
To our astonished sight !
And instantly our wavering bands
Wheeled into line again,
And suddenly from either side
The death-shots fell like rain.

[54]

OF NEW JERSEY

All hearts stood still; and horror-struck
Was each averted eye,
For who could brook that moment's look ?
Or who could see him die?
But when the smoke-clouds lifted,
And still we saw him there,
Oh, what a mighty shout of joy
Filled all the startled air !
And tears fell like the summer showers
From our bravest and our best,
As dashing up with fiery pace
Around him close they prest.
A moment's hand-grasp to his Aide,
That told the tale of hours,
"Away, bring up the troops," he cried,
"The day is wholly ours;"
"Now praised be God," from grateful lips
The fervent prayer uprose,
And then, as with an eagle's swoop,
We burst upon our foes,
And "Long live Washington ! " we cried
In answer to his shout,
And still he spurred his charger on
Amid the flying rout.
They broke their ranks before our charge,
Amain they wildly fled;
Stiff on the slopes at Princeton
They left their hapless dead.
No more a band of weary men,
We followed in his track
And bore with stern resistless force
The British Lion back;
Our toilsome march, our sleepless nights,
Cold, hunger, — what were they?
We broke the yoke of foreign power
On that eventful day.
The great heart of our leader
Went on before us then,
And led us forth to wield the strength
Of more than mortal men;

[55]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The pulses of that noble heart
A nation's life concealed,
But fate refused the sacrifice
Whose offer won the field.

Caroline F. Orne.

GENERAL MERCER AT PRINCETON.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution ; by permission of
Charles D. Piatt; copyright 1896.
Here Mercer fell, with bayonet-pierced breast,
Facing his country's foes upon the field,
Scorning to cry for quarter or to yield,
Though single-handed left and sore opprest
He, at his chosen country's high behest,
Was set to be a leader and to shield
Her threatened life — with his heart's blood he sealed
That trust, nor faltered till he sank to rest.
Mourn not for him ; say not untimely death
Snatched him from fame ere we could know his worth
And hid the lustre of a glorious name;
Such souls go forth, when fails their vital breath,
To shine as beacons through the mists of earth
And kindle in men's hearts the heroic flame. Charles D. Piatt.

TO HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON.
A Song of Victory and a Prophecy.
Say — on what hallowed altar shall I find
A sacred spark that can again light up
The Muse's ardor in my wane of life,
And warm my bosom with poetic flame
Extinguished long — and yet, 0 Washington,
Thy worth unequalled, thy heroic deeds,
Thy patriot virtues, and high-soaring fame,
Prompt irresistibly my feeble arm
To grasp the long-forgotten lyre and join
The universal chorus of thy praise.

[56]

OF NEW JERSEY

When urged by thirst of arbitrary sway
And over-weaning pride, a ruthless king
Grim spurned us, suppliants, from his haughty throne,
And in the tyrant all the father lost ;
When to our prayers, with humble duty urged,
He, Pharoah-like, his heart obdurate steeled,
Denouncing dreadful vengeance, unprovoked,
And all the dire calamities of war —
No ray of mercy beaming from his brow,
No olive-branch extended in his hand ;—
A sword unsheathed, or ignominious yoke,
The only sad alternative proposed —
Then with one voice thy country called thee forth,
Thee, Washington, she called: — With modest blush,
But soul undaunted, thou the call obeyedst,
To lead her armies to the martial field. —
Thee, Washington, she called to draw the sword,
And rather try the bloody chance of war
In virtue's cause than suffer servile chains,
Intolerable bondage! to inclose
The limbs of those whom God created free.
Lured by thy fame, and with thy virtues charmed,
And by thy valor fired, around thee poured
America's long-injured sons, resolved
To meet the veteran troops who oft had borne
Britannia's name, in thunder, round the world.
With warrior-bands by Liberty impelled,
And all their country glowing at their heart ;
And prodigal of blood, when she required,
Tho' destitute of war's essential aids,
(The well-stored armory, the nitrous grain
The roaring cannon, and death-bearing ball)
Thou madest the solemn dread appeal to heaven, —
The solemn dread appeal the Almighty heard,
And smiled success. Unfabled Astrea weighed
Our cause in her eternal scales, and found
It just; while all-directing Providence,
Invisible, yet seen, mysterious, crowned,
And more than crowned our hopes; and strange to tell!
Made British infidels, like Lucifer,
Believe and tremble. Thou with troops new-raised
Undisciplined ; nor to the tented field
Inured, hast kept the hostile host aloof;
And oft discomfited; while victory [57]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The laurel wreath around thy temples twined;
And Trenton, Princeton prove thy bold emprize;
Names then unknown to song, illustrious now,
Deriving immortality from thee.
Proceed, heaven-guided Chief, nor be dismayed
At foreign myriads, or domestic foes
(The best have foes, and foes evince their worth) ;
Soon by one danger roused, one soul inspired,
One cause defending, on one goal intent,
From every quarter whence the winds can blow,
Assembled hosts their Hero shall attend,
Determined to be free—Them shalt thou lead,
To conquest lead, and make the tyrant rue
His execrable purpose to enslave;
And teach e'en British folly to be wise.
Far as the encircling sun his chariot drives,
Thy fame shall spread; thy grateful country own
Her millions saved by thy victorious arm ;
And rear eternal monuments of praise.
The arduous task absolved, the truncheon broken,
Of future glory, liberty and peace
The strong foundations laid, methinks I see
The god-like Hero gracefully retire
And (blood-stained Mars for fair Pomona changed)
His rural seat regain: His rural seat
Fresh-blooming at his visitation, smiles;
And in expressive silence speaks her joy.
There, recollecting oft thy past exploits,
(Feast of the soul ne'er cloying appetite),
And still assiduous for the public weal
(Incumbent duty ne'er effaced) .amidst
Sequestered haunts, and in the calm of life,
Methinks I see thee, Solon-like, design
The future grandeur of confederate States
High towering; or for legislation met,
Adjust in senate what thou savedst in war.
And when by thousands wept, thou shalt resign
Thy sky-infused and sky-returning spark,
May light supernal gild thy mortal hour,
But mortal to translate thee into life
That knows not death; and then heaven's all-ruling Sire-
Shall introduce thee to thy glad compeers,
[58]

OF NEW JERSEY

The Hampdens, Sidneys, Freedom's genuine sons!
And Brutus' venerable shade, high-raised
On thrones erected in the taste of heav'n,
Distinguished thrones for patriot demi-gods
(Who for their country's weal or toiled, or bled),
And one reserved for thee: There envy's shafts
Nor tyrants e'er intrude, nor slavery clanks
Her galling chain ; but star-crowned Liberty
Resplendent goddess! everlasting reigns.
Gov. William Livingston.

This address was published in Collins's New Jersey Gazette, above
the signature of Hortentius, on April 1, 1778. Observe the date of the
Eublication of these lines; and then notice the prophetic words of Gov.
ivingston, words which were so happily fulfilled in the subsequent
course of our nation's history. This poem, written by the Governor of
New Jersey, was the first of its class to appear in any American newspaper
and forms the opening note in a still-continuing chorus of poetical praise
addressed to George Washington.

GO ON ILLUSTRIOUS CHIEF.
Lines addressed to General Washington.
Written at Princeton, N. J., March 7, 1778.
Go on illustrious Chief! to lead thy chosen bands,
With increased numbers, to the field of Mars;
There snatching victory from the British foe,
Give peace and plenty to a bleeding land.
Then — Heaven approving thy exalted deeds,
While grateful millions hail thee father, friend-
Return with laurels to thy happy mount,
And taste anew the sweets of private life.
Rekindled in thy breast, the pure, the tender flame,
Endeared by wedlock's holy, sacred rites,
Enjoy, in social converse and connubial love,
The most enrapturing charms that e'er adorned the fair.
When all the earthly joys that mortals can possess
Or heaven bestow on patriotic minds
Shall cease to please; and thy great soul,
Impatient of delay, shall burst the brittle shell
Which holds it here — expanded as the light of morn [59]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Oh! mayest thou then ascend on wings seraphic
To thy native skies: where smiling angels,
Crowding to behold the conquering Hero,
Shall lead thee, all immortal, all divine,
Up to the throne of God; there, freed from all thy toils
On earth, and crowned with never-fading glory,
Eternity itself employed shall make thee happy.
John Witherspoon.

ROOM FOR AMERICA.
A Camp B allad Written in 1 7 7 7 .
When Washington retreated across the Jerseys and took refuge
behind the Delaware, his soldiers were in despair; but the glorious cam
paign of Trenton and Princeton called forth from every patriot a shout
of^exultation. A new nation had been established on the earth and it was this glad
thought that inspired Francis Hopkinson to write this camp ballad, a
song which became at once a favorite throughout all the colonies, not only
in the camp but at the fireside.
Make room, oh! ye kingdoms in n story renowned, —
Whose arms have in battle with glory been crowned, —
Make room for America, — -another great nation
Arising to claim in your council a station.
Her sons fought for freedom, and by their own bravery
Have rescued themselves from the shackles of slavery.
America's free, and tho' Britain abhored it,
Yet Fame a new volume prepares to record it.
Fair Freedom in Britain her throne had erected;
But her sons growing venal and she disrepected,
The goddess offended forsook the base nation,
And fixed on our mountains a more honored station.
With glory immortal she here sits enthroned,
Nor fears the vain vengeance of Britain disowned;
Whilst Washington guards her, with heroes surrounded,
Her foes shall with shameful defeat be confounded.
To arms, then to arms! 'tis fair freedom invites us;
The trumpet shrill-sounding to battle excites us ;
The banners of virtue unfurled shall wave o'er us.
Our heroes lead on, and the foe fly before us.
[60]

OF NEW JERSEY

On Heaven and Washington placing reliance,
We'll meet the bold Briton and bid him defiance ;
Our cause we'll support, for 'tis just and 'tis glorious —
When men fight for freedom, they must be victorious.
Francis Hopkinson.

GREAT NEWS FROM THE JERSEYS.
How England Received the News from Trenton and Princeton.
This ballad, under the guise of classical mythology, tells how the
news of Washington's masterly campaign in the Jerseys was received in
monarchial England. The song takes its title from our State because it
was here that Washington won the marvelous victories of Trenton and
Princeton. It expresses the unbounded joy and exultation of the Ameri
cans at the recovery of the Jerseys in January, 1777. Written immediate
ly after the battle of Princeton, this song at once became a favorite both
among the soldiers and among the people; and no wonder, for it is a re
markably strong assertion that the new-born Republic was a world-
power. Mars and Bellona as king and queen represent Monarchy, and th
attendant gods are the aristocrats surrounding their throne.
Columbia, a spirit of liberty mightier than the classical Jove, de
scends from heaven to introduce Democracy among the nations She
selects Washington as her champion, endows him with ample power and
commissions him to establish a Free Government on the earth.
The issue between despotism and freedom is fought to a finish in
the Jerseys, the cause of Monarchy suffering irretrievable ruin at Trenton,
Assunpink and Princeton.
The fierceness of this conflict, depicted by the thunders and light
nings of a terrific storm in the west, startles Mars and Bellona who in
alarm and dread send their attendants to ascertain the cause. The
messengers look toward America and behold Howe's battle lines recoiling
before Washington in the Jerseys; and returning they report that Wash
ington sustained by Freedom is irresistable. Mars recognizes his doom
and is only able to stammer out, "Can this be true?". And then the sons
of Columbia thunder in the closing chorus:
"Freedom shall triumph in the field
And rule from pole to pole."

As Mars, great god of battles, lay
In dalliance soft and amorous play
On fair Bellona's breast,
Surprised he reared his hoary head;
The conscious goddess shook with dread
And all her fears confessed.

[61]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Loud thunder rolled through Heaven's domain,
The ethereal world was wrapped in flame,
The god amazed spoke:
"Go forth, ye powers, and make known,
Who dares thus boldly shake my throne,
And fill my realms with smoke."
The gods, obsequious to his word,
Sprang swiftly forth to obey their lord
And saw two hosts away;
The one, great Washington, was thine;
The other, Howe's disordered line
In sorrow and dismay.
Apalled they viewed Columbia's sons
Deal death and slaughter from their guns
And strike a dreadful blow,
Which made ill-fated British slaves
On distant shores to find their graves
And sing to shades below.
Amazed they tell of battles won,
That Britain's ruined; Washington
Alone triumphant rode.
"Ha ! " cries the fair, "pray who is he
That dares reverse e'en Jove's decree
And thus insult a god ? "
The gods reply, "In yonder lands,
Great Liberty alone commands
And gives the hero force;
And when his thundering cannons roar
And strike with dread earth's distant shore,
'Tis she directs their course."
"And when her winged bullets fly
To check a tyrant's treachery
And lay his glory low;
Then Washington, serenely great
Tho death and courage round him wait,
Performs the dreadful blow."

]62]

OF NEW JERSEY
The god with wonder heard the story,
Astonished viewed Columbia's glory
(Which time can ne'er subdue —
Great Warren's deeds and Gates's fame
Joined to great Lee's immortal name,)
And cried, "Can this be true ? "
Britain shall cease to plague mankind,
With sister tyrants cease to bind
And check the free-born soul;
To Washington her trophies yield
Freedom shall triumph in the field
And rule from pole to pole.

Anonymous

Howe's disordered line In sorrow and dismay. — A fine touch, the
line of British cantonments stretched along the Delaware from Maiden
head (now Lawrenceville), to Mount Holly and Black Horse; but after
the affair at Trenton all these posts were precipitately abandoned, and
Howe postponed his triumphal visit to London.
"Hal" cries the fair, "pray, who is heV — They begrudged Washing
ton the title of General ; and it was always a mystery to them how farmers
shoemakers, blacksmiths and tanners could be such able military men.
The effect of Washington's masterly movements was electrical.
It became deeply impressed on the minds of the people that news from
New Jersey meant good news ; and for more than a generation there after,
good news, unexpectedly received from any place concerning any matter,
was greeted with the current proverb, "Great News from The lerseys."
The Jerseys is a parody on a song called The Watery God which had
been very popular, both in England and in America. The watery God
was Neptune, the god of the sea; and the poem represented him as sur
rendering his trident, the symbol of his power, to King George of England.
As Neptune in the old poem was compelled to surrender all sea-
power to England, so Mars, the god of war, was compelled in the new
poem by the Goddess of Liberty, to surrender the supreme military power
into the hands of George Washington as the champion of the youthful
American nation.
It is a mistake to assume that the men of 1776 did not know that
the United States was to become a world-power. It is true they did
not dream of acquiring colonial possessions beyond the sea; but they did
believe that they were fighting for the rights of mankind and for the es
tablishment of democratic government among the nations, truly a new
thing under the sun ; and they did believe that future ages, imitating the
example of America, would see every monarchy in the world complete
ly overthrown and replaced by a righteous democracy. [63]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
THE BIRDS, THE BEASTS AND THE BAT,
A Fable.
Written in 1777
In this allegory, the Beasts represent the British ; the Birds repre
sent the American patriots; and the Eagle, the leader of the Birds, repre
sents General Washington. The Bat represents the time-serving turn
coat, the detestable trimmer, who keeps changing from one party to
the other in order to be on the winning side.
When the Americans drive the British out of Boston, the Bat
claims to be a bird; when the Americans are defeated on Long Island, the
Bat deserts to the British camp and argues that he is a Beast; and finally
when the Americans are victorious at Trenton and Princeton, the Bat re
turns to the American camp and tries to make out that he is a Bird.
A war broke out in former days,
If all is true that Aesop says,
Between the birds that haunt the grove,
And beasts that wild in forest rove:
Of fowl that swim in water clear,
Of birds that mount aloft in air,
From every tribe vast numbers came
To fight for freedom, as for fame:
The beasts from dens and caverns deep,
From valleys low and mountains steep
In motley ranks determined stood,
And dreadful howlings shook the wood.
The bat, half-bird, half-beast, was there,
Nor would for this or that declare ;
Waiting till conquest should decide
Which was the strongest, safest side:
Depending on his doubtful form
To screen him from the impending storm.
With sharpened beaks and talons long,
With horny spurs and pinions strong,
The birds in fierce assault, 'tis said,
Amongst the foe such havoc made
That panic-struck the beasts retreat
Amazed, and victory seemed complete.
The observant bat, with squeaking tone,
Cries, "Bravo, birds, the day's our own;
For now I'm proud to claim a place
Amongst your bold aspiring race;
With leathern wings I skim the air,
And am a bird tho' clad in hair."
[64]

OF NEW JERSEY

But now the beasts, ashamed of flight,
With rallied force renew the fight,
With threatening teeth, uplifted paws,
Projecting horns and spreading claws,
Enraged advance — push on the fray,
And claim the honors of the day.
The bat still hovering to and fro
Observed how things were like to go,
Concludes those best who best can fight,
And thinks the strongest party right;
"Push on," quoth he, "ours is the day;
We'll chase these rebel birds away,
And reign supreme — for who but we
Of earth and air the Lords should be ;
That I'm a beast I can make out,
By reasons strong beyond a doubt,
With teeth and fur 'twould be absurd
To call a thing like me a bird;
Each son and daughter of my house
Is styled at least a flying mouse. "
Always uncertain is the fate
Of war and enterprises great:
The beasts exulting pushed too far
Their late advantage in the war;
Sure of success, insult the foe,
Despise their strength and careless grow;
The birds not vanquished, but dismayed,
Collect their force, new powers displayed
Their chief, the eagle, leads them on,
And with fierce rage the war's begun.
Now in their turn the beasts must yield
The bloody laurels of the field;
Routed they fly, disperse, divide,
And in their native caverns hide.
Once more the bat with courtly voice,
"Hail, noble birds! much I rejoice
In your success, and come to claim
My share of conquest and of fame."
The birds the faithless wretch despise;
'Hence, traitor, hence!" the eagle cries,
"No more, as you just vengeance fear,
Amongst our honored ranks appear." [65]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The bat, disowned, in some old shed
Now seeks to hide his exiled head ;
Nor dares his leathern wings display
From rising morn to setting day;
But when the gloomy shades of night
Screen his vile form from every sight,
Despised, unnoticed, flits about;
Then to his dreary cell returns
And his just fate in silence mourns.Francis Hopkinson.

RETREAT OF THE BRITISH ARMY.
The Retreat of the British Army from Philadelphia to Sandy Hook.
The news of the French alliance reached Washington at Valley
Forge the first week in May, 1778. The expected arrival in Dela
ware bay of the French fleet compelled the British army under General
Clinton to evacuate Philadelphia; Clinton withdrew by way of Haddon-
field, Mount Holly and Freehold, and reached Sandy Hook on June 30th,
where he embarked his army for New York city. It was during this march
that the battle of Monmouth was fought on Sunday, June 28. 1778.
The joyful news soon spread throughout the host
That friendly fleets were cruising off the coast,
Charged with commission to block up the foe
And crush the British by one single blow!
Nor missed it much — few days had sealed their doom,
Had they not left the spacious town so soon.
But Clinton, fearful of some dangerous scheme,
Passed o'er the river, and to Jersey came:
Clinton was chief and held supreme command,
Since Howe inglorious sought his native land.
To the sea-shore the army took its way;
The Jersey troops retard their furious way.
Columbia's host now press the British rear,
Drive in their scouts and fill their souls with fear.
On Monmouth's plains where Lee in duty failed ,
The British force and discipline prevailed:
Night's sable curtain lent her powerful aid-
Under her ample covering they parade.
Then swiftly march: fear lends her nimble wings;
The morn arrives, the joyous Briton sings.
Lo! the tall ships appear as groves of trees,
Supinely waving to each gentle breeze.
A New Jersey Farmer.
An extract from The Columbiad, a poem attributed to John Branson.
[66]

OF NEW JERSEY
THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH.
June 28, 1778.
From Boys' Book of Battle Lyrics, by Harper & Brothers.
Copyright 1885.
Four-and-eighty years are o'er me;
Great-grandchildren sit before me ;
These my locks are white and scanty ;
And my limbs are weak and worn ;
Yet I've been where cannons roaring,
Firelocks rattling, blood out-pouring,
Stirred the souls of patriot soldiers,
On the tide of battle borne ;
Where they told me I was bolder
Far than many a comrade older,
Though a stripling in that fight
For the right.
All that sultry day in summer
Beat his sullen march the drummer,
Where the Briton strode the dusty road
Until the sun went down;
Then on Monmouth plain encamping,
Tired and foot-sore with the tramping,
Lay all wearily and drearily
The forces of the crown,
With their resting horses neighing
And their evening bugles playing
And their sentries pacing slow
To and fro.
Ere the day to night had shifted,
Camp was broken, knapsacks lifted,
And in motion was the vanguard
Of our swift-retreating foes;
Grim Knyphausen rode before his
Brutal Hessians— bloody Tories,
They were fit companions, truly,
Hirelings these and traitors those —
While the careless jest and laughter
Of the teamsters coming after
Rang around each creaking wain
Of the train.

[67]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

'Twas a quiet Sabbath morning;
Nature gave no sign of warning
Of the struggle that would follow
When we met the Briton's might,
Of the horsemen fiercely spurring,
Of the bullets shrilly whirring,
Of the bayonets brightly gleaming
Through the smoke that wrapped the fight ;
Of the cannon thunder-pealing,
Of the wounded wretches reeling,
And the corses gory red
Of the dead.
Quiet nature had no prescience;
But the Tories and the Hessians
Heard the baying of the beagles
That were hanging on their track;
Heard the cries of eager ravens
Soaring high above the cravens;
And they hurried, worn and worried,
Casting startled glances back,
Leaving Clinton there to meet us,
With his bull-dogs fierce to greet us,
With the veterans of the crown,
Scarred and brown.
For the fight our souls were eager
And each Continental leaguer,
As he gripped his fire-lock firmly,
Scarce could wait the word to fire ;
For his country rose such fervor,
In his heart of hearts to serve her,
That it gladdened him and maddened
Him and kindled raging ire.
Never panther from his fastness,
Through the forest's gloomy vastness,
Coursed more grimly night and day
For his prey.
I was in the main force posted;
Lee, of whom his minions boasted,
Was commander of the vanguard,
And with him were Scott and Wayne.
What they did I knew not, cared not;
In their march of shame I shared not ;

[68]

OF NEW JERSEY
But it startled me to see them
Panic-stricken back again,
At the black morass's border,
All in headlong fierce disorder,
With the Briton plying steel
At their heel.
Outward cool when combat waging,
Howsoever inward raging,
Ne'er had Washington showed feeling,
(S! When his forces fled the foe;
But today his forehead lowered,
And we shrank his wrath untoward,
As on Lee his bitter speech was
Hurled in hissing tones and low:
"Sir, what means this wild confusion?
Is it cowardice or collusion?
Is it treachery or fear,
Brings you here? "
Lee grew crimson in his anger —
Rang his curses o'er the clangor,
O'er the roaring din of battle,
As he wrathfully replied;
But his raging was unheeded;
Fastly on our chieftain speeded,
Rallied quick the fleeing forces,
Stayed the dark, retreating tide,
Then on foaming steed returning,
Said to Lee, with wrath still burning,
'Will you now strike a blow
At the foe? "
At the words Lee drew up proudly
Curled his lip and answered loudly:
"Ay ! " his voice rang out, "and will not
Be the first to leave the field;"
And his word redeeming fairly,
With a skill surpassed but rarely,
Struck the Briton with such ardor
That the scarlet column reeled;
Then, again, but in good order,
Pass the black morass's border,
Brought his forces rent and torn,
Spent and worn. "

[69]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

As we turned on flanks and center,
In the path of death to enter,
One of Knox's brass six-pounders
Lost its Irish cannoneer;
And his wife, who 'mid the slaughter
Had been bearing pails of water
For the gun and for the gunner,
O'er his body shed no tear.
"Move the piece ! " — but there they found her
Loading, firing that six-pounder,
And she gayly till we won,
Worked the gun.
Loud we cheered as Captain Molly
Waved the rammer; then a volley
Pouring in upon the grenadiers,
We sternly drove them back;
Though like tigers fierce they fought us,
To such zeal had Molly brought us
That, though struck with heat, and thirsting,
Yet of drink we felt no lack;
There she stood amid the clamor,
Busily handling sponge and rammer,
While we swept with wrath condign
On their line.
From our center backward driven,
With his forces rent and riven,
Soon the foe re-formed in order,
Dressed again his shattered ranks ;
In a column firm advancing,
From his bayonets hot rays glancing
Showed in waving lines of brilliance
As he fell upon our flanks,
Charging bravely for his master;
Thus he met renewed disaster
From the stronghold that we held
Back repelled.
Monckton, gallant, cool, and fearless,
'Mid his bravest comrades peerless,
Brought his grenadiers to action
But to fall amid the slain;
Everywhere their ruin found them;
Red destruction rained around them

[70]

OF NEW JERSEY
From the mouth of Oswald's cannon,
From the musketry of Wayne;
While our sturdy Continentals,
In their dusty regimentals,
Drove their plumed and scarlet force,
Man and horse.
Beamed the sunlight fierce and torrid
O'er the battle raging horrid,
Till, in faint exhaustion sinking,
Death was looked on as a boon;
Heat, and not a drop of water —
Heat, that won the race of slaughter,
Fewer far with bullets dying
Than beneath the sun of June;
Only ceased the terrible firing
With the Briton slow retiring,
As the sunbeams in the west
Sank to rest.
On our arms so heavily sleeping,
Careless watch our sentries keeping,
Ready to renew the contest
When the dawning day should show ;
Worn with toil and heat, in slumber
Soon were wrapped our greatest number,
Seeking strength to rise again and
Fall upon the wearied foe ;
For we felt his power was broken;
But what rage was ours outspoken
When, on waking at the dawn,
He had gone.
In the midnight still and somber,
While our force was wrapped in slumber,
Clinton set his train in motion,
Sweeping fast to Sandy Hook ;
Safely from our blows he bore his
Mingled Britons, Hessians, Tories —
Bore away his wounded soldiers,
But his useless dead forsook ;
Fleeing from a worse undoing,
And too far for our pursuing:
So we found the field our own.
And alone.

[71]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
How that stirring day comes o'er me !
How those scenes arise before me !
How I feel a youthful vigor
For a moment fill my frame !
Those who fought beside me seeing,
From the dim past brought to being,
By their hands I fain would clasp them —
Ah ! each lives but in his name ;
But the freedom that they fought for,
And the country grand they wrought for,
Is their monument to-day,
And for aye. Thomas Dunn English.

THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH.
June 28, 1778.
From Poems Lyrical and Dramatic by permission of John Wiley & Sons;
copyright 1900.
In the grasses the cob -webs were lying,
Frosted white with the fall of the dew,
When we roused from our tents before sunrise
As the bugles the rippling call blew.
"Drop your knapsacks, men ! Form !" and now "Forward !"
We are off, and the red dust upfiies,
Not a breath turns the silver-lined birch-leaves,
And the quivering air dazzles our eyes.
Comes a sound — was that thunder that rumbled?
In the vivid sky blazes the sun.
'Twas the cannon that roared in the distance.
Hasten on, for the fight has begun !
As we paused by a church for our orders
Stood our Chief, as I see him e'en now,
With his hand on his horse's hot forehead,
And the dust on his noble white brow.
[72] j

OF NEW JERSEY
Then a farmer rushed up to us, panting:
"Sir, your soldiers are flying, ahead ! "
"Silence ! This is some coward's invention.
March forward, men ! " Washington said.
Then we stirred at the cry of the bugles,
At the sound of the trampling of feet,
And we felt that to struggle was holy,
And to die for our country was sweet.
Then the blood hammered fast in our temples,
And we burned with the thirst for the fray,
And our muscles strained hard at our muskets
As our General spurred, plunging, away.
Look, who comes? See the troops there before us I
'Tis our soldiers, and flying, we see.
Wild, disordered, and jaded, they meet us
They retreat — by the orders of Lee !
On we go with haste of dread urging
To a farm where the broad brook runs fast,
And the children at play by the lilacs
Come out running to see us march past ;
And the sweet, thrilling sound of their voices
Floats across on the flower-scented air,
"Oh, they're marching right down to the willows,
And they'll ruin our playhouse that's there !"
O, you children ! our hearts ached to hear you,
Though we knew not that there by your wall
They will dig a deep trench on the morrow
For the men that ere evening shall fall.
Now we looked on the country below us,
Where our soldiers left honor behind,
And were flying like leaves in the Autumn
When they whirl in the eddying wind.
At their head, lo, the recreant commander,
And our Chief urged his horse's quick pace,
nd there, on the bridge o'er the torrent,
Lee and Washington met face to face. [73]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
Such a glance as when Jove shakes Olympus,
As he scatters the thunder-bolt wide;
Like the flash of a sword from its scabbard
Came his speech: "Sir, what means this?" he cried.
Then the orders came rattling like hailstones,
And the panic was stayed by his hand.
Fast the batteries form in the forest ;
On the heights with the cannon we stand,
From beneath the low boughs of the orchard,
Like the angry wasps, Wayne's bullets fly,
Till the fierce Colonel Monckton grows reckless:
"Drive them out ! drive them out ! " is his cry.
On the grenadiers charge with their bayonets,
Ranks of steel like a glittering wall;
With a crash like the meeting of waters
Comes the answering fire — and they fall.
But the heat of the air saps our courage,
And we faint 'neath the glare of the sky ;
To the streaked brook our comrades crawl, moaning
Like the hurt deer, to drink and to die.
Yet He called for a charge, the undaunted
And we formed in our battle array,
But the shadows arose from the hollows,
So we waited the coming of day.
When we looked for our foes on the morrow,
As the mist melted off in the sun,
Like the fabled Assyrian army
They had vanished — and Monmouth was won !
Sara Wiley Drummond*

[74]

OF NEW JERSEY
THE LONGEST BATTLE.
Monmouth, June 28, 1778.
By permission of the author; copyrighted*.
To-day, with deep peace hovering o'er,
We fight a battle of war once more.
Of all the battles, if men say right,
Of all of the seven years' patriot fight,
This one could the longest drama tell,
Ere ever its blood-stained curtain fell.
We fight not now with bullets of hate,
Or the hot-throated cannon's cry,
Not now with the sword — grim knife of fate —
Not now in the hope that men may die !
To-day with a frequent clasp of hands,
Are living in peace the two great lands —
They in their English isle, possessed
Of wealth in the eastern regions won —
We in the gardens of the west,
Still travelling west with the rising sun.
We fight this battle — well fought before —
That they who are dead may live once more ;
We fill these fields with the war's rich flame,
To light them up into the halls of fame,
O, long shall this shaft of glory tell
Of heroes that knew that "war is hell,"
But deemed that slavery, to men of pride,
Was hell with the devils multiplied!
Again to-day are the Jersey pines
Made dark by the glitter of Clinton's lines:
Through marsh and valley, o'er hill and plain,
And green-flagged meadow and waving grain,
From southern river to northern bay,
Twelve miles of soldiery wends its way.
Heroes of many a conquered clime;
Cavalry, cannon, and grenadiers;
Their general strong in his hardy prime —
A veteran, even at forty years.

psr

PATRIOTIC POEMS
There are men who have clashed 'gainst Europe's steel,
And men who have met the Indian bold,
And men with a love for England's weal,
And men with a lust for England's gold.
Ah, Clinton, beware of this summer day !
There comes, from the hills of Valley Forge,
Not George the Third, with a King's display —
But our plain, fighting, American George !
Beware of the Monmouth county men,
Each one your natural foe:
They fought for freedom, with tongue and pen,
A hundred years ago.
Phil Dickinson, Jersey's noble boon,
Will give you some Jersey lightning, soon !
Another line — a patriot band —
Have waited for sunrise to storm the land ;
Not men who with mischief only to do,
Have fed and fattened the winter through;
Not men who have lounged on flowery tracks —
A rich old nation behind their backs;
But men who have frozen and starved their way
Through many a winter night and day ;
And men who suffered that those at home
Might live in peace through the years to come;
And men that would die with a cheerful smile,
If but their country could live meanwhile.
No ribbons nor orders nor medals have they ;
No tinsel to capture the dazzled sight;
Their flag is their pillar of cloud by day,
Their faith is their pillar of fire by night.
The lines have met ! the duel is on,
Ere high in the sky is the Sabbath sun !
And Dickinson's guns, no longer mute,
Have given the visitors rough salute.
They fall on the foe with patriot zeal,
And bullet to bullet and steel to steel,
Take place of the morning bells of prayer
On the startled hush of the sacred air.

[76]

OF NEW JERSEY
But what can a band of true men do,
If he who commands them prove untrue?
And how can a loyal fight be made,
If under the rule of a renegade?
Oh wise psychologists, picture me
The heart, that day, of General Lee !
Patriot or hireling, or hero, or knave?
American warrior, or British slave?
Or did his strangeness, leaping design,
Pass o'er insanity's border Une?
Oh, why was this man, by the camp-fire born,
And reared to the dram's loud beat,
So oft in victory's very morn,
The apostle of retreat?
Howbeit he deemed them in the right,
He vowed Americans could not fight
Against the disciplined British foe ;
Then did his meanest to make it so.
How could he think, by his swift retreat,
To drive the enemy to defeat?
How could he hope, in that solemn fray,
By flight and panic to win the day ?
Oh, wise psychologists, say : was he
Our Benedict Arnold from o'er the sea?
But students of souls, waste not an hour,
Waste not a minute, in telling me
The heart of that man, of god-like power,
Who met and swore at General Lee !
No need of the analytic art,
To learn George Washington's honest heart;
No long discussions are wanted now —
No sifting of words or juggle of facts,
To read the motives behind that brow —
To read his thoughts or explain his acts !
As clear as that summer morn, his brain;
His heart was warm as the noonbeams are:
His will was strong as the magic chain
That stretches away from star to star.
Who, on this globe, is worthy to raise
The song of our foremost patriot's praise? [77]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

For him no plaudits can e'er be high
Enough till they cleave the clear blue sky;
For him a monument rears its crest
Built by invisible hands,
Of patriot souls from East to West,
From all of the tribes and lands !

He met that breeder of dangerous fright,
Who held that Americans could not fight,
Leading the legions toward despair,
And cursed him handsomely then and there.
The accusing angel was not loth
To take heaven's chancery that honest oath;
He did not blush as he gave it in ;
The godly purpose wiped out the sin.
Perhaps when his ear a moment caught
That solemn outburst of heart and brain,
The recording angel simply thought
That not to have sworn would have been profane.
Oh, fields of battle, by patriots' blood
Made bright on this happy summer day,
You gleam still brighter in glory's flood
Because our Washington passed this way.
No longer led by a uniformed doubt,
But by a man they love and know,
The patriot columns wheel about,
And savagely face the foe.
Now unto the monster Strife again
This Sabbath day is wed,
And churches are full of wounded men
And pale unfuneralled dead;
Now, women with homes from tyrants free,
And angels in homes above,
Look sharp through the smoke-stained air, and see
Men fight for the homes they love.
What boy is this— with a face as bright
As the morning's freshly opened flowers,
Who fought with Lee for a chance to fight,
Through all those terrible morning hours?

178]

OF NEW JERSEY
Oh, who, as our hosts once more advance,
For a moment can forget
The lad that came from the land of France —
The marvelous Lafayette?
Right well did the fates his mission know;
He was born a noble, and doubly so !
He left his wife and fortune and kin,
For that which he deemed the right ;
He followed the banner and helped it win,
Through many a glorious fight.
Not yet at manhood's earliest age
He turned his history's glowing page;
For half a century still was he
To live for his race ; with heart and hands,
Both sides of the proud applauding sea,
He fought for the two republic lands —
France and America ; now the ones
Under the eastern and western suns,
Which still are striving to teach the world
That men with liberty's flag unfurled
Can govern themselves, with no such thing
As feeble aid from an unsought king.
Not only the man, but the wife we bless;
When striving to rush to this land's relief,
His kin said "No," but his wife said "Yes,"
In spite of her love and fear and grief,
So on this day we will not forget
A cheer for the wife of Lafayette !
What woman is this of the saving craft,
With flashing and handsome eyes?
She brings to the soldiers the cooling draught,
Till her husband falls and dies,
And then, with sorrow and rage and pride,
She loads the cannon, that corpse beside,
And she, the woman of loving heart,
Who, acting a woman's gentler part,
Brought fragments of heaven from the brook's clear well,
Now turns and gives the enemy — shell
And shot, and powder, and all the woe
That woman can fling at a hated foe.
Worthy of fame for evermore,
This Amazon of our western shore ;
She taught the world that when men were dead
The patriot women could fight instead; [79]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

She gave that day a lesson to man,
_It never forgot, and never can.
For this brave woman's sake,
Oh red-haired women, we hold you dear;/
The thankful world should make
For Captain Mollie an honest cheer !
Mad Anthony Wayne, to judge by the way
You fought, you were mad, indeed, that day !
Foaming to fight when once let free
From the prison squad of the laggard Lee,
Though happily under that same poltroon,
You did good work in the afternoon !
Again in the hot strife you are seen,
Brave Knox and Hamilton — Scott and Green;
And Monckton — bravest of honest foes —
Shall still on the field of his fame repose;
Again we meet you with tearful smile,
Oh men of the patriot rank and file,
That carved for their country a bloody track,
And beat the army of Clinton back,
And pounded him all the afternoon
Until he "skipped by the light of the moon,"
And after that new moon long had set,
Was skipping away from danger yet !
Our army slept in the sultry air,
And the crescent moon looked on them there,
Emblem of growth, and prophesied
The growth of our nation yet to be —
For which those patriots fought and died —
The nation they made for you and me.
Oh long shall this shaft of glory tell
The deeds of the men who fought so well !
And long may it mark the friendship taught
'Twixt two great nations that twice have fought,
And felt a truth that has oft been shown —
That each is safer if left alone.
Oh dead of the nations, doubly blessed,
Reach upward and clasp your spectre hands,
And pray that God's good blessings rest
On both of the English-speaking lands !
Will Carleton.

[80]

Moll Pitcher at the Battle of Monmouth

OF NEW JERSEY

MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH.
On the bloody field of Monmouth,
Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne,
Fiercely roared the tide of battle,
Thick the sward was heaped with slain.
Foremost, facing death and danger,
Hessian, horse, and grenadier,
In the vanguard, fiercely fighting
Stood an Irish cannoneer.
Loudly roared his iron cannon,
Mingling ever in the strife,
And beside him, firm and daring
Stood his faithful Irish wife.
Of her bold contempt of danger
Greene and Lee's brigades could tell;
Every one knew "Captain Molly"
And the army loved her well.
Surged the roar of battle round them,
Swiftly flew the iron hail,
¦ Forward dashed a thousand bayonets,
That lone battery to assail.
From the foeman's foremost columns
Swept a furious fusillade
Mowing down the massed battalions,
In the ranks of Greene's brigade.
Faster and faster worked the gunner,
Soiled with powder, blood and dust,
English bayonets shone before him,
Shot and shell around him burst;
Still he fought with reckless daring,
Stood and manned her long and well
Till at last the gallant fellow
Dead, beside his cannon, fell.
With a bitter cry of sorrow
And a dark and angry frown,
Looked that band of gallant patriots
At their gunner stricken down.
"Fall back, comrades, it is folly
Thus to strive against the foe."
"No, not so," cried Irish Molly,
'We can strike another blow."

[81]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Quickly leaped she to the cannon,
In her fallen husband's place,
Sponged and rammed it fast and steady,
Fired it in the foeman's face.
Flashed another ringing volley,
Roared another from the gun;
"Boys, hurrah ! " cried gallant Molly,
"For the flag of Washington,"
Greene's brigade, though torn and shattered.
Slain and bleeding half their men,
When they heard that Irish slogan,
Turned and charged the foe again.
Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally,
To the front they forward wheel,
And before their rushing onset
Clinton's English columns reel.
Still the cannon's voice in anger
Rolled and rattled o'er the plain,
Till there lay in swarms around it
Mangled heaps of Hessians slain.
"Forward ! Charge them with the bayonet ! "
'Twas the voice of Washington,
And there burst a fiery greeting
From the Irish woman's gun.
Monckton falls ; against his columns
Leap the troops of Wayne and Lee,
And before their reeking bayonets
Clinton's red battalions flee.
Morgan's rifles, fiercely flashing,
Thin the foe's retreating ranks;
And behind them, onward dashing
Ogden hovers on their flanks.
Fast they fly, these boasting Britons,
Who in all their glory came,
With their brutal Hessian hirelings
To wipe out our country's name.
Proudly floats the starry banner,
Monmouth's glorious field is won,
And in triumph, Irish Molly
Stands beside her smoking gun. William Collins.

[82]

OF NEW JERSEY
SERGEANT MOLLY.
From Songs and Satires ; copyright 1886.
The snows were melted from Valley Forge;
The blood was drunk by the sodden clay ;
And, counting the score against King George,
They sharpened their swords for Monmouth day.
But the devil may take the caitiff Lee!
In the front of the battle his courage quailed,
And the lions, leaping to victory,
Fell back when their leader's hare-heart failed;
Till the Chieftain came with his face a-flame
And an angry hand on a ready hilt,
Halting the mob with a taunt of shame
And a hot, fierce curse on the traitor's guilt.
So we see him now in his god-like wrath
Firing the souls of meaner men,
Standing athwart the coward's path
And driving the victor back again;
And once again when, the battle won
And the beaten foe in ignoble flight,
He calls for the soldier who served the gun
In Wayne's brigade on the bloody right.
How the soldiers cheer, in their comrade-pride,
As a woman steps forth from the cannoneers,
And her mantling blushes fail to hide
The smoke of battle and stain of tears.
She is only a soldier's Irish wife ;
But yesterday, when the fight went hard,
The hot heart's blood of her soldier's life
Made a pool by his gun on Monmouth sward.
And the captain turned away his head, —
"Take out of the battle the idle gun;
There's no one to serve it now," he said:
But a white-faced woman cried, "Yes, there's one."
And all day long, through the fire and smoke
And din of battle and bullets' hum,
The battery's thunderous voice outspoke
And Pitcher's cannon was never dumb.
Powder-stained is the brown hand yet
As the Chieftain holds it and speaks his thanks; [33]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
And "Sergeant Molly," by his brevet,
Goes proudly back to the cheering ranks.
James Jeffrey Roche.
MOLLY PITCHER.
Copyright 1900, by the Century Company;
reprinted from St. Nicholas by permission.
Pitcher the gunner is brisk and young;
He's a lightsome heart and a merry tongue,
An ear like a fox, an eye like a hawk,
A foot that would sooner run than walk,
And a hand that can touch the linstock home
As the lightning darts from the thunder-dome.
He hates a Tory ; he loves a fight ;
The roll of the drum is his heart's delight ;
And three things rule the gunner's life:
His country, his gun, and his Irish wife.
Oh, Molly, with your eyes so blue!
Oh, Molly, Molly, here's to you!
Sweet Honor's roll will aye be richer
To hold the name of Molly Pitcher.
The sun shoots down on Monmouth fight
His brazen arrows broad and bright.
They strike on saber's glittering sheen,
On rifle-stock and bayonet keen;
They pierce the smoke-cloud gray and dim,
Where stand the gunners swart and grim,
Firing fast as shot can flee
At the foe they neither hear nor see.
Where all are brave, the bravest one,
Pitcher the gunner, serves his gun.
Oh, Molly, Molly, haste and bring
The sparkling water from the spring,
To drive the heat and thirst away,
And keep your soldiers glad and gay!
A bullet comes singing over the brow,
And — Pitcher's gun is silent now.
The brazen throat that roared his will,
The shout of his warlike joy, is still.
The black lips curl, but they shoot no flame,
And the voice that cries on the gunner's name
Finds only its echo where he lies
With his steadfast face turned up to the skies.
[84]

OF NEW JERSEY

Oh, Molly, Molly, where he lies
His last look meets your faithful eyes;
His last thought sinks from love to love
Of your darling face that bends above.
"No one to serve in Pitcher's stead?
Wheel back the gun!" the captain said;
When, like a flash, before him stood
A figure dashed with smoke and blood,
With streaming hair, with eyes of flame,
And lips that falter the gunner's name.
"Wheel back his gun, that never yet
His fighting duty did forget?
His voice shall speak, though he lie dead;
I'll serve my husband's gun!" she said.
Oh, Molly, now your hour is come!
Up, girl, and strike the linstock home!
Leap out, swift ball! away! away!
Avenge the gunner's death to-day!
All day the great guns barked and roared;
All day the big balls screeched and soared;
All day, 'mid the sweating gunners grim,
Who toiled in their smoke-shroud dense and dim,
Sweet Molly labored with courage high,
With steady hand and watchful eye,
Till the day was ours, and the sinking sun
Looked down on the field of Monmouth won,
And Molly standing beside her gun.
Now, Molly, rest your weary arm!
Safe, Molly, all is safe from harm.
Now, woman, bow your aching head
And weep in sorrow o'er your dead!
Next day on that field so hardly won,
Stately and calm, stands Washington,
And looks where our gallant Greene doth lead
A figure clad in motley weed —
A soldier's cap and a soldier's coat
Masking a woman's petticoat.
He greets our Molly in kindly wise ;
He bids her raise her tearful eyes ;
And nowjdie hails her before them all
Comradefand soldier, whate'er befall. 185]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

"And since she has played a man's full part,
A man's reward for her loyal heart!
And Sergeant Molly Pitcher's name
Be Writ henceforth on the shield of fame!"
Oh, Molly, with your eyes so blue!
Oh, Molly, Molly, here's to you!
Sweet Honor's roll will aye be richer
To hold the name of Molly Pitcher.
Laura Elizabeth Richards.

THE SPUR OF MONMOUTH.
'Twas a httle brass half -circlet,
Deep gnawed by rust and stain,
That the farmer's urchin brought me.
Ploughed up in Old Monmouth's plain ;
On that spot where the hot June sunshine
Once a fire more deadly knew,
And a bloodier color reddened
Where the red June roses blew,
Where the moon of the early harvest
Looked down through the shimmering^leaves,
And saw where the reaper of battle
Had gathered his human sheaves:
Old Monmouth, so touched with glory,
So tinted with burning shame,
As Washington's pride we remember,
Or Lee's long-tarnished name.
'Twas a little brass half-circlet;
And knocking the rust away,
And clearing the ends and the middle
From their burial shroud of clay,
I saw, through the damp of ages,
And the thick disfiguring grime,
The buckle-heads and the rowel
Of a spur of the olden time.
And I said, "What gallant horseman,
Who revels and rides no more,
Perhaps twenty years back or fifty,
On his heel that weapon wore ?

[86]

OF NEW JERSEY
Was he riding away to his bridal
When the leather snapped in twain?
Was he thrown, and dragged by the stirrup,
With the rough stones crushing his brain?
Then I thought of the Revolution,
Whose tide still onward rolls;
Of the free and the fearless riders,
Of the "times that tried men's souls,"
What if, in the day of battle
That raged and rioted here,
It had dropped from the foot of a soldier,
As he rode in his mad career?
What if it had ridden with Forman,
When he leaped through the open door,
With the British dragoon behind him
In his race o'er the granary floor?
What if — but the brain grows dizzy
With the thoughts of the rusted spur,
What if it had fled with Clinton
Or charged with Aaron Burr?
But bravely the farmer's urchin
Had been scraping the rust away;
And, cleaned from the soil that swathed it.
The spur before me lay.
Here are holes in the outer circle ;
No common heel it has known,
For each space, I see by the setting,
Once held some precious stone.
And here, not far from the buckle —
Do my eyes deceive their sight?
Two letters are here engraven,
That initial a hero's might —
"G. W." Saints of Heaven !
Can such things in our lives occur?
Do I grasp such a priceless treasure?
Was this George Washington's spur?
Did the brave old Pater Patriae
Wear that spur, like a belted knight, — •
Wear it, through gain and disaster,
From Cambridge to Monmouth fight?

[87]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
Did it press his steed in hot anger
On Long Island's day of pain?
Did it drive him at terrible Princeton
'Tween two streams of leaden rain?
And here did the buckles loosen,
And no eye look down to see,
When he rode to blast with the lightning
The defiant eyes of Lee?
Did it fall, unfelt and unheeded,
When that fight of despair was won,
And Clinton, worn and discouraged,
Crept away at the set of the sun?
The lips have long been silent
That could send an answer back,
And the spur, all broken and rusted
Has forgotten its rider's track;
I only know that the pulses
Leap hot and the senses reel,
When I think that the spur of Monmouth
May have clasped George Washington's heel.
And if it be so, 0 Heaven
That the nation's destiny holds,
And that wraps the good and the evil
In the future's bewildering folds,
Send forth some man of the people,
Unspotted in heart and hand,
On his foot to buckle the relic
And charge for a periled land !
There is fire in our fathers' ashes,
There is life in the blood they shed;
And not a hair unheeded
Shall fall from the nation's head.
Old bones of the saints and martyrs
Spring up at the Church's call;—
God grant that the spur of Monmouth
Prove the mightiest relic of all !
Henry M or ford.

[ [8 8]

OF NEW JERSEY
McFINGAL.
Satirical Description of the Battle of Monmouth.
This extract, descriptive of the Battle of Monmouth, is taken from
McFingal, the famous satirical poem written by John Trumbull during the
Revolutionary war.
Squire McFingal, the tory hero of the mock-epic, having been
treated by the Whigs of his neighborhood to a coat of tar and feathers,
assembles at night all his tory friends in the cellar of his house. At this
secret meeting, the Squire, who possesses the gift of second-sight and who
is assisted by his henchman Malcolm, peers into the future and reveals to
all the listening tories all the events that are going to happen between
1776 and 1783; and thus it is that Trenton, Princeton, Monmouth and
Yorktown pass before the cowed and horrified tories like a series of mov
ing pictures foreshowing their own woes and misfortunes and the crushing
defeat of their royal master King George,

I look'd, and now by magic lore,
Faint rose to view the Jersey shore;
But dimly seen, in glooms arrayed,
For Night had pour'd her sable shade,
And ev'ry star, with glimm'rings pale,
Was muffled deep in evening veil;
Scarce visible in dusky night,
Advancing Red-coats rose to sight;
The lengthen 'd train, in gleaming rows,
Stole silent from their slumb'ring foes;
Slow mov'd the baggage, and the train
Like snail crept noiseless o'er the plain;
No trembling soldier dared to speak,
And not a wheel presum'd to creak.
My looks my new surprise confess'd,
Till by great Malcolm thus address'd;
"Spend not thy wits in vain researches;
'Tis one of Clinton's moonlight marches.
From Philadelphia now retreating,
To save his anxious troops a beating,
With hasty strides he flies in vain,
His rear attack' d on Monmouth plain;
With various chance the mortal fray
Is lengthened to the close of day,
When his tir'd bands, o'ermatch'd in fight,
Are rescu'd by descending night.
He forms his camp with vain parade,
Till evening spreads the world with shade ; [89]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Then still, like some endanger'd spark,
Steals off on tiptoe in the dark;
Yet writes his king, in boasting tone,
How grand he marched by light of moon.
I see him, but thou canst not; proud
He leads in front the trembling crowd,
And wisely knows, if danger's near,
'Twill fall the heaviest on his rear."
"Go on, great General, nor regard
The scoffs of ev'ry scribbling bard,
Who sings how gods that fatal night
Aided by miracles your flight,
As once they us'd in Homer's day
To help weak heroes run away;
Tell how the hours of awful trial
Went back, as erst on Ahaz' dial,
While British Joshua stay'd the moon
On Monmouth plains, for Ajalon;
Heed not their sneers and jibes so arch,.
Because she set before your march.
A small mistake, your meaning right,
You take her influence for her light ;
Her influence, which shall be your guide,.
And o'er your Gen'ralship preside.
Hence still shall teem your empty skull,
With vict'ries when the moon's at full,
Which by transition yet more strange
Wane to defeats before the change;
Hence all your movements, all your notions,
Shall steer by like eccentric motions,
Eclips'd in many a fatal crisis,
And dimm'd when Washington arises."
John Trumbull.

Here are the exact words used by Sir Henry Clinton in his official
report to Lord George Germaine, written in New York city on July 5,
1778, and published in the London Gazette "Having reposed the troops
till ten at night, to avoid the excessive heat of the day, I took advantage
of the moon-light to rejoin Lieutenant-General Knyphausen who had ad
vanced to Nut-Swamp near Middletown."
The allusion of Clinton to the light of the moon proved a source
of endless merriment to the American wits. As a matter of astronomical
record, the moon was only four days old on the evening of this famous re
treat, the almanac showing that the moon went down at 10. SS ; and there-
ore the moon's thin crescent must have been sinking toward the western
[90]

OF NEW JERSEY

horizon when the British columns started to take "advantage of the
moon-light." Francis Hopkinson with biting wit gives a fanciful list of books
offered for sale by a tory who is preparing to leave America forever, and
says that the title of one of these books is Miracles Not Ceased: or an
instance of the remarkable Interposition of Providence in causing the
Moon to delay her setting for more than two hours, to favor the retreat of
General Joshua and the British Army after the Battle of Monmouth."
Will Carleton, also, in his poem on this battle, grows humorous
on the same topic, saying that the patriots beat Clinton
"And pounded him all the afternoon
Until he skipped by the light of the moon,
And, after that new moon long had set,
Was skipping away from danger yet!"

LIGHT-HORSE HARRY AT PAULUS HOOK.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution, by permission of
Charles D. Piatt, copyright, 1896.
Jersey City, August 19, 1779
O Harry Lee it was who did
A daring deed one day
And Congress had a medal struck
To tell his fame for aye.
Now would you hear about that deed,
Attend my humble song,
And I will tell as best I may
That tale; 'twill not be long.
For well we may at this far day
Recall each worthy deed
Wrought by the men who battled then
To meet their country's need.
At Paulus Hook there was of old
A military post
Where Jersey City now is seen
And the British made their boast
That none could take that citadel
With ramparts strong begirt;
So strong it was, the garrison
Grew careless to their hurt. [911

PATRIOTIC POEMS

For Captain Lee one summer's day
Led forth a chosen band
Three hundred strong, and Stirling sent
A part of his command.
From Bergen marched this troop by night
Unto the Hackensack,
Full fourteen miles below the Hook,
And here Lee took the track
Among the hills and reached ere morn
The point that was his aim ;
Through the loose-barred gate he entered straight
And won his way to fame.
The sentinels were sound asleep,
But when they opened their eyes
They saw a strange, undreamed-of-sight, —
Complete was their surprise.
One hundred and fifty -nine that day
Were taken prisoner,
Surprised in bed and captive led
Ere they to arms could stir.
And on the medal that was struck
To applaud this gallant deed
All in the Latin tongue 'tis writ,
Which he who can may read: —
"Unhindered by opposing floods
And bristling rampires strong,
On marched to victory and to fame
The hero of my song.
Small was his band of followers brave,
The greater glory theirs;
And honor greater still than fame
He wins from those he spares."
Such is the legend written there
In praise of Harry Lee,
The leader of that little band
Of dauntless cavalry.

[92]

OF NEW JERSEY
For when the foe were in his power
And none could lift a hand,
He spared their lives ; no needless blood
Was shed at his command.
O that such mercy as he showed
Were known across the sea
Where ruthless Moslems wield the sword
In fiendish cruelty.
O that we yet may see the day
When such humanity
Shall win its way in every land —
God speed that victory ! Charles D. Piatt.

SIMCOE'S RAID UP THE RARITAN VALLEY.
October 25, 1779.
His object was New Jersey's favorite son,
The great, the patriotic Livingston;
Howe and his minions wished to lay him low
To stop the gall which from his pen did flow;
But yet fair freedom's son in safety stands,
Whilst Britain's champion is now in our hands;
And in this great, this daring enterprise,
Brave Simcoe quickly fell a sacrifice. Capt. Moses Guest.

Lieut. -Col. John Graves Simcoe, commander of a company of
loyalists known as the Queen's Rangers, (and subsequently Governor of
Canada), learned that Gov. William Livingston was visiting Col. Van
Home at Middle Brook,and that the Americans had collected some flat-
boats on the Raritan. He at once laid plans to capture the Governor
and to destroy the boats, by a daring raid.
He crossed from Staten Island to New Jersey at the Blazing Star
ferry above Perth Amboy with seventy-five horsemen before day-break
on October 25, 1779, and rode swiftly up the Raritan valley on the north
side of the river. Finding that the Governor had left Van Home's, he
pushed on to Bound Brook and destroyed the boats and naval stores,
crossed the river and set fire to the Somerset courthouse, and then started
down the valley on the south side in order to avoid the militia who were
gathering. [93]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Misled by his guide who did not recognize the ruins of a house
recently burned down, Simcoe took the wrong road at the forks above
New Brunswick and fell into an ambush set by Captain Moses Guest.
Col. Simcoe was captured but his dragoons escaped and fled to South
Amboy whence they recrossed to Staten Island.
Simcoe was an able and energetic officer; his raid into the very
heart of our State was planned with skill and executed with boldness
and that it ended in his personal discomfiture was due only to accidents
against which it was not in the power of human foresight to provide.

THE MARTYR.
Joseph Hedden, Jr., of Newark.
January, 1780.
"Who dies for liberty shall find on earth
A glorious resurrection and new life
Whose breath is furnished by the trump of fame
And whose duration shall not fail while beats
A pulse within the indignant throbbing breast
Of oppressed Manhood— while a hill shall stand
To echo back his stern defiance-shout
To Tyranny ! "
When on the field of battle
The soldier sinks to death,
And to his suffering country's cause
Devotes his latest breath;
His country, ever grateful,
Rewards him with a name
On everlasting marble carved,
And hands him down to fame.
But in our early struggle,
O'errun by cruel foes,
Full many a nameless martyr sank,
Weighed down with bitter woes:
Who suffers like the soldier,
Should reap renown as well —
Oh ! sure he should not be forgot,
Whose trials now I tell.
'Twas night in deep mid-winter,
When fields were choked with snow,
And widest streams were bridged with ice,
And keenest blasts did blow —

[94]

OF NEW. JERSEY

A heavy muffled tramp through
The village streets went by:
All shuddered in their beds,
For they knew the foe was nigh.
Soon from that fearful silence
Alarming clamors peal,
And rising gleams along the snow
The dreadful truth reveal:
"Rouse ! rouse ye all ! the town is fired ! " —
Cries friend to friend — "and lo !
The triple ranks ! the flashing steel ! —
We're mastered by the foe ! "
Wide flames, with showers of dropping stars
That quench the stars on high,
Now flapping loud their mighty wings,
Rush flying up the sky;
Now mothers clasp their children,
And wail aloud their woes,
And, gathering, hide their little store
From savage plundering foes.
For oft the rude marauders
Had plied their cruel trade,
And Hedden, with a few bold hearts,
Had oft the robbers stayed:
But now with stealthy step,
At the hour of midnight dead,
They come ! — they burst the doors — they drag
The old man from his bed.
"Renounce thy faith ! yield up thy mates !
Or, by King George, we'll cast
Thy rebel limbs on yonder snows
To stiffen in the blast : "
"My limbs are little worth;" he cried,
"Their strength is nearly gone — -
My tongue shall ne'er belie my heart,
Nor shame my cause: lead on ! "
Then furious all, they throttled him;
When "Hold!" their leader cries,
"Despatch him not; we'll try his pith
Before the rebel dies:

[95]

1961

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Let him with us unclad return —
And though unmoved by steel,
Perchance a march along the snows
Will cool his patriotic zeal ! "
Loud yells applaud the sentence ! —
Then, frantic with despair,
Wife, children kneel for mercy,
But they find no mercy there ;
For they rudely thrust them by,
And they drag the old man forth ;
And crouching quake his bare limbs,
As they feel the cutting North.
Then rings the shouldered musket,
Then taps the rattling drum,
And with rapid step they tramp,
For the freezing winds benumb ;
By the savage light of flames,
On their dreary march they go,
That shoot their shadows far before,
Along the glaring snow.
No pity for their victim
Would move their hearts of stone,
But still his bare feet tread the snows
That chill him to the bone;
And many an icy splinter
Would gash them with its blade —
The blood that strains his every step
Their brutal march betrayed.
And when his stiffened limbs would lag,
By age and sickness lamed,
With bayonet-thrust they urge him on,
Till cruelty is shamed:
God bless the soldier's heart ! who cried,
"This sight I cannot see,"
And round him threw his blanket warm,
That clothed him to the knee.
Now, hard as marble pavement black,
Passaic stops the way:
Like serpent stiff in winter sleep,
Her torpid volume lay ;

PATRIOTIC POEMS
And in the midnight hush
Not a sound she gave the ear,
Save the long peal of parting ice,
Like thunder crackling near.
But still the word is "March ! "
And they tramp the icy floor:
But the old man's feet are numb,
And they feel the cold no more.
Full many a weary mile he drags,
But at the break of morn,
In prison thrust, he drops at once,
Exhausted and forlorn.
Why linger in my story?
His heavy trials past
Broke down the feeble strength of age-
He drooped and sank at last;
But God the martyr's cruel death
Has well avenged, for see !
His murderers beaten from the soil-
His land, his children free !

Thomas Ward.

The winter of 1779-1780 was extremely cold; and especially did
the great freeze of January cause intense suffering. On the 25 th of that
month, Gen. Knyphausen sent two raiding expeditions into New Jersey.
One was commanded by Col. Abraham Van Buskirk who with 400 men
crossed on the ice from Staten Island to Elizabethtown where he burned
the town-hall and Parson Caldwell's church and captured forty-six of the
post-guard; the other was commanded by Maj. Lumm who with 500 men
crossed the Hudson river on the ice and advanced to Newark where he
burned the academy and captured thirty-four Americans.
The sufferings of Joseph Hedden, Jr., a staunch patriot who was
seized and carried off by Lumm's soldiers, are related by Dr. Thomas Ward
in his ballad The Martyr ; every item in the poetical narrative can be
verified by statements from history, but some local historians state that
it was a patriotic American by the name of Eleazer Bruen who gave the
blanket to Joseph Hedden.
Joseph Hedden was a Commissioner for the seizing and inventory
ing of the estates and effects of persons gone over to the enemy, a position
which drew upon him the bitter hatred of the loyalists.
The raiders entered his house, dragged him from a sick bed and
compelled him scantily clad, shoeless, stocking-less, with his swollen feet
wrapped in flannels, to accompany them on their retreat to New York
city. There he was confined in the Sugar House prison, a five-story stone
building on Liberty street. [97]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

His feet and legs began to mortify because of the exposures and
hardships which he had suffered; and when it became evident that he
could not live much longer, notice was sent to his relatives at Newark
that they might come and take him away. Accordingly, his brothers
David and Simon went to New York and brought him home, where he
died September 27, 1780, in the fifty-second year of his age. The inscrip
tion on his tombstone read, "He was a firm friend of his country in the
darkest times, zealous for American Liberty in opposition to British
Tyranny, and at last fell a victim of British cruelty."

PARSON CALDWELL AT SPRINGFIELD.
June 23, 1780.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution, by permission of
Charles D. Piatt; copyright, 1896.
See the Red-coats in the distance !
Here they come ! To arms ! To arms !
Get your powder-horn and musket !
Call the neighbors from their farms !
Fire the roaring eighteen-pounder
Signal gun from Prospect Hill !
Light the blazing black tar-barrel !
Fight we must and fight we will !
Jump the stone wall by the roadside !
Hide behind it ! Prime your gun !
Now we're ready ! See them gather !
Farmers coming on the run !
Who's that riding in on horseback?
Parson Caldwell, boys; Hooray !
Red-coats call him "Fighting Chaplain;"
How they hate him ! well they may !
When he preaches to us Sundays,
Gathered in the Old Red Store,
Down he lays his cavalry pistols,
Sets his sentinels at the door.
Boys, remember how the British,
Passing through Connecticut Farms,
Shot the parson's wife ! That murder
Stirs us more than wild alarms.
[98]

OF NEW JERSEY

Hah ! The fight's begun ! They're firing !
See the flash of British steel !
Hear the crack of Jersey muskets !
Doomed to make the Red-coats wheel!
Who's that riding on the gallop,
Stopping by the meetin'-house door?
In he goes — comes out with arms full,
Piled with hymn-books by the score.
Parson Caldwell ! — Will he sing now,
While the bullets round him hum ?
Will he hold another meetin',
Set the hymns to fife and drum ?
Hear him shouting, "Give 'em Watts, boys !
Put Watts into 'em, my men!"
Ah! I see they're out of wadding;
That's the tune! We'll all join in!
Then the worn old hymn-books fluttered,
And their pages wildly flew,
Hither, thither, torn and dirty,
On an errand strange and new.
Making Short Partic'lar meter
Parson Caldwell pitched the tunes;
Jersey farmers joined the chorus,
Put to flight those red dragoons .
Charles D. Piatt.

Rev. James Caldwell was born in Virginia, graduated at Prince-
ton,"and in 1763 became pastor of the Presbyterian church at Eliza
bethtown, New Jersey. He married Hannah, daughter of John Ogden,
of Newark. He was an influential, and ardent patriot ; the British called
him the Fighting Parson and the Rebel High Priest. The roll of his
parishoners contained the names of thirty-six commissioned officers who
served in the patriotic army. He was chaplain in the Jersey Line and
accompanied the Third Battalion, Elias Dayton, Colonel, on its expedi
tion to Ticonderoga during February and March, 1777.
During the month of June, 1780, the British army made two dis
tinct forward movements from its base on Staten Island, against the
American position at Morristown ; but it only succeeded in each case in
reaching Springfield. The first expedition was made under Gen. Knyp
hausen who on June 6th advanced as far as Springfield; it was during
this expedition that the British general Sterling was fatally wounded at
Elizabeth, and that Mrs. James Caldwell was killed by a bullet from the
gtm of a British soldier. [99]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The second advance was led by Sir Henry Clinton who on June
23rd moved forward to Springfield in two columns; it was during this
attempt that the battle of Springfield was fought and that the well-
known incident of the hymn-books occurred.
"None," says Washington Irving, "showed more ardor in the fight
than Caldwell the chaplain who distributed Watts' psalm and hymn
books among the soldiers when they were in want of wadding, with the
shout 'Put Watts into them, boys'."
One month after hearing the joyful news of the surrender of Corn
wallis at Yorktown, Parson Caldwell was wantonly shot and killed on
November 24, 1781, at Elizabeth by an American sentry. Mr. Cadwell
had gone to the wharf to welcome some friends who had just come there
by boat. His murderer was delivered over to the civil authorities, and
was tried, convicted and executed.

CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD.
June 23, 1780.
From Complete Works of Bret Harte; copyright 1882 by
Houghton, Mifflin & Company.
Here's the spot. Look around you. Above on the height
Lay the Hessians encamped. By that church on the right
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran a wall —
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball.
Nothing more. Grasses spring, waters run, flowers blow
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.
Nothing more, did I say? Stay one moment; you've heard
Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the Word
Down at Springfield? What, no? Come — that's bad, why, he had
All the Jerseys aflame ! And they gave him the name
Of the rebel "high priest." He stuck in their gorge,
For he loved the Lord God, — and he hated King George !
He had cause, you might say ! When the Hessians that day
Marched up with Knyphausen, they stopped on their way
At the "Farms," where his wife, with a child in her arms,
Sat alone in the house. How it happened none knew
But God — and that one of the hireling crew
Who fired the shot ! Enough ! — there she lay,
And Caldwell, the chaplain, her husband, away !
Did he bear it — what way ? Think of him as you stand
By the old church to-day ; — think of him and that band
Of militant ploughboys ! See the smoke and the heat
[100]

OF NEW JERSEY
Of that reckless advance — of that straggling retreat !
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain, in your view,
And what could you, what should you, what would you do ?
Why, just what he did ! They were left in the lurch
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the church,
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out in the road
With his arms full of hymnbooks, and threw down his load
At their feet ! then above all the shouting and shots,
Rang his voice, "Put Watts into 'em, — Boys, give 'em Watts !"
And they did. That is all. Grasses spring, flowers blow
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball, —
But not always a hero like this, — and that's all. Bret Harte.

THE COW CHACE.

During the month of July, 1780, Washington had his headquarters
at Preakness in Passaic county, while the main part of his army was
encamped about three miles away at Totowa (now Paterson).
The British, occupying New York city and being in constant need
of firewood, organized a special company of wood-choppers and sent
them across into New Jersey and for the protection of these workmen,
built a block-house fifteen feet square on the Palisades above Weehawken
(opposite Eighteenth street, New York city), and fortified it with a stock
ade and a ditch, equipped it with two cannon and garrisoned it with seven
ty tories and refugees. The "Raven," a British vessel, in her regular
trips to the wharf at the foot of the hill for cord wcod, took on also such
grain and cattle as could be bought for gold from the tories of the neigh
borhood. Washington and Wayne laid a plan to capture this block-house -
Their main object, of course, was to break up this source of supplies for
the British army, but incidentally they hoped to gain other advantages.
They desired to round up and drive into their own camp the cattle now
being gradually taken by the British to New York. Furthermore, as
soon as the British in New York should learn of the attack, re-inforce-
ments would naturally be hurried across the Hudson to land above the
block-house, assail the Americans in the rear and cut off their retreat.
It was Wayne's hope that he might entice these anticipated new-comers
into an ambuscade at the ravine through which they would have to climb
the palisades. The plan seems like a good one, but the result was a mis
erable failure.
Wayne, having made a personal inspection of the ground the day
before as in the search of deserters, started from Paterson on July 20,
1780, with the first and second brigades of the Pennsylvania line, Moylan's
dragoons and four six-pounders, crossing the Hackensack at New Bridge
and marching by way of Liberty Pole (now Englewood). Having con
cealed a line of pickets along the bank of the Hudson and placed a strong
orce in ambuscade at the ravine, and having sent Moylan to gather in the
[101]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

cattle from Teaneck and the English Neighborhood, he told his men to
act as sharpshooters and pour a continuous stream of bullets into the
loopholes so that those within could not shoot out ; and then he ordered his
artillerymen, thus protected, to advance and plant their cannon within
short range and open fire with solid shot in order to demolish the block
house. After this cannonading had been kept up about an hour, word
was brought to Wayne by his watchers along the Hudson that boats
filled with British soldiers were about to land at the ravine; accordingly
he ordered his troops to withdraw from the block-house, intending to lead
them to join the ambuscade. His soldiers, exasperated, and not under
standing the motive of the retreat, disobeyed orders and charged directly
on the block-house. This allowed the refugees to fire from the loop
holes on the Americans with great effect, killing fifteen and wounding
forty-nine. The tory loss was only six killed and fifteen wounded, and
the block-house was not captured. The boats did not land and so the
ambuscade was a failure. All Wayne got was the cows; but as an after
thought, he claimed that he had delayed for several days an expedition
which was preparing to sail to Newport, R. I., there to act against our
allies the French. General Washington and the Americans everywhere
felt very much mortified over this defeat, especially occurring as it did
while both parties were claiming a victory at the recent battle of Mon
mouth; and the British were correspondingly jubilant.

Canto 1.

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.
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— lose them after all.
For many heroes bold and brave
From New Bridge and Tapaan,
And those that drink Passaic's wave.
And those that eat soupaan,
And sons of distant Delaware,
And still remoter Shannon,
And Major Lee with horses rare,
And Proctor with his cannon, —

[102]

OF NEW JERSEY

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,
Where 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 fight,
Are playing h — 1 among the trees
That grow on yonder height.
Their fort and block-house 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 the 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 demonstration.

[103]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

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 heavy 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,
"Hurra," they cried, "hurra for Wayne ! "
And shouting — did their needs.
Canto 2.
Near his meridian pomp, the sun
Had journey 'd from the horizon,
When fierce the dusky tribe mov'd on
Of heroes drunk as poison.
The sounds confused of boasting oaths
'M4 Re-echoed through the wood,
Some vow'd to sleep in dead men's clothes,
And some to swim in blood.
At Irvine's nod, 'twas fine to see
The left prepared to fight,
The while the drovers, Wayne and Lee,
Drew off upon the right.
Which Irvine '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 Chestnut Hil!
And Canada immortalized
The vender of the pill.
Yet the attendance upon Proctor
They both might have to boast of ;
For there was business for the doctor,
And hats to be disposed of.

[104]

OF NEW JERSEY

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, though 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 heads.
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 ! curs'd rebellion, these are thine,
Thine are these tales of woe;
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 through.

[105]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The firmer as the rebels pressed,
The loyal heroes stand;
Virtue had nerv'd each honest breast,
And Industry each hand.
In valor's phrensy, Hamilton
Rode like a soldier big,
And Secretary Harrison,
With pen stuck in his wig.
But, lest 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:
"Och ! would ye die, my jewel? "
Thee, Nathan Pumpkin, I lament,
Of melancholy fate,
The grey 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 color 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 3.
Not all delights the bloody spear,
Or horrid din of battle,
They are, I'm sure, who'd like to hear
A word about the cattle.

[106]

OF NEW JERSEY

The chief whom we beheld of late,
Near Schralenberg haranguing,
At Yan Van Poop's unconscious sat
Of Irvine's hearty banging;
While 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 cow-driving 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."
Now some, to prove she was a goddess !
Said this enchanting fair
Had late retired from the Bodies,
In all the pomp of war ; [107]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

That drums and merry fifes had play'd
To honor her retreat,
And Cunningham himself conveyed
The lady through the street.
Great Wayne by soft compassion sway'd
To no inquiry stoops,
But takes the fair, afflicted maid
Right into Yan Van Poop's.
So Roman Anthony, they say,
Disgraced th' imperial banner,
And for a gipsy lost a day,
Like Anthony the tanner.
The Hamadryad had but half
Received redress from Wayne,
When drums and colors, cow and calf,
Came down the road amain.
All in a cloud of dust were seen, —
The sheep, the horse, the goat,
The gentle heifer, ass obscene,
The yearling and the shoat.
And pack-horses with fowls came by,
Befeathered on each side,
Like Pegasus, the horse that I
And other poets ride.
Sublime upon the stirrups rose
The mighty Lee behind.
And drove the terror-smitten cows,
Like chaff before the wind.
But sudden see the woods above
Pour down another corps,
All helter skelter in a drove,
Like that I sung before.
Irvine and terror in the van,
Came flying all abroad,
And cannon, colors, horse, and man,
Ran tumbling to the road.

[108]

OF NEW JERSEY

Still as he fled, 'twas Irvine's cry,
And his example too,
"Run on, my merry men all — for why?
The shot will not go through."
Five refugees ('tis true) were found
Stiff on the block-house floor,
But then 'tis thought the shot went round,
And in at the back door.
As when two kennels in the street
Swell'd with a recent rain,
In gushing streams together meet
And seek the neighboring drain ;
So meet these dung-born tribes in one,
As swift in their career,
And so to New Bridge they ran on —
But all the cows got clear.
Poor Parson Caldwell, all in wonder,
Saw the returning train,
And mourn'd to Wayne the lack of plunder,
For them to steal again.
For 'twas his right to seize the spoil, and
To share with each commander,
As he had done at Staten Island
With frost-bit Alexander.
In his dismay, the frantic priest
Began to grow prophetic,
You had swore, to see his lab'ring breast,
He'd taken an emetic.
"I view a future day," said he,
"Brighter than this day dark is,
And you shall see what you shall see,
Ha ! ha ! one pretty marquis,
And he shall come to Paulus' Hook,
And great achievements think on,
And make a bow "md take a look,
Like Satan over Lincoln.

[109]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
And all the land around shall glory
To see the Frenchman caper,
And pretty Susan tell the story
In the next Chatham paper."
This solemn prophecy, of course,
Gave all much consolation,
Except to Wayne, who lost his horse
Upon the great occasion, —
His horse that carried all his prog,
His military speeches,
His corn-stalk whiskey for his grog —
Blue stockings and brown breeches.
And now I've closed my epic strain,
I tremble as I show it,
Lest this same warrio-drover, Wayne,
Should ever catch the poet. Major John Andre.
Written at Elizabethtown, N, J.,
August 1, 1780.

This poem is full of allusions to the men of that day and to con
temporary events that have long since passed out of the public mind; it
has passages in parody of other poems; and it contains quotations from
documents, and some references to the broader field of literature. I will
endeavor by means of copious notes to present to the student of literature
an adequate setting for this unique ballad made famous, as it has been,
by association with one of the saddest episodes of our Revolutionary his
tory, first giving an account of the several persons mentioned in the
poem ; next discussing some matters of a general literary character;
and finally commenting on such other passages as may seem to re
quire explanation. Major General Henry Lee (Light Horse Harry), of Virginia, gradu
ated from Princeton in the class of 1774. He won fame as a cavalry lead
er during the Revolutionary war. He assisted Wayne in the capture of
Stony Point, and made a successful attack on Paulus Hook. He coined
the expression, "First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his
countrymen." Light Horse Harry was the father of Robert E. Lee, the
confederate Chieftain.
There were two American officers by the surname of Irvine. Their
Christian names were James and William; James was a hatter by trade.
and William was a physician. Brig-Gen. James Irvine was captured on
December 5, 1777, at Chestnut Hill, near Philadelphia, by British troops
under Col. Abercrombie, of Sir William Howe's army.
Col. William Irvine had served under Sullivan in the expedition
against Canada and been taken prisoner on June 8, 1777, at Three Rivers
[110]

OF NEW JERSEY

on the St. Lawrence. After remaining in captivity nearly two years, he
was exchanged and took part in the battle of Monmouth. At the time of
this foray at Paulus Hook, he was in command of the Second Pennsyl
vania regiment. Wayne's troops on this foray were of the Pennsylvania line, and
nearly all of them were Scotch-Irish settlers who had been born in Ireland
but had emigrated to America and settled in Pennsylvania; and this ex
plains the lines of the poem:
And sons of distant Delaware
And still remoter Shannon.
During the battle of Monmouth, Col. Alexander Hamilton, then
a young officer twenty-two years of age, had an exciting interview with
the traitorous General Charles Lee. A few days after the battle, Lee,
while giving evidence in his own defense before a court-martial presided
over by Lord Stirling, described the gallant bearing and conduct of young
Hamilton on that eventful day and declared that Hamilton appeared to
be in a "phrensy of valor."
Col. Robert H. Harrison and Major Andre had metin conferences
at Perth Amboy, N. J., in the spring of 1779, to negotiate on the part of
their respective commanders for an exchange of prisoners; and doubtless
it was during these interviews at Perth Amboy that Andre had seen
Harrison with a goose quill perched above his ear. Col. Harrison after
ward became Chief Justice of Maryland. The allusions to Colonels Ham
ilton and Harrison in the following stanza thus become clear.
In valor's phrensy Hamilton
Rode like a soldier big;
And Secretary Harrison
With pen stuck in his wig.
Lord Stirling was an active and patriotic Jerseyman. He owned
a fine plantation in Somerset county. His name was William Alexander ;
but having proved in 1759 his right to a Scotch peerage according to the
laws of Scotland antecedent to the Union, he took the title Earl of Stir
ling, altho the British parliament in 1762 passed a resolution, retroactive
and therefore unjust, forbidding his use of the same. This explains the
allusion to Stirling as "the self-made peer." A secret expedition had
been planned against the British troops on Staten Island in January,
1780, and the command of it was entrusted by Washington to Lord Stir
ling, who left Morristown on the morning of the 15 th with 2500 men in
sleds and crossed to Staten Island on the ice. But the British were on
the alert ; and Stirling withdrew, having taken a few prisoners and secured
a quantity of clothing. The weather was so cold that many of the
Americans were severely frozen; this explains the reference to "frost
bit" Alexander. Susannah Livingston, of Elizabeth, N. J., was the daughter of Gov.
William Livingston. She is said to have contributed political articles
to the Journal published at Chatham, Morris County. She married
John Cleves Symmes ; and their daughter Anna became the wife of William
Henry Harrison, President of the United States.
Col. Thomas Proctor was an officer in the American artillery. He
was appointed captain in 1775, and became major in 1776 and colonel in
1777. He commanded the guns at Chadd's ford in the battle of Brandy
wine and accompanied Sullivan's expedition against the Indians. He
was born in Ireland, 1739, and died in Philadelphia, March 16, 1806. [Ill]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

William Cunningham was the British Provost-Marshal in New
York city. He was a human brute. He sold for his own profit the pro
visions furnished to him for the prisoners, thus causing hundreds of
Americans to die of starvation. He was born in Dublin, Ireland, and
came to America in 1774. Returning to England after the war, he was
hanged for forgery in 1791.
Chevy Chace is one of the best of the old ballads of Scotland. It
tells how Earl Percy went into the Cheviot Forest to steal deer and how
the expedition ended in disaster.
Major Andre's Cow Chace is modeled after Chevy Chace, imitating
its very name; it tells how Gen. Anthony Wayne, a tanner by trade, went
to Bergen Neck, Jersey City, to steal cattle and how he failed.
Several passages in the Cow Chace can be fully appreciated only by
readers who are familiar with Chevy Chace.
The old ballad says: To drive the deer with hound and horn
Earl Percy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day.
Andre's modern lampoon says:
To drive the kine one summer's mor
The tanner took his way;
The calf shall rue that is unborn
The jumbling of that day.
The original says: For Witherington needs must I wail
As one in doleful dumps;
For when his legs were smitten off
He fought upon his stumps.
Andre pictures Wayne's men as seeking shelter behind the trees:
But, lest Chieftain Washington
Should mourn them in the mumps;
The fate of Witherington to shun
They fought behind the stumps.
Witherington fought on the stumps of his legs; these raiders are
described as sheltering themselves behind the tree-stumps that stood in
the clearing around the block-house.
The old ballad says that Montgomery's blood stained the feather of
the arrow that killed him:
Against Sir Hugh Montgomery.
So right his shaft he set
The gray goose-wing that was thereon
In his heart's blood was wet.
Andre, describing the death of one of the marauders named Pumpkin
says that he had stolen a goose and was carrying it under his arm when
shot: Thee, Nathan Pumpkin, I lament,
Of melancholy fate;
The gray goose, stolen as he went,
In his heart's blood was wet.
[112]

OF NEW JERSEY

The Scottish ballad-singer enumerates the heroes who fell; the
British bard does so too, and at the same time, by giving such names as
Thaddeus Posset, Titus Hooper, Apostate Murphy and Nathan Pumpkin,
seeks to ridicule the oddity of some of the personal names of the American
troops. Chevy Chace concludes with the carrying of the tidings to King
Harry of England who in his grief makes a vow that he will inflict ven
geance; the Cow Chace ends with the announcement of the failure of the
expedition to Parson Caldwell who prophesies that Marquis Lafayette
would some day go to Jersey City and do wonders by way of retaliation
on the British and that the achievements of this young French officer
would be chronicled in the American newspapers.
In ludicrously bewailing the fall of Apostate Murphy, Andre makes
use of an Irish love-song familiar to all the play-goers of that day, occur
ring in Tobias Smollett's popular comedy The Reprisal. O'Clabber,
describing the death of his sweetheart Sheelah, says, "We were all a-
merrymaking at the castle of Ballyclough: and so Sheelah having drank
a cup too much fell down stairs out of the window. When I came to her,
she told me she was speechless;" and thereupon O'Clabber composes and
sings a humorous lamentation, rich in Irish bulls, from which I quote:
Ye swains of the Shannon, fair Sheelah is gone ;
Ochone my dear jewel,
Why was you so cruel,
Amidst my companions to leave me alone?
In beholding your charms, I can see them no more;
If you're dead, do but own it,
Then you'll hear me bemoan it;
For in loud lamentation your fate I'll deplore.
These verses serve to bring out the force of Andre's stanza; as though one
could question the dead, and as though the dead could hear any lamenta
tion: Apostate Murphy, thou to whom
Fair Sheelah ne'er was cruel,
In death shalt hear her mourn thy doom
"Och! would ye die my jewel?"
Hamadryad is an English word borrowed from the Greek and
means literally "together with a tree." According to the mythology of
the Greeks, every lofty wild-growing tree was the home of a spirit, or
wood-nymph, that came into existence with that particular tree and
died with it. These wood-nymphs were called Hamadryads.
The British army, cooped up in New York city, required a great
deal of fire-wood during that exceedingly cold winter. A regular fuel-
gathering department was organized, and the bands of choppers were
sent out under heavy guard to fell trees and work them into cord-wood.
One source of supply was the woodland near the block-house at Jersey
city. Wayne in his speech had referred to the choppers as playing havoc
among the trees. According to the fable, as each tree was cut down, a
wood-nymph died ; this naturally leads to the story o*
A nymph the refugees had drove
Far from her native tree.
And this is the nymph who is represented as meeting Wayne and
pleading with him to save her near relations by driving the wood-choppers
from the sacred grove [113]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The tanner took his way. — General Wayne had been a tanner by
occupation. The British satirists were fond of stigmatizing the American
officers as of inferior social rank. In a subsequent stanza, too, the poet
compares Mark Anthony, the Roman, and Mad Anthony, the tanner.
Who lacked a pair of shoes — Concerning the lack of proper clothing,
Winthrop Sargent quotes the words of Matthews, a British officer:
"They (the American prisoners) are of a thin long-legged make, most of
them without shoes and stockings and without coats." And I may quote
the words of a patriotic Jersey woman, Lydia Lewis, wife of Capt. John
Kirkpatrick, who said: "We sent cattle to Morristown to be killed for
the soldiers. I myself at different times gave the men food, and I made
salve for them and tore up my linen sheets to make bandages with which
they could bind up their bleeding feet."
Freedom's Pole — A place between Orangetown and Teanack; so
named because at that place, according to the political custom of the day,
the patriots had held political meetings, and had planted firmly in the
ground a slender and very high pole, called a liberty pole.
Where Wayne, who thought he'd time enough,
Thus speechified the whole.
It was the style of the old historians to put a long oration in the
mouths of their generals before a battle; Andre imitates this style by hav
ing Wayne deliver a harangue during the halt at Freedom's Pole.
So all the land shall 10 sing, And read the Gen'rals letter — The refer
ence here is to a letter written by General Washington to the President
of the Continental Congress, dated July 26, 1780, and published in the
Pennsylvania Packet. As the raid occurred on July 21st, the letter by
slight poetical license is dragged into this speech five days before it was
written. Kine, an old plural for cow. Soupaan, a hasty pudding, mush and
milk. Buff, a coat, a military coat made of leather, especially of buffalo-
hide; hence the name buff. Mumps, a disease prevalent in the American
lines. Bodies, a camp appellation given to the corps that has the honor to
guard the king's person. Posset, a drink, a mixture of hot milk and
liquor. Jade, an old, worn-out horse. Kennel, a channel, a gutter.
Prog, provisions, victuals obtained by begging. Grog, an allowance of
rum-and-water served out to soldiers.
And some within u, dungeon's gloom
By mock tribunals laid —
This is an allusion to the patriotic Committees of Safety which often
exercised almost dictatorial power in the arrest, examination, imprison
ment and banishment of tories.
// you will take the gen'rals word for true — Wayne attributed his
failure to the lightness of his four cannons which he thought made no im
pression on the logs of the block-house. Of all the baseless misrepresen
tations made by Andre in this lampoon the most cruel is the charge that
Parson Caldwell had shared in the spoil taken on Long Island. Lord
Stirling during his expedition had strictly prohibited all pillaging by his
soldiers; but some irresponsible persons following in the rear of his troops
had seized various articles of private property. Lord Stirling having
learned of thi s on his return at once issued orders for the punishment
of the guilty parties; and Parson Caldwell, at the request of Stirling,
had assisted in ferreting out the evil doers, in collecting the plunder and
in restoring it to the rightful owners. Such were the facts, yet Andre
has dared to write this stanza:
[114]

OF NEW JERSEY

For 'twas his right to sieze the spoil, and
To share with each commander,
As he had done at Staten Island
With frost-bit Alexander.
Like Satan over Lincoln — A large wooden figure of the Devil stood
for many years on top of Lincoln college in Oxford University, England.
The head of the image was torn off by a storm in 1 728, and two years there
after the entire body was taken down. As Satan took a look but was
unable to do any injury, so (says the poet) will it be with Lafayette.
And now I close this epic strain,
I tremble as I show it,
Lest this same warrio-drover Wayne
Should ever catch the poet.
To no other satirical poem in the English language, perhaps in any
language, have the subsequent developments of history imparted such
at sad and melancholy interest.
This poem was published in James Rivington's Royal Gazette
the leading tory newspaper of New York city. The first canto appeared
August 16; the second canto, August 30; and the last canto, September
23, 1780. September 23rd, the date last named, was the very day on
which Andre was captured at Tarrytown, N. Y.; and it is stated that
Major Andre during his imprisonment was at one time under the charge
of General Wayne as officer of the day.
Some person whose identity is unknown wrote below the signature
•f Major Andre, on the original copy of the Cow Chace, the following
stanza: When the epic strain was sung,
The poet by the neck was hung ;
And to his cost he finds too late
The dung-born tribe decides his fate.
In the literary war which was waged so fiercely between the wits
of the Americans and those of the Loyalists, it was give and take ; and there
is not the slightest resentment felt toward the memory of Major Andre
for the lampooning which he administered in this poem to our national
heroes, Mad Anthony Wayne, Light Horse Harry Lee, Major-General
Lord Stirling, and the Rev. James Caldwell. But it is my conviction that
Major John Andre would have stood higher in the estimation of the world
to-day, had he never written the Cow Chace; its touches of genuine
humor stand to his credit as an author, but it is undeniable that some of
the verses are marked by coarseness. It is this coarseness that reflects on
the author's character; this coarseness is the rift in the lute.
Winthrop Sargent in his Life of Major Andre notes the fact that
neither Wayne nor Irvine served on the Board of General Officers who
constituted the court-martial for the trial of Andre as a spy altho each
was by rank entitled so to do; and Sargent suggests as a reason why Wayne
and Irwin did not so serve, that they were prompted by a delicate sense
of propriety lest it should be alleged by the British that they would not be
impartial judges while still smarting under the prisoner's abusive lampoon [115]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
SERGEANT CHAMPE.
Bergen County, October 20, 1780.
As soon as Benedict Arnold heard of the arrest of John Andre
at Tarrytown, he fled from West Point to New York city and found
safety within the British lines. A plan was laid to kidnap Arnold. It
was an exceedingly difficult and hazardous undertaking; but John Champe,
a young Virginian of athletic frame and great shrewdness and self-
possession, and a sergeant-major in Aaron Ogden's company, volunteered
for the service. The details of the plan were approved by Washington
with the express stipulation that Arnold was under no circumstances to
be killed while being seized.
Champe was to desert and with the assistance of some American
spies regularly employed in New York city was to seize and gag Arnold
and convey him in a boat to the Jersey shore.
To begin with, the very act of deserting should be managed so
cleverly as to arouse no suspicion of his insincerity among his new friends
the enemy. In fact, it was dramatic and almost cost him his life. Only
one subordinate officer was admitted to the secret, and that was Major
Carnes, the officer of the day, who was to see that Champe had an oppor
tunity to take a swift horse from the stables at midnight. Champe decided
to take his chances in riding at full speed past the picket line. He dashed
past and soon the picket came running in and reported that somebody
had deserted. Major Carnes pretended that there must be some mistake
and that at worst it was only one of the men going on a lark. After as
much delay as possible, the men were roused, the roll was called,
and Champe found to be the absentee. A party of twelve men under
Cornet William Middleton was despatched with orders to bring him back
alive or dead. A dash of rain made the roads muddy but revealed the
trail. When near Bergen Neck, they saw Champe half a mile ahead of
them, and he saw them. It was a race for life, and Jersey City was still
four miles away.
Moreover there was a new danger in front of him; for every even
ing a few horsemen were sent down from camp to patrol the roads in
front of the British lines, and he knew he might come upon them at any
moment. The road forked, one branch running straight to Jersey City
and the other bearing to the right but joining the other some distance
below. Champe bore to the right, fearing to meet the night patrol.
His pursuers divided and took both roads, hoping to overtake him and
also to head him off. Realizing that he could not reach Jersey City,
Champe turned again sharp to the right and took the turnpike leading
to Elizabeth. Some British patrol boats which were in Newark Bay saw
Champe comirig at full speed and his pursuers only two hundred yards
behind, and they sent men in row-boats to help him. Shots were ex
changed. Champe escaped but the Americans captured his horse. That
was October 20, 1780.
Champe was conveyed by his new friends to Arnold's headquar
ters at No. 9 Broadway, New York city, where he was questioned very
closely for some time. Arnold was completely deceived and invited him
to join his American Legion which invitation Champe was delighted to
accept. Champe, with the assistance of two of Washington's spies,
arranged the details for the seizure of Arnold, appointed the night for the
attempt, even loosened the palings from the garden fence, and sent word
to Major Lee to meet him and the captive traitor on the Jersey shore.
[116]

OF NEW JERSEY

But on that very day, Arnold changed his headquarters and ordered
Champe on shipboard to sail with the British fleet to Chesapeake Bay.
Champe deserted the British at Petersburg, Va., and joined the
American army under General Greene, where, strange to say, he met the
men of his own company who had been sent south by Washington and
who were now overjoyed to hear from his own lips the true story of his
adventures.

Come sheathe your swords! my gallant boys,
And listen to my story,
How Sergeant Champe, one gloomy night,
Set off to catch the tory.
You see the General had got mad,
To think his plans were thwarted,
And swore by all, both good and bad,
That Arnold should be carted.
So unto Lee he sent a line
And told him all his sorrow,
And said that he must start the hunt
Before the coming morrow.
Lee found a sergeant in his camp,
Made up of bone and muscle,
Who ne'er knew fear, and many a year
With tories had a tussle.
Bold Champe, when mounted on old Rip,
All buttoned up from weather,
Sang out "Good-bye," cracked off his whip,
And soon was in the heather.
He galloped on towards Paulus Hook,
Improving every instant —
Until a patrol, wide-awake,
Descried him in the distance.
On coming up, the guard called out
And asked him where he's going —
To which he answered with his spur,
And left him in the mowing.
The bushes passed him like the wind,
And pebbles flew asunder;
The guard was left far, far behind,
All mixed with mud and wonder.

[117]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
Lee's troops paraded all. alive,
Altho 'twas one the morning,
And counting o'er a dozen or more,
One sergeant is found wanting.
A little hero, full of spunk
But not so full of judgment,
Pressed Major Lee to let him go,
With the bravest of his regiment.
Lee summoned cornet Middleton,
Expressed what was urgent
And gave him orders how to go
To catch the rambling sergeant.
Then forty troopers, more or less,
Set off across the meader;
'Bout thirty-nine went jogging on
A-following their leader.
At early morn, adown a hill
They saw the sergeant sliding;
So fast he went, it was not ken't,
Whether he's rode, or riding.
None looked back but on they spurred,
A-gaining every minute.
To see them go, 'twould done you good,
You'd thought old Satan in it.
The sergeant missed'em by good luck,
And took another tracing;
He turned his horse from Paulus Hook,
Elizabethtown facing.
It was the custom of Sir Hal
To send his galleys cruising,
And so it happened just then,
That two were at Van Deusen's.
Straight unto these the sergeant went
And left old Rip, all standing,
A-waiting for the blown cornet
At Squire Van Deusen's landing.

1118]

OF NEW JERSEY
The troopers didn't gallop home,
But rested from their labors;
And some, 'tis said, took gingerbread
And cider from their neighbors.
'Twas just at eve the troopers reached
The camp they left that morning;
Champe's empty saddle unto Lee
Gave an unwelcome warning.
"If Champe has suffered, 'tis my fault,"
So thought the generous major,
"I would not have his garment touched,
For millions on a wager!"
The cornet told him all he knew
Excepting of the cider:
"The troopers all spurred very well,
But Champe was the best rider."
And so it happened that brave Champe
Unto Sir Hal deserted,
Deceiving him, and you and me,
And into York was flirted
He saw base Arnold in his camp,
Surrounded by the legion,
And told him of the recent prank
That threw him in that region.
Then Arnold grinned and rubbed his hands
And e'enmost choked with pleasure,
Not thinking Champe was all the while
A-taking of his measure.
"Come now," says he, "my soldier bold,
As you're within our borders,
Let's drink our fill, old care to kill,
To-morrow you'll have orders."
Full soon the British fleet set sail!
Say! wasn't that a pity?
For thus it was brave Sergeant Champe
Was taken from the city.
To southern climes the shipping flew
And anchored in Virginia,
When Champe escaped and joined his friends
Among the picininni. Anonymous. [119]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
CAPTAIN JOSH HUDDY.
April 12, 1782.
The Britishers at Sandy Hook, they think they're mighty big,
(Each soger with his bright red coat, gloves, stock an' powdered
wig);
They've lots of ships, an' lots of guns, an' men a-plenty, too —
They never scairt Josh Huddy, with all their hullaballoo;
An' ef they left their ships-o'-war to foray on the land,
They al'ays had to reckon with his Monmouth County band.
It won't be long 'fore we ketch 'em,
'Fore we ketch that Tory gang —
A Refugee's good as a Pine Robber,
And a Pine Robber's good for to hang !
Dick Lippincott an' Cap'n Tie, the Whites an' that hull gang,
More'n oncet they swore that 'fore the dawn they'd see Josh
Huddy hang;
But when the Refugees an' Reg'lars scoured the country round
They's apt to find the sly ol' fox had turned into a hound —
Afore they'd git back to their boats Josh Huddy's turn come
then,
An' he would hunt the hunters with his Monmouth County men.
They ketch'd him at Toms River Bridge, when they was five to
one —
But all them odds agin him didn't make Josh Huddy run.
Each Tory had a musket, an' each Jarsey lad a pike —
We laid 'em out a man for man afore we ceas'd to strike —
With numbers they outfou't us, we could stand no longer, then
They captur'd Cap'n Huddy of the Monmouth County men.
They took him from his prison ship out to his native shore —
(They knew it was plain murder; they call'd it an act of war)
His gallus was three fence rails, pointin' up'ards to the sky ;
But Cap'n Huddy show'd 'em how a Jarsey boy could die.
They left his corpse a-hangin' as they hurried from the strand,
His corpse, to call for vengeance, to his Monmouth County band.
Now Bastard Billy Franklin, an' Dick Lippincott, an' crew,
We've smoked you out of Jarsey to your Tory rendezvous;
[120]

OF NEW JERSEY
An' lest ye think that we've forgot you an' your hellish work,
We'll come with Cap'n Hyler an' we'll nab you in New York.
For Hell is yawnin' for you, — you'll drop plumb to the Devil's
den,
Ef oncet you git within the reach of the Monmouth County men.
William H. Fischer.

Joshua Huddy, of Colts Neck, Monmouth County, was a sturdy
patriot. The legislature of New Jersey, by an act passed September 24,
1777, authorized him to raise and command a company of artillery.
In 1782, near the close of the war, Captain Huddy with twenty-
five men was stationed at Toms River to guard the salt-works, to check
trade with the enemy, and to aid our privateers who brought captured
vessels into that inlet. His troops occupied a block-house, or more
properly a stockade, made of large logs eight or ten feet long planted up
right in the earth.
A strong force of loyalists came in brigs and whaleboats at day
break on Sunday morning, March 24, 1782, and attacked the block-house.
Huddy and his men made a gallant defense; even after their ammunition
was exhausted, they continued the fight by using long pikes, until nine
of their number had been killed. Several escaped; but the others were
overpowered in a hand-to-hand struggle. Huddy was sent to New York
city and put in the Sugar House, a British prison.
On March 30th, the militia of Monmouth County captured a loyal
ist named Philip White; while being conveyed to jail, White tried to es
cape and was killed in the act.
On April 8th, Huddy was taken from the prison in New York,
placed on board a sloop, put in irons, and informed that he was to be
hanged; the next day he was transferred to the British man-of-war,
Brittania, at Sandy Hook.
On the morning of April 12th, Capt. Richard Lippincott, a loyalist
in the British service, claiming to act under verbal orders from Sir William
Franklin (last royal governor of New Jersey) as President of a so-called
Board of Associated Loyalists, came on board the Brittania and took
Huddy ashore.
In violation of the laws of God and man, Lippincott hanged Cap
tain Huddy at ten o'clock that forenoon on the beach at Gravelly Point
along the Highlands of Navesink.
"Huddy," writes Thomas F. Gordon in his History of New Jersey,
"was a man of extraordinary bravery and met his hard fate with rare
fortitude and composure of mind."
The murderers pinned to the breast of their victim a slip of paper
with an inscription concluding Up Goes Huddy for Philip White. Huddy
was left hanging on the gallows until friends came in the afternoon and
took him to Freehold and buried him with the honors of war.
This outrage called for retaliation, and General Washington
ordered the execution of a prisoner of war to be selected by lot. The lot
fell to Captain Charles Asgill; his life, however, was spared at the inter
cession of the King and Queen of France, whose appeal for mercy pre
vailed because it was with the co-operation of French troops that Asgill
had been captured at Yorktown.
The hanging of Captain Huddy was plain murder ; and the respon
sibility for that awful tragedy rests on the British authorities. From
[121]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

the American point of view, it is immaterial which British officer was
guilty or how many officers shared in that guilt. Traced back to its
source, this crime grew out of two mistakes on the part of the British:
death under the plea of retaliation should never have been inflicted until
after investigation and formal demand for redress, and an irresponsible
Board of Loyalists should never have been allowed for a moment to enter
tain the idea that they had the power to execute prisoners of war.
Capt. Huddy left two daughters; and to them Congress afterward
voted 600 acres of public land and $9000 in money, the money repre
senting the regular salary of a captain of artillery for seven years' service

WEEHAWKEN.

Eve o'er our path is stealing fast;
Yon quivering splendors are the last
The sun will fling, to tremble o'er
The waves that kiss the opposing shore ;
His latest glories fringe the height
Behind us, with their golden light.
The mountain's mirrored outline fades
Amid the fast-extending shades;
Its shaggy bulk, in sterner pride,
Towers, as the gloom steals o'er the tide;
For the great stream a bulwark meet
That laves its rock-encumbered feet.
River and mountain ! though to song
Not yet, perchance, your names belong;
Those who have loved your evening hues
Will ask not the recording Muse
What antique tales she can relate
Your banks and steeps to consecrate.
Yet, should the stranger ask what lore
Of bygone days this winding shore,
Yon cliffs and fir-clad steeps, could tell,
If vocal made by Fancy's spell —
The varying legend might rehearse
Fit themes for high, romantic verse.
O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod
Oft hath the stalwart warrior trod;
Or peered, with hunter's gaze, to mark
The progress of the glancing bark.
Spoils, strangely won on distant waves,
Have lurked in yon obstructed caves.
[122]

OF NEW JERSEY
When the great strife for Freedom rose,
Here scouted oft her friends and foes
Alternate, through the changeful war,
And beacon-fires flashed bright and far ;
And here, when Freedom's strife was won,
Fell, in sad feud, her favored son —
Her son, the second of the band,
The Romans of the rescued land.
Where round yon capes the banks ascend,
Long shall the pilgrim's footsteps bend;
There mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh,
There tears shall dim the patriot's eye.
There last he stood. Before his sight
Flowed the fair river, free and bright;
The rising mart, and isles, and bay,
Before him in their glory lay —
Scenes of his love and of his fame —
The instant ere the death-shot came.
Robert Charles Sands.

Colonel Alexander Hamilton, of New York city, was a young artil
lery officer in the Continental army and fought gallantly at Chattertoa
Hill, Trenton, Princeton, Monmouth and Yorktown.
He was one of America's greatest statesmen. He was the first
Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. He wrote the Federalist
and thus exerted a powerful influence in securing the ratification of the
Constitution of the United States. He fell in a duel at Weehawken ia
1804; the duelling ground is on the New Jersey side of the Hudson river
nearly opposite Forty-second street, Manhattan.

AARON BURR'S WOOING.

From Poems of E. C. Stedman, by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ;
copyrighted.
From the commandant's quarters on Westchester height,
The blue hills of Ramapo lie in full sight;
On their slope gleam the gables that shield his heart's queen,
But the redcoats are wary — the Hudson's between.
Through the camp runs a jest: "There's no moon — 'twill be dark;
'Tis odds little Aaron will go on a spark ! "
And the toast of the troopers is: "Pickets lie low,
And good luck to the colonel and Widow Prevost ! " [1231

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Eight miles to the river he gallops his steed,
Lays him bound in the barge, bids his escort make speed,
Loose their swords, sit athwart, through the fleet reach yon shore
Not a word — not a plash of the thick-muffled oar !
Once across, once again in the seat and away —
Five leagues are soon over when love has the say ;
And "Old Put " and his rider a bridle-path know
To the Hermitage manor of Madam Prevost.
Lightly done ! but he halts in the road's deepest glade,
Ties his horse to a birch ; trims his cue, slings his blade,
Wipes the dust and the dew from his smooth, handsome face,
With the 'kerchief she broidered and bordered in lace ;
Then slips through the box-row and taps at the hall,
Sees the glint of a waxlight, a hand white and small,
And the door is unbarred by herself all aglow —
Half in smiles, half in tears — Theodosia Prevost.
Alack for the soldier that's buried and gone !
What's a volley above him, a wreath on his stone,
Compared with sweet life and a wife for one's view
Like this dame, ripe and warm in her India fichu ?
She chides her bold lover, yet holds him more dear,
For the daring that brings him a night-rider here ;
British gallants by day through her doors come and go,
But a Yankee's the winner of Theo Prevost.
Where's the widow or maid with a mouth to be kist,
When Burr comes a-wooing, that long would resist ?
Lights and wine on the beaufet, the shutters all fast,
And "Old Put" stamps in vain till an hour has flown past —
But an hour, for eight leagues must be covered ere day;
Laughs Aaron, "Let Washington frown as he may,
When he hears of me next, in raid on the foe,
He'll forgive this night's tryst with the widow Prevost ! "
Edmund Clarence Stedman.

Col. Aaron Burr was born at Newark, lived in Elizabeth during
his boyhood, graduated from Princeton college, and joined the Continen.
tal army before Boston in July, 1775, being at that time only nineteen
years of age. He was made major for his bravery at the siege of Quebec
and was promoted lieutenant-colonel in 1777. He joined his regiment a^
Ramapo, N. J.; and while stationed there he met Theodosia (De Visme)
Provost and fell deeply in love with her. She was the charming and ac.
[124]

OF NEW JERSEY

complished widow of a British officer, who had recently died in the West
Indies leaving Mrs. Provost with two young sons.
Col. Burr was for a time — January 13 to March 15, 1779 — in com
mand of the American troops in Westchester county, N. Y., having
under him sometimes a regiment and sometimes a brigade, with orders
to protect that region from the foraging expeditions made from New
York city by the British. He rendered effective service while in command
there ; and afterward he fought gallantly at Monmouth, but was compelled
to resign from the army on account of ill health.
Mrs. Provost's residence, the Hermitage, since known as the Rosen-
crantz Mansion, was at Hohokus, in Bergen county. An incident of
Burr's courtship is related in Stedman's ballad. Aaron and Theodosia
were married at the Paramus church, July 2, 1782. Mrs. Burr died in
1794. Their only child was the brilliant and idolized Theodosia who
in 1801 married Gov. Joseph Allston of South Carolina and afterward
perished in a storm at sea off Cape Hatteras while on a voyage from
Charleston to New York.

THE RAID ON RAMAPO.

From Boys' Book of Battle Lyrics, by Harper & Brothers,
Copyright, 1885.
Amid the ridges of Ramapo
The Garrabrant homestead stands,
And ever and ever it overlooks
The rolling and lower lands.
Though peaceful now, there was turmoil then,
And hurrying to and fro,
When Jack the Regular's men came there
A hundred years ago.
Jan Garrabrant owned the acres 'round,
And Jan had a pair of sons
Who were ready to wield the scythe or flail
Or handle at need their guns.
They called them rebels, perchance they were,
Who hated the Tories much;
And the Tory leader swore the three
Should feel his royal clutch.
Rode hastily there Pete Huyler's girl,
And to Betty, the wife, she said:
"The Tories have ridden from Paulus Hoeck,
And Jack is at their head;
They are firing houses and slaying kine
In the country far and near !
They swear they'll burn the Garrabrants out,
And they're not three miles from here." [125]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Then she laid her whip on her horse's flank,
And was off with a leap and bound,
For her father had sent the maiden out
To rouse the country around;
While Betty ran out to where she'd see
Jan and her sons in the corn,
And she blew a blast with right good will
On the battered dinner horn.
Home in a hurry came sons and sire,
And when the tidings they heard
Rip stabled the horses, Dick herded the kine,
And neither one uttered a word.
Jan loaded the guns — he had seven in all —
"We have three for defense ! " said he.
"One more," said Betty; "you'll not forget
To count in a fight on me."
They barred the windows and bolted the doors
And waited the coming foe,
Till they heard the clatter of iron hoofs
Afar in the valley below;
It nearer came, and suddenly stopped,
And the air around was still;
And they knew Jack's men had tethered each horse
And were climbing on foot the hill.
Then up came a scout to summon the house —
"We offer you quarter," said he;
"So make no fight against order and law;
The King's loyal subjects are we.
He offers through us his mercy to show ;
You'd better throw open the door,
For we're twenty-five and you are but three."
"Oh, no," replied Betty; "we're four ! "
Betty Garrabrant levelled her firelock and drew
A bead on the Tory's head;
The bullet leaped out with whistle and whirr
And down dropped the partisan dead.
Cried Jack, when he saw it, "We'll have revenge !
Come, hurry there, some of you men !
Pile fagots and torch at the side of the house;
We'll burn the she- wolf in her den ! "

[126)

OF NEW JERSEY

They had better have stayed with the rest of the band,
For the three whom he sent were slain,
And Jack felt a ball bore a hole in his arm —
Said Betty: '"Twas meant for your brain ! "
So the Tories drew back behind outhouse and trees,
And fired without order or plan;
But when those in the house found a foeman exposed,
The bullet ne'er failed of its man.
They kept up the siege till the hour of four,
But they never the leagured stirred;
Then suddenly in the distance far
A dull, low patter they heard.
'Twas the steady thud of galloping horse,
With the riders eager for fight;
And the Tories scattered, and backed their steeds,
And were off in a headlong flight.
But the farmers who came from house and field,
With firelocks ready and sure,
They followed the knaves till twilight fell
O'er valley and hill and moor.
Seven Tories were left on the Garrabrant farm
And seventeen by the way;
And Jack the Regular rode alone
To the Hoeck from the bloody fray.
Thomas Dunn English.

JACK THE REGULAR.
From Boys' Book of Battle Lyrics, by Harper & Brothers.
Copyright 1885.
In the Bergen winter night,
When the hickory fire is roaring,
Flickering streams of ruddy light
On the folk before it pouring;
When the apples pass around,
And the cider passes after,
And the well-worn jest is crowned
By the hearers' hearty laughter,
When the cat is purring there,
And the dog beside her dozing,
And within his easy-chair
Sits the grandsire old, reposing;

[127]

[128]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Then they tell the story true
To the children hushed and eager,
How the two Van Vai ens slew
On a time the Tory leaguer, Jack the Regular.
Near a hundred years ago,
When the maddest of the Georges
Sent his troops to scatter woe,
On our hills and in our gorges,
Less we hated, less we feared
Those he sent here to invade us
Than the neighbors with us reared
Who opposed us or betrayed us;
And amid those loyal knaves
Who rejoiced in our disasters,
As became the willing slaves
Of the worse of royal masters,
Stood John Berry, and he said
That a regular commission
Set him at his comrades' head;
So we called him, in derision,
"Jack the Regular. "
When he heard it — "Let them fling,
Let the traitors make them merry
With the fact my gracious King
Deigns to make me Captain Berry,
I will scourge them for the sneer,
For the venom that they carry;
I will shake their hearts with fear,
As the land around I harry;
They shall find the midnight raid
Waking them from fitful slumbers;
They shall find the ball and blade
Daily thinning out their numbers,
Barn in ashes, cattle slain,
Hearth on which there glows no ember,
Neatless plough and horseless wain — -
Thus the rebels shall remember
Jack the Regular."
Well he kept his promise then,
With a fierce, relentless daring,
Fire to roof -trees, death to men,
Through the Bergen valleys bearing;

OF NEW JERSEY
In the midnight deep and dark
Came his vengeance darker, deeper —
At the watchdog's sudden bark
Woke in terror every sleeper;
Till at length the farmers brown,
Wasting time no more on tillage,
Swore these ruffians of the crown,
Fiends of murder, fire and pillage,
Should be chased by every path
To the dens where they had banded,
And no prayers should soften wrath
When they caught the bloody-handed
Jack the Regular.
One by one they slew his men;
Still the chief their chase evaded;
He had vanished from their ken,
By the fiend or fortune aided —
Either fled to Paulus Hoek,
Where the Briton yet commanded,
Or his stamping ground forsook,
Waiting till the hunt disbanded.
So they stopped pursuit at length,
And returned to toil securely —
It was useless wasting strength,
On a purpose baffled surely ;
But the two Van Valens swore,
In a patriotic rapture;
They would never give it o'er
Till they'd either kill or capture
Jack the Regular.
Long they hunted through the wood,
Long they slept upon the hill-side;
In the forest sought their food,
Drank when thirsty at the rill-side;
No exposure counted hard —
Theirs was hunting border-fashion;
They grew bearded like the pard,
And their chase became a passion.
Even friends esteemed them mad,
Said their minds were out of balance,
Mourned the cruel fate and sad,
Fallen on the poor Van Valens.

[129]

[130]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

But they answered to it all,
"Only wait our loud view-holloa
When the prey to us shall fall;
For to death we mean to follow
Jack the Regular."
Hunted they from Tenavlie
To the shore where Hudson presses
On the base of traprocks high,
Through Moonachie's damp recesses;
Down as far as Bergen Hill,
By the Ramapo and Drochy,
Overproek and Pellum Kill
— Meadows flat and hilltop rocky —
Till at last the brothers stood
Where the road from North Barbadoes
At the English Neighborhood
Slants toward the Palisadoes;
Still to find the prey they sought
Leave no sign for hunter eager;
Followed steady, not yet caught,
Was the skulking, fox-like leaguer,
Jack the Regular.
Who are they that yonder creep
By those bleak rocks in the distance,
Like the figures born in sleep,
Called by slumber to existence?
Tories, doubtless, from below—
From the Hoek sent out for spying.
" No ! the foremost is our foe —
, , He so long before us flying !
Now he spies us ! See him start !
Wave his kerchief like a banner,
Lay his left hand on his heart
In a proud insulting manner.
Well he knows that distant spot
Past our ball — his low scorn flinging —
If you cannot feel the shot,
You shall hear the firelock's ringing,
Jack the Regular."
Ah ! he falls ! an ambuscade ?
'Twas impossible to strike him.
Are there Tories in the glade ?
Such a trick is very like him.

OF NEW JERSEY

See, his comrade by him kneels,
Turning him in terror over,
Then takes nimbly to his heels,
Have they really slain the rover ?
It is worth some risk to know;
So, with firelocks poised and ready,
Up the sloping hill they go,
With a quick lookout and steady.
Dead ! the random shot had struck,
To the heart had pierced the Tory —
Vengeance, seconded by luck !
Lies there cold and stiff and gory,
Jack the Regular.
" Jack, the Regular, is dead !
Honor to the man who slew him ! ' '
So the Bergen farmers said
As they crowded round to view him.
For the wretch that lay there slain
Had, with wickedness unbending,
To their roofs brought fiery rain,
To their kinsfolk woeful ending.
Not a mother but had prest,
In a sudden pang of fearing,
Sobbing darlings to her breast
When his name had smote her hearing;
Not a1 wife that did not feel
Terror when the words were uttered,
Not a man but chilled to steel
When the hated sounds he muttered —
"Jack the Regular "
Bloody in his work was he,
In his purpose iron-hearted;
Gentle pity could not be
When the pitiless had parted;
So the corpse in wagon thrown
With no decent cover o'er it —
Jeers its funeral rites alone —
Into Hackensack they bore it,
'Mid the clanging of the bells
In the old Dutch church's steeple,
And the hooting and the yells
Of the gladdened, maddened people. [131]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Some they rode and some they ran
By the wagon where it rumbled,
Scoffing at the lifeless man,
All elate that Death had humbled
Jack the Regular.
Thus within the winter night,
When the hickory fire is roaring,
Flickering streams of ruddy light
On the folk before it pouring;
When the apples pass around,
And the cider follows after,
And the well-worn jest is crowned
By the hearer's hearty laughter;
When the cat is purring there,
And the dog beside her dozing,
And within his easy chair
Sits the grandsire old, reposing ;
Then they tell the story true
To the children hushed and eager,
How the bold Van Valen slew
On a time the Tory leaguer,
Jack the Regular.
Thomas Dunn English.

John Berry, the notorious loyalist who so long terrorized the^in-
habitants of Bergen county by his cruel outrages, repudiated with indig
nation the accusation that he was a common marauder; he claimed to be
a regularly-commissioned captain in the British service. His followers
were hunted down and scattered, but Berry himself lurked about'until he
was killed near Ridgefield station by a long shot firedjin mere
vexation by one of the Van Valen brothers who was astonished when the
partisan fell. 
THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC.
In a wild, tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green,
Where nature had fashioned a soft sylvan scene,
The retreat of the ring-dove, the haunt of the deer,
Passaic in silence rolled gentle and clear.
No grandeur of prospect astonished the sight,
No abruptness sublime mingled awe with delight ;
Here the wild floweret blossomed, the elm proudly waved,
And pure was the current the green bank that laved.
[132]

OF NEW JERSEY

But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick tangled wood,
And deep in its gloom fixed his murky abode,
Who loved the wild scene that the whirlwinds deform,
And gloried in thunder and lightning and storm ;
All flushed from the tumult of battle he came,
Where the red men encountered the children of flame,
While the noise of the warwhoop still rang in his ears,
And the fresh bleeding scalp as a trophy he bears:
With a glance of disgust, he the landscape surveyed,
With its fragrant wild flowers, its wild waving shade,
Where Passaic meanders through margins of green,
So transparent its waters, its surface serene.
He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low;
He taught the pure stream in rough channels to flow;
He rent the rude rock, the steep precipice gave,
And hurled down the chasm the thundering wave.
Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of time,
Cultivation has softened those features sublime;
The axe of the white man has lightened the shade,
And dispelled the deep gloom of the thicketed glade.
But the stranger still gazes with wondering eye,
On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high;
Still loves on the cliff's dizzy borders to roam,
Where the torrent leaps headlong, embosomed in foam.
Washington Irving.

ROCK OF THE PASSAIC FALLS.
From-'Minto and Other Poems, by permission of Caroline Crane Lyon;
copyrighted.
Rock where the many come
Viewing thy water's foam,
On thee I stand:
'Tis of thy chasmed walls,
Where its mad torrent falls
Spurning command,
That thy Passaic's name
Claims an undying fame
In every land. [133]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Rock of the misty cloud,
Where the bald eagle proud,
Leaving his prey
Free in his forest-home,
Came and mid dashing foam
Bathed in the spray,
Pluming his pinions light
Ere on his upward flight
Soaring away.
Rock of wild resonance,
Where the red hunter once
Fearlessly stood,
Listeningly wondering
Whilst the loud thundering
Roar of thy flood
Rolled through the firmament,.
Strangely reverberant
From hill and wood.
Broad from thy dizzy height
Roll all thy waters bright,
Solemn as death,
As if all motionless
Over the dark abyss
Gathering their breath,
Ere, on the awful bound,
Down, down the dread profound
Plunging beneath.
Raging and struggling
Far on the rocks they fling
Madly their spray:
Billow its billow meets,
Shrouded in misty sheets
Scorning delay,
Whirling and eddying,
Many a foamy ring
Floating away.
Spanning thine awful brow-
Brighter and fainter now,.
Changeful in glow,

[134]

OF NEW JERSEY
Circled in halos bright
Image of holy light,
Beams heaven's bow
Calmly, sublimely throned,
Whilst the deep ocean-toned
Storm raves below.
Wide from thy chasm deep
Boiling the waters sweep,
Fitful and slow;
Foamy yet rippleless,
Bound to the far abyss
Onward they flow
Claiming paternity
Now with the briny sea
Whither they go.
Rock where the warriors stood,
Long may Passaic's flood
Over thee pour;
Deep as the ocean's moan,
Ceaseless its solemn tone
Resonant roar,
Till the last trumpet's blast
Bid thy wild chasms cast
Echoes no more. Oliver Crane.

A few miles above the city of Paterson, the waters of the Passaic
river make a perpendicular drop of fifty feet down a chasm sixty feet
wide. It is said that Washington and Lafayette visited these Falls in
1780 while their troops were stationed at Totowa, as the place was then
called. Marquis de Chastellux, a Major-General in the French army under
Count de Rochambeau, visited the Falls on November 23, 1780, while
on his way to visit General Washington, then quartered in Colonel Dey's
house at Preakness.

EAGLE ROCK.

From Eagle Rock a country rich and fair
Spreads eastward till it verges on the sea;
A world in less, a nation's thoroughfare,
By nature hoarded for a people free.
Below the crag, in rippling seas of green,
Wave noble trees where goodly mansions stand;

[135]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

A gable here, and there a flagpole seen,
Reveal the homes and spirit of the land.
Yon schoolhouse on the lawny hill uprear'd,
Each window flashing back the west'ring sun,
That lofty spire, to Christian hearts endear'd,
Proclaim our faith and erudition one.
Tall stacks from mills in little valleys rise,
And sear with lazy smoke the atmosphere;
While east and west the locomotive flies,
A-puffing snowy incense everywhere.
There labor thrives, and happy homes are made,
Where men and women safely dwell in peace;
No tyrant crushes, no man makes afraid,
Nor ever shall — until sweet freedom cease.
New Jersey's fairest towns lie on the plain,
And Newark, big with wealth and destiny,
Sends forth her products on the rumbling train,
Or vessels creeping softly to the sea.
Far off a castellated city stands:
Manhattan, risen like a storied dream,
She takes the tribute of a thousand lands,
Within her veins a million sov 'reigns teem.
What sparkling harbors, wide and deep, we see,
And rivers bearing treasure on their tides;
And look! As through the gates of liberty,
An ocean greyhound up the Narrows glides.
Ah! There are they, great cities, commerce, men —
A panorama never seen before,
A promised land, like Canaan might have been,
Its bounties pour'd profusely at our door.
From Eagle Rock a country rich and fair
Spreads eastward till it verges on the sea,
O rather let us keep a fireside there
Than reign with kings in fabled luxury.
Joseph Fulford Folsom.

Eagle Rock is a high crag of trap on the eastern edge of the Orange
Mountains, commanding a magnificent panorama. It is between Llewel
lyn Park and Montclair, and is included in the domain of the Essex
county park system.
[136]

OF NEW JERSEY
A VISIT TO WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS.
Morristown, N. J.
Come hither, little grandson mine, and sit upon my knee;
I'll tell thee a tale of olden days, a tale of chivalry.
I'll tell thee of the noble men — one nobler than they all —
Who dwelt beneath this old rooftree and walked this very hall.
Look well about you, boy, look well, for 'tis not every day
In these fast times they chance to let a house like this one stay ;
I heard that some would pull it down, but men were found at last
To keep the old house standing as a memory of the past.
Beneath this grand old rooftree, boy, your country's father came
To fight the fight which gave to you a country and a name ;
And to him gathered all the brave, a small but gallant band,
Who dared to ask that Liberty should reign throughout the land.
Here when the days were darkest and the struggle seemed in vain,
The patriot chieftain fought the fight and won immortal fame.
Not thirty miles across, the Reds were camped in great array
While here was but a feeble band to block their bloody way.
Look off on yonder hillside, boy, 'tis scarce a mile away,
'Tis there the patriot army through the bitter winter lay ;
A trifling walk it seems to-day but then on snow and sleet
The path was marked with blood-stains from sentries' shoeless
feet.
In hunger oft, in sickness sore, with garments thin and few,
Both men and chieftain fared alike that bitter winter through;
And many a noble patriot died as yon church-yard can tell,
And also many a field and wood — just buried where they fell.
But think, my boy, how oft "the man" has paced this ample hall,
And mused on danger, famine, plague, God knows he met them
all;
The long, long nights when others slept, he walked this very
floor, —
It seems to echo back his tread as oft it did of yore.
The very walls seem whispering in murmurs soft and low,
And strive to tell their story of a hundred years ago ;
The stout old rafters gently creak as if they fain would say,
"We sheltered glorious Washington; beneath our arms he lay."
[1371

PATRIOTIC POEMS

May vandal's ax be never raised against the old rooftree,
May tender hands keep upright still this refuge of the free ;
And when the time comes round, my boy, the tale your sons to
tell,
God grant, old house, you still may stand, and till then fare you
well.
D. A. W.

AN OLD MIRROR.
Used by Washington at his Headquarters in Morristown.
Old Mirror ! speak and tell us whence
Thou comest, and then, who brought thee thence.
Did dear old England give thee birth ?
Or merry France, the land of mirth ?
In vain another should we seek
At all like thee — thou thing antique.
Of this old mansion thou seemest part,
Indeed, to me, its very heart;
For in thy face though dimmed with age,
I read my country's brightest page.
Five generations all have passed,
And yet, Old Mirror, thou dost last;
The young, the old, the good, the bad,
The gay, the gifted, and the sad
Are gone; their hopes, their sighs, their fears
Are buried deep with smiles and tears:
Then speak, Old Mirror ! thou hast seen
Full many a noble form, I ween,
Full many a soldier, tall and brave,
Now lying in a nameless grave ;
Full many a fairy form and bright
That flitted by when hearts were light ;
Full many a bride whose short life seemed
Too happy to be even dreamed;
Full many a lord and titled dame
Bearing full many an honored name ;
And tell us, Mirror, how they dressed —
Those stately dames — when in their best,
If robes and sacques the damsels wore
And sweeping skirts in days of yore.
[138]

OF NEW JERSEY

But tell us, too, fpr we must hear
Of him whom all the world revere.
Thou sawest him when the times so dark
Had made upon his brow their mark, —
Those fearful times, those dreary days,
When all seemed but a tangled maze ;
His noble army, worn with toils,
Giving their life-blood to the soils,
Disease and famine brooding o'er,
His country's foe e'en at his door:
But ever sawest him noble, brave,
Seeking her freedom, or his grave.
His was the heart that never quailed;
His was the arm that never failed !
Old Mirror ! thou hast seen what we
Would barter all most dear to see :
The great, the good, the noblest one,
Our own immortal Washington !
Well may we gaze — for now in thee
Relics of the great past we see.
Well may we gaze — for ne'er again,
Old Mirror, shall we see such men;
And, when we too have lived our day
Like those before us passed away,
Still, valued Mirror, may est thou last
To tell our children of the past;
Still thy dimmed face, thy tarnished frame
Thy honored house and time proclaim;
And ne'er may sacriligious hand,
While freedom claims this as her land,
One stone or pebble rashly throw
To lay thee, honored Mirror, low.

THE WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS.
Morristown.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution; by permission o
Charles D. Piatt; copyright, 1896.
What mean these cannon standing here,
These staring, muzzled dogs of war ?
Heedless and mute, they cause no fear,
. Like lions caged, forbid to roar. [139|

PATRIOTIC POEMS

This gun was made when good Queen Anne
Ruled upon Merry England's throne;
Captured by valiant Jerseymen
Ere George the Third our rights would own.
Old Nat, the little cur on wheels,
Protector of our sister city,
Was kept to bite the British heels,
A yelping terror, bold and gritty.
That savage beast, the Old Crown Prince,
A British bull-dog, glum, thick-set,
At Springfield's fight was made to wince
And now we keep him for a pet.
Upon this grassy knoll they stand,
A venerable, peaceful pack;
Their throats once tuned to music grand,
And stained with gore their muzzles black.
But come, that portal swinging free
A welcome offers as of yore,
When, sheltered 'neath this old roof-tree,
Our patriot chieftain trod this floor.
And with him in that trying day
Was gathered here a glorious band;
This house received more chiefs, they say,
Than any other in our land.
Hither magnanimous Schuyler came,
And Steuben stern from o'er the water;
Here Hamilton, of brilliant fame,
Once met and courted Schuyler's daughter.
And Knox, who leads the gunner-tribes,
Whose shot the trembling foeman riddles, -
A roaring chief, his cash subscribes
To pay the mirth-inspiring fiddles.
The fighting Quaker, General Greene,
Helped Knox to foot the fiddler's bill;
[140]

Washington's Headquarters at Morristown

OF NEW JERSEY

And here the intrepid "Put" was seen;
And Arnold, — black his memory still.
And Kosciusko, scorning fear;
Beside him noble Lafayette;
And gallant "Light-horse Harry" here
His kindly chief for counsel met.
"Mad Anthony" was here a guest;
Madly he charged, but shrewdly planned;
And many another in whose breast
Was faithful counsel for our land.
Among those worthies was a dame
Of mingled dignity and grace;
Linked with warrior-statesman's fame
Is Martha's comely, smiling face.
But look around, to right, to left;
Pass through these rooms, once Martha's pride;
The dining-hall of guests bereft,
The kitchen with its fire-place wide.
See the huge logs, the swinging crane,
The Old Man's seat by chimney ingle;
The pots and kettles, all the train
Of brass and pewter, here they mingle.
In the large hall above, behold
The flags, the eagle poised for flight;
While sabres, bayonets, flint-locks old
Tell of the struggle and the fight.
Old faded letters bear the seal
Of men who battled for a stamp ;
A cradle and a spinning-wheel
Bespeak the home behind the camp.
Apartments opening from the hall
Show chairs and desks of quaint old style;
And curious pictures on the wall
Provoke a reverential smile.
Musing, we loiter in each room
And linger with our vanished sires ;
We hear the deep, far-echoing boom
That spoke of old in flashing fires.

[141]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

But deepening shadows bid us go,
The western sun is sinking fast;
We take our leave with foot-steps slow, —
Farewell, ye treasures of the past !
A century has come and gone
Since these old relics saw their day ;
That day was but the opening dawn
Of one that has not passed away.
Our banner is no worthless rag, ,
With patriot pride hearts still beat high ;
And there, above, still waves the flag
For which our fathers dared to die.

Charles D. Piatt.

WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS.
Morristown, New Jersey.
These halls, so venerable grown,
Once noble heroes trod, —
Their forms have vanished into, dust,
Their spirits rest with God.
On this fair mount where Peace .now reigns,
Throned on these verdant slopes,
In days of old, in dire distress,
Hung all our fathers' hopes.
This ground once trembled with the tread
Of patriots marching by,
For freedom's cause they suffered loss,
For freedom dared to die.
These cannon that with thunder shook
The pulses of the land,
Now keeping watch, grini sentinels,
In silence waiting stand.
Here dwelt fair Freedom's peerless son,
Great leader of the free,
The father of our native land,
Hero of liberty.
(142]

OF NEW JERSEY

At rest his valiant armies lie,
At rest, with glory crowned;
All Freedom's hosts now follow him,
His fame their praises sound.
Ye pilgrims to this sacred shrine
Who come from far and near,
Behold these relics of the past
That we have gathered here.
These blood-stained arms, these faded flags,
These drums that throb no more,
That did brave service for the right
In many a conflict sore;

These writings worn and dim with age,
That tell of liberty-
Wrecked fragments cast upon the shore
Of time's tempestuous sea !
Think you that Freedom top is dead
Like her mementos here ?
Then let each freeman blush with shame
And for his country fear.

Before the lightning of her wrath
Her flying foes still yield;
Still the oppressed a refuge find
Beneath her mighty shield.

Immortal Freedom is not dead;
She liveth as of old;
And a curse, still waits to blight his name
Who sells our rights for gold.

Forget not those who bled for us,
But true to freedom stand;
Remember God is Freedom's God
And this is Freedom's land. Henry Nehemiah Dodge. [143]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
A CALL ON LADY WASHINGTON.
January, 1780.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution, by permission of
Charles D. Piatt; copyright, 1896.
" O Lady Martha Washington
Has come to Morristown,
And we must go and quickly so,
Each in her finest gown,
And call at Colonel Ford's to see
That dame of high renown."
So spake the dames of Hanover
And put on their array
Of silks to wit, and all that's fit
To grace a gala day,
And called on Lady Washington
In raiment bright and gay.
Those were the days of scarcity
In all our stricken land,
When hardships tried the country-side;
Want was on every hand,
When they called on Lady Washington
In fine attire so grand.
"And don't you think ! we found her with
A speckled homespun apron on;
With knitting in hand — that lady so grand —
That stately Lady Washington !
When we came to Morristown that day
With all our finest fixin's on !
She welcomed us right graciously
And then, quite at her ease,
She makes the glancing needles fly
As nimbly as you please;
And so we found that courtly dame
As busy as two bees."
" For while our gallant soldiers bear
The brunt of war," quoth she,
" It is not right that we delight
In costly finery."
[144]

OF NEW JERSEY
So spake good Martha Washington,
Still smiling graciously.
" But let us do our part," quoth she,
"And speedily begin
To clothe our armies on the field
And independence win " —
" Good-bye ! Good-bye ! "we all did cry —
" We're going home to spin ! "
Charles D. Piatt.

FORT NONSENSE.
1779-1780.

From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution, by permission of
Charles D. Piatt; copyright, 1896.
Digging on the hill,
Digging with a will,
Why ?
Orders have gone out,
" Build a new redoubt,
High,
On yon snowy crown,
Rising o'er the town,
'Gainst the sky."
Though winter snows are deep,
Though stinging blizzards sweep
O'er the hills — though we weep,
In dismay;
Though hunger, like a knife,
Cuts out our very life,
Though mutiny is rife,
We obey.
Our leader finds a way,
To keep dull care at bay-
Hurrah !
He builds a solid earth-work,
A battlement of mirthrwork,
Ha-ha ! [14S]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Hurrah ! the fort is done !
Bring up the opening gun —
Fire !
We have a strong defense,
Though hardships gather dense,
And dire.
Cheering on the hill,
Cheering with a will —

j

Why ?

We've carried orders out,
We've built a new redoubt,
High
On this stony crown,
Rising o'er the town,
Towards the sky.
1890.
A rough, unpolished stone,
Now shows where Washington,
A bloodless battle won —
Grim the foe;
No fires of war here flamed
To make this old fort famed —
" Fort Nonsense " it was named,
Years ago.
Shrine of a lowly grace,
That did fierce foemen face,
Nor fly;
Raised on a noble base,
It lifts its rugged face,
On high;
For nonsense has a place,
As near as many a grace,
To the sky.

Charles D. Piatt.

Fort Nonsense was the name given to an unfinished earthwork
erected by the Continental army during the winter of 1779-1780, on the
hills overlooking Morristown.
It is an oral tradition that Washington had this work done as a
ruse to maintain hope, health and discipline among the suffering and
[146]

OF NEW JERSEY

disheartened troops who believed they were constructing a fortification
for defense against the approaching British.
As to the origin of Fort Nonsense, Andrew M. Sherman, in his
Historic Morristown, favors the theory that these earthworks were con
structed by the State militia in the spring and summer of 1778 for de
fense against anticipated attacks by the British, and that the fort was
afterward utilized by Washington as a picket-post and signal station.

ANNA KITCHEL'S PROTECTION.
Whippany, 1776-77.
From Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution ; by permission of
Charles D. Piatt; copyright, 1906.
" Get a protection, Anna," quoth he,
" 'Twill keep you safe from harm; "
The Deacon he was a godly man,
But filled with dire alarm.
"A British protection is the thing,
The very thing," quoth he;
" For this alone can save your life
And all your property."
Unto the worthy Deacon then
Thus Anna Kitchel spake,
" Protection from King George the Third
I will not falsely take.
Is not my husband in the ranks ?
My heart with him must go ;
I give no oath of fealty
To the man he counts his foe.
My father, too, in the army serves,
Has served for many a day ;
And brothers five, if they're alive,
Are mingling in the fray.
So now I pray to the Lord of Hosts,
My best Protector, He;
I'll bear my share and He will care
Forme and mine," quoth she.
Charles D. Piatt. [147]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

When a British commander advanced into unfriendly territory
which he hoped to occupy permanently, he sometimes issued a procla
mation inviting the inhabitants to appear at headquarters and subscribe
an oath of fidelity to the English government, offering to those who did
so a full pardon for all previous acts of hostility and promising protection
against future injury at the hands of his soldiers.
Here is one of these protection papers so-called; it is an exact copy
of the original except that the fictitious John Doe has been substituted
for the name of the actual applicant for pardon:
"It is his Excellency Lt. Generall Earl Cornwallace, his
Orders that no Person Presume to injure or molest the Per-
on or Propperty of John Doe on any account.
By his Excellency's Orders at head Quaters
J: Tinker, Aide de Camp."
"I certifie that John Doe this Day took the oath of Fidel-
ty before me at head Quarters.
Decemr. 12, 1776. Cortd Skinner.'!
Anna Kitchel was the daughter of Daniel and Jemima (Johnson)
Tuttle. She was bom February 23, 1750, and died April 6, 1815. She
married Uzal Kitchel on March 29, 1768; they lived at Whippany, Morris
county, N. J.
Her father and her husband both served in the American army;
as did also her four brothers, Timothy, John, Joseph who died at Valley
Forge in April, 1778, and William who enlisted at the age of sixteen and
fought throughout the whole war.
When Anna Kitchel was urged to acknowledge the sovereignty
of King George and thus secure a protection paper, she replied, "If the
the God of battles will not protect us, we will fare with the rest." This
illustrates the dauntless spirit of the women of New Jersey even amid the
dangers to which they were exposed by reason of the absence of their
fathers and brothers, their husbands and sons, who were serving in camp
and field under Washington.

RHODA FARRAND.

In the last of these Centennial days,
Let me sing a song to a woman's praise;
How she proved herself in that time of strife
Worthy of being a patriot's wife.
A little woman she was — not young,
But ready of wit and quiet of tongue ;
One of the kind of which Solomon told,
Setting their price above rubies and gold.
A memory brave clings around her name,
'Twas Rhoda Farrand, and worthy of fame,
Though scarce she dreamed 'twould be woven in rhymes
In these her grand-daughter's daughter's times.
[148]

OF NEW JERSEY
Just out of the clamor of war's alarms
Lay in tranquil quiet the Jersey farms
And all the produce in barn and shed
By the boys and girls was harvested.
For the winds of winter, with storm and chill,
Swept bitterly over each field and hill.
Her husband was with the army, and she
Was left on the farm at Parsippany.
When she heard the sound of a horse's feet
And Marshall Doty rode up the street ;
He paused but a moment, and then handed down
A letter for Rhoda, from Morristown,
In her husband's hand — how she seized the sheet !

The children came running with eager feet, —
There were Nate and Betty, Hannah and Dan,—
To list to the letter; and thus it ran,
After best greeting to children and wife:
" Heart of my heart, and life of my life,"
(I read from the paper wrinkled and brown,)
" We are here for the winter, in Morristown,
And a sorry sight are our men to-day
In tatters and rags with no signs of pay.
As we marched to camp, if a man looked back,
By the dropping blood he could trace our track;
For scarcely a man has a decent shoe,
And there's not a stocking the army through ;
So send us stockings as quick as you can,
My company needs them, every man,
And every man is a neighbor's lad ;
Tell this to their mothers, they need them bad."

Then, if never before, beat Rhoda's heart,
'Twas time to be doing a woman's part.
She turned to her daughters, Hannah and Bet :
" Girls, each on your needles a stocking set ;
Get my cloak and hood ; as for you, son Dan,
Yoke up the steers as quick as you can ;
Put a chair in the wagon, as you're alive ;
I will sit and knit, while you go and drive."
They started at once on Whippany road,
She knitting away while he held the goad.

[149]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

At Whippany village she stopped to call
On the sisters Prudence and Mary Ball.
She would not go in ; she sat in her chair
And read to the girls her letter from there.
That was enough, for their brothers three
Were in Lieutenant Farrand's company.
Then on Rhoda went, stopping here and there
To rouse the neighbors from her old chair.
Still while she was riding her needles flew,
And minute by minute the stocking grew.
Across the country so withered and brown,
They drove till they came to Hanover town.
There, mellow and rich, lay the Smith's broad lands ;
With them she took dinner and warmed her hands.
Next toward Hanover- Neck Dan turned the steers,
Where her cousins, the Kitchels, had lived for years.
With the Kitchels she supped, then homeward turned,
While above her the stars like lanterns burned ;
And she stepped from her chair, helped by her son,
With her first day's work and her stockings done.
On Rockaway river so bright and clear,
The brown leaf skims in the Fall of the year ;
Around through the hills it curves like an arm,
And holds in its clasp more than one bright farm
Through Rockaway valley next day drove Dan ;
Boy though he was, he worked like a man.
His mother behind him sat in her chair,
Still knitting, but knitting another pair.
They roused the valley, then drove through the gorge,
And stopped for a minute at Compton's forge ;
Then on to Boonton, and there they were fed,
While the letter was passed around and read.
" Knit," said Rhoda to all, " as fast as you can ;
Send the stockings to me ; and my son Dan,
The first of next week, will drive me down,
And I'll take the stockings to Morristown."
Then from Boonton home, and at set of sun
She entered her house with her stockings done.
On Thursday, they knit from morn till night,
She and the girls, with all their might.
When the yarn gave out, they carded and spun,
And every day more stockings were done.
[150]

OF NEW JERSEY
When the wool was gone, then they killed a sheep —
A cosset — but nobody stopped to weep,
They pulled the fleece and they carded away,
And spun and knitted from night until day.
In all the country no woman could rest,
But they knitted on like people possessed ;
And Parson Condit expounded his views
On the Sabbath day unto empty pews,
Except for a few stray lads who came
And sat in the gallery, to save the name.
On Monday morn, at an early hour
The stockings came in — a perfect shower —
A shower that lasted until the night ;
Black, brown and gray ones, and mixed blue and white.
There were pairs one hundred and thirty-three,
Long ones, remember, up to the knee ;
And the next day Rhoda carried them down
In the old ox- wagon to Morristown.
I hear, like an echo, the soldiers' cheers
For Rhoda and Dan, the wagon and steers,
Growing wilder yet for the chief in command ;
While up at "salute" to the brow flies each hand,
As Washington passes, desiring them
To thank Mistress Farrand in the name of his men.
But the words that her husband's lips let fall,
" I knew you would do it ! " were best of all.
And I think in these Centennial days
That she should be given her meed of praise ;
And while we are singing of 'Auld Lang Syne.'
Her name, with the others, deserves to shine.
Eleanor A . Hunter

This poem is historically correct in every particular. Rhoda
Farrand was one of the noble characters which those trying times pro
duced, and her memory is to this day a source of inspiration. The inci
dent of the stockings is only one example of her energy and patriotism. ir*-j
Samuel Smith and his wife Hannah Allen lived at Parsipany,
about five miles from Morristown, N. J. ; and had nine children. Rhoda,
third child, and the heroine of this poem, was born in 1747, married
Bethuel Farrand in 1762 and had eleven children, Daniel, Nathan, Betsy,
Moses, Hannah, Bethuel, Samuel, Rebecca, Richard, Eleanor, and Nancy;
four of whom are named in the poem.
Bethuel had command of a company of New Jersey volunteers
which had been raised in response to a special call from General Wash-
[151]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

ington while in winter quarters at Morristown, and he is said to have been
present with his command at the siege and surrender of Yorktown. Ow
ing to wounds received in battle, Lieutenant Farrand suffered for many
years as an invalid. He died in 1794 and was buried in the churchyard
at Parsipany. Rnoda's parents with their five young children had left New Jersey
in 1770 and settled at Bridport, Vermont. There two of Rhoda 's
brothers, Nathan and Marshall, were active patriots in the Vermont
militia; they aided Ethan Allen in the capture of Ticonderoga, but were
afterward taken by the British General Carleton and held in the city of
Quebec for sixteen months as prisoners of war.
When Rhoda's relatives in Vermont heard of Bethuel's death in
1794, they came and took Rhoda and her three youngest children to
Bridport, where Rhoda spent the closing years of her life in peace and
comfort at the home of her son-in-law, Captain Newton Hayward.
She died June 30, 1839, at the age of ninety-two years. To the
last, her memory was strong and clear concerning the incidents connected
with the toils and anxieties, the labors and sufferings, of the Revolutionary
days ; and she took great delight in relating to her grandchildren and great
grandchildren the scenes of those memorable times.
This poem was read at a meeting of the New Jersey Society, Sons
of the American Revolution, on February 22, 1892, the anniversary of
Washington's birthday.

DrVIDENT HILL.
May 20, 1668.
Divident Hill was the dividing point between Newark Town and
Elizabeth Town from May 20, 1668, until 1834 when Clinton township
was organized. The meeting of the commissioners in 1668 to establish
the boundary line between these two youthful cities was conducted with
great formality and solemnity. When the commissioners assembled,
Robert Treat of Newark led in prayer, praying that "there might be good
agreement between them"; and when their task was ended, John Ogden
of Elizabeth Town prayed among the people and gave "thanks for their
loving agreement." Pause here, 0 Muse! that Fancy's eye
May trace the footprints still
Of men that, centuries gone by,
With prayer ordained this hill;
As lifts the misty veil of years,
Such visions here arise
As when the glorious Past appears
Before enchanted eyes.
I see, from midst the faithful few
Whose deeds yet live sublime —
Whose guileless spirits, brave as true,
Are models for all time,
A group upon this height convened —
In solemn prayer they stand —
[152]

OF NEW JERSEY
Men, on whose sturdy wisdom leaned
The settlers of our land.
In mutual love the line they trace
That will their homes divide,
And ever mark the chosen place
That prayer hath sanctified;
And here it stands — a temple old,
Which crumbling time still braves ;
Though ages have their cycles rolled
Above those patriots' graves.
As Christ, transfiguerd on the height,
The three beheld with awe,
And near his radiant form, in white,
The ancient prophets saw;
So, on this summit I behold
With beatific sight,
Once more our praying sires of old
As spirits clothed in light.
A halo crowns the sacred hill,
And thence glad voices raise
A song that doth the concave fill —
Their prayers are turned to praise!
Art may not for these saints of old
The marble urn invent ;
Yet here the Future shall behold
Their Heaven-built monument.
Elizabeth Clementine Kinney.

Here is a transcript of the original agreement; see Records of the
Town of Newark, New Jersey, published as volume VI., collections of the
N. J. Historical Society; see also Historical Discourses relating to the
First Presbyterian church in Newark, by Jonathan F. Stearns.
"These may Certify and Declare, that we Whose Names are here
unto Subscribed, being Chosen and Commissioned with full power from
Elizabeth Town, and Newark plantation upon Passaic River, to agree
upon and fully Issue the Divident Line and Bounds Between the fore
named Elizabeth Town and Newark Town, which is as followeth, Viz;
That it is Consented unto that the Center, or place agreed upon by the
said Agents of the Towns for to Begin the Dividing bounds, is from the
Top of a Little round hill, named divident hill; and from thence to run
upon a North West ¦ Line, Into the Country. And for the Ratifica
tion of our Agreements, the said Agents of Elizabeth Town have
[153]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

marked an Oak Tree with an E, Next them; And the Said Agents of
Newark Town have marked the same Tree with an N, on that side Next
them and their Town ; and to the said agreement we have this Twentieth
day of May in the year 1668, set to our hands Enterchangably."
Signed by Jasper Crane, Robt. Treatt, Mathew Camfield, Sam'l
Swain, Richd Harrison and Thos. Jonson, as Agents for Newark Town.
Signed by John Ogden, Luke Watson, Robt. Bond and Jeffery
Joanes, as Agents for Elizabeth Town.

FUIT ILIUM.
Washington's Headquarters at Elizabeth.
Ftora Complete Poetical Works; copyright 1874 by
Houghton Mifflin & Company.
One by one they died, —
Last of all their race;
Nothing left but pride,
Lace, and buckled hose,
Their quietus made,
On their dwelling place
Ruthless hands are laid:
Down the old house goes!
See the ancient manse
Meet its fate at last!
Time in his advance,
Age nor honor knows;
Ax and broadax fall,
Lopping off the Past;
Hit with bar and maul,
Down the old house goes!
Seven score years it stood:
Yes, they built it well,
Though they built of wood
When that house arose,
For its cross-beams square
Oak and walnut fell;
Little worse for wear,
Down the old house goes!
Rending board and plank,
Men with crowbars ply,

[154]

OF NEW JERSEY
Opening fissures dank,
Striking deadly blows.
From the gabled roof
How the shingles fly!
Keep you here aloof, —
Down the old house goes!
Holding still its place,
There the chimney stands,
Stanch from top to base,
Frowning on its foes.
Heave apart the stones,
Burst its iron bands!
How it shakes and groans!
Down the old house goes!

Round the mantelpiece
Glisten Scripture tiles ;
Henceforth they shall cease
Painting Egypt's woes,
Painting David's fight,
Fair Bathsheba's smiles,
Blinded Samson's might, —
Down the old house goes!

On these oaken floors
High-shoed ladies trod;
Through those panelled doors
Trailed their furbelows ;
Long their day has ceased;
Now, beneath the sod,
With the worms they feast, —
Down the old house goes!
Many a bride has stood
In yon spacious room;
Here her hand was wooed
Underneath the rose ;
O'er that sill the dead
Reached the family tomb;
All that were have fled, —
Down the old house goes!

[155]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Once, in yonder hall,
Washington, they say,
Led the New Year's ball,
Stateliest of beaux!
0 that minuet,
Maids and matrons gay!
Are there such sights yet?
Down the old house goes!
British troopers came
Ere another year,
With their coats aflame
Mincing on their toes;
Daughters of the house
Gave them haughty cheer,
Laughed to scorn their vows,— -
Down the old house goes!
Doorway high the box
In the grass-plot spreads;
It has borne its locks
Through a thousand snows;
In an evil day
From those garden beds
Now 'tis hacked away, —
Down the old house goes!
Lo! the sycamores,
Scathed and scrawny mates,
At the mansion doors
Shiver, full of woes;
With its life they grew,
1 Guarded well its gates;
Now their task is through, —
Down the old house goes!
On this honored site
Modern trade will build, —
What unseemly fright
Heaven only knows!
Something peaked and high
Smacking of the guild;
Let us heave a sigh, —
Down the old house goes!
Edmund Clarence Stedman.

[156]

OF NEW JERSEY

Just before the Civil war, the author of this poem resided for a
time in the city of Elizabeth, N. J., and there saw workmen engaged in
demolishing a fine colonial building which was said to have been occupied
by General Washington as his headquarters.

GOVERNOR PATERSON'S BARGE ON THE RARITAN.
July 4, 1791.
On seeing Governor William Paterson on board his barge which
was elegantly decorated with laurel and a variety of the most beautiful
flowers, and rowed by twelve men all dressed in white.
On Raritan's smooth gliding stream we view,
With pleasure view, the man whom we admire,
On this auspicious day, with laurel crowned.
How gracefully the honored barge moves on;
See Neptune's hardy sons, all clad in white,
Timing their oars to the melodious flutes.
Not Cleopatra's celebrated barge
When she, full armed with each bewitching charm,
A tyrant bound in the soft chains of love,
More elegant or pleasing could appear,
Nor did contain a jewel of such worth.
Not freighted with a proud intriguing Queen —
She nobly bears New-Jersey's favorite son,
Our guardian Chief, our friend, a PATERSON.
Capt. Moses Guest.

New Jersey is proud of William Paterson and his long and influen
tial career as a statesman and jurist during the formative period of our
state and nation. He was a deputy from Somerset county in the Provin
cial Congress which assembled at Trenton in May, 1775, and also of the
Congress that framed the state constitution at Burlington in June, 1776.
He was immediately appointed attorney-general of New Jersey and filled
that office for ten years. He was a member of the Continental Congress
and also of the Convention that framed the Constitution of the United
States, in which Convention he proposed and urged the "New Jersey
P an' He was governor of New Jersey, 1791-1793. President Washing
ton then appointed him an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the
United States, a position which he rilled with signal ability for twelve
, , L, The city of Paterson is named in his honor. [157]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

ODE TO THE RARITAN RIVER.
Lost in a pleasing wild surprise,
I mark the fountains round me rise
And in an artless current flow
Thro' dark and lofty woods below,
That from the world the soul confine
And raise the thoughts to things divine.
O sacred stream! a stranger, I
Would stay to see thee passing by,
And mark thee wandering thus alone,
With varied turns so like my own!
Wild, as a stranger led astray,
I see thee wind in woods away,
And hasting thro' the trees to glide,
As if thy gentle face to hide,
While oft in vain thou wouldst return
To visit here thy native urn ;
But, like an exile doomed no more
To see the scenes he loved before,
You wander on, and wind in vain,
Dispersed amid the boundless main.
Here often, on thy borders green,
Perhaps thy native sons were seen,
Ere slaves were made, or gold was known,
Or children from another zone
Inglorious did with axes rude
Into thy noble groves intrude,
And forced thy naked son to flee
To woods where he might still be free.
And thou! that art my present theme,
O gentle spirit of the stream!
Then too, perhaps, to thee was given
A name among the race of heaven;
And oft adored by Nature's child
Whene'er he wandered in the wild.
And oft perhaps, beside the flood,
In darkness of the grove he stood,
Invoking here thy friendly aid
To guide him thro' the doubtful shade;

[158]

OF NEW JERSEY
Till overhead the moon in view
Thro' heaven's blue fields the chariot drew,
And showed him all thy wat'ry face,
Reflected with a purer grace,
Thy many turnings thro' the trees,
Thy bitter journey to the seas;
While oft thy murmurs loud and long
Awaked his melancholy song;
Which thus in simple strain began,
"Thou Queen of Rivers, Raritan." John Davis.

RUTGERS COLLEGE HYMN.
We pray the founders' prayer — that here may rise
A temple planted on a mountain crest,
To catch the first glow of the eastern skies.
Oh sun of righteousness, illume our west!
Enrich these halls with science' goodly store,
The ages' toil-worn treasure, time's bequest;
Man's knowledge turn to wisdom more and more.
Oh sun of righteousness, illume our west!
Fulfill the golden dreams of ardent youth;
Add to our manhood's prime a keener zest,
In glad devotion to the search for truth.
Oh sun of righteousness, illume our west!
Crown the land's wealth with a diviner creed,
Service and stewardship at God's behest;
Dispel the night of selfishness and greed.
Oh sun of righteousness, illume our west!
Lo, the day dawns! The deepening color soars;
The first rays redden on the mountain's crest,
Lift up your heads ye everlasting doors;
The sun of righteousness illumes our west.
Louis Bevier, Jr.

Rutgers College, founded at New Brunswick, N. J., in 1766 has
for its motto Sol Justitiae et Occidentem Illustra. The above hymn was
sung at the inauguration of William H. S. Demarest as President, June
20, 1906, having been written for that occasion. [159]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

ON THE BANKS OF THE OLD RARITAN.
My father sent me to old Rutgers,
And resolved that I should be a man,
And so I settled down
In that noisy college town,
On the banks of the old Raritan.
Chorus: On the banks of the old Raritan, my boys,
Where old Rutgers evermore shall stand,
For has she not stood
Since the time of the flood,
On the banks of the old Raritan.
As Fresh, they used me rather roughly,
But I the fearful gauntlet ran,
And they shook me so about
That they turned me inside out,
On the banks of the old Raritan.
I passed through all these tortures nobly,
And then, as Soph, my turn began,
And I hazed the poor Fresh so
That they longed for Heaven, I know,
On the banks of the old Raritan.
And then I rested at my pleasure,
And steered quite clear of Prex's ban,
And the stars their good-by kissing
Found me not from euchre missing,
On the banks of the old Raritan.
And soon I made my social entree,
When I laid full many a wicked plan,
And by my cunning art
Slew many a maiden's heart,
On the banks of the old Raritan.
Then sing aloud to Alma Mater,
And keep the Scarlet in the van;
For with her motto high
Rutgers' name shall never die,
On the banks of the old Raritan. Howard Newton Fuller.
[160]

OF NEW JERSEY

Mr. Fuller, the author, writes thus concerning the circumstances
under which the song was written by him:
"Mr. Edward E. Colbum, class of 1876, who had just organized
the first Rutgers Glee Club, came to my room one afternoon, I think about
three o'clock, in the fall of 1873, and asked me to write a Rutgers song
for the club's initial public concert to be given at Metuchen : that evenin g.
"On the Banks of the Old Dundee" had always been a favorite tune of
mine; so without delay I set to work to fit some appropriate words thereto.
Mr. Colbum insisted upon having the finished song by five o'clock in order
that copies might be made and a rehearsal had before the club started.
I made the best combination I could in that limited time; wherever the
tune did not harmonize with the words, I mongrelized it, and handed the
song to Mr. Colburn at the promised hour.
"I think not a word or note has been changed since the song left
my hands. I have forgotten how "On the Banks of the Old Dundee''
runs ; but I fear that I mangled it so much that the two bear but little re
semblance to each other. The old song, at any rate, suggested the title
for the new one. The next day Mr. Colburn reported that the song had
been enthusiastically received although the boys knew it so imperfectly.
Mr. John Oppie of Griggstown, N. J., class of 1874, then the college or
ganist, scored the song for publication."

THE TOWERS OF PRINCETON.
From the Train.
From Bramble Brae and Other Poems, by permission of Charles Scribner's
Sons; copyright. 1902.
There they are! above the green trees shining —
Old towers that top the castles of our dreams,
Their turrets bright with rays of sun declining —
A painted glory in the window gleams.
But, oh, the messages to travellers weary
They signal through the ether in the dark!
The years are long, the path is steep and dreary,
But there's a bell that struck in boyhood — -hark!
The note is faint — but ghosts are gaily trooping
From ivied halls and swarming 'neath the trees.
Old friends, you bring new life to spirits drooping —
Your langhter and your joy are in the breeze.
They're gone in dusk — the towers and dreams are faded —
But something lingers of eternal youth;
We're strong again, though doubting, worn and jaded,
We pledge anew to friends and love and truth.
Robert Bridges. [1611

PATRIOTIC POEMS

There they are — They're gone in dusk. To appreciate fully the poet
ical conception underlying this exquisite little poem, it must be remem
bered that the village of Princeton is not situated on the main line of the
railroad. The Princeton alumnus, while passing between Trenton and
New Brunswick, can look northward from the car window and see
the pinacles and roofs of the University buildings three miles away
towering above the tree-tops; but only for a moment can he enjoy the
sight of that haven of rest, that source of youthful memories, for the

train carries him quickly onward.

Tune every heart and every voice,
Bid every care withdraw;
Let all with one accord rejoice,
In praise of old Nassau.
In praise of old Nassau, my boys,
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah !
Her sons will give, while they shell Hi
Three cheers for old Nassau !
Let music rule the fleeting hour, —
Her mantle round us draw;
And thrill each heart with all her power,
In praise of old Nassau.
In praise of old Nassau, etc.
Their sheen forever shall impart
A zeal beyond compare,
And fire each ardent, youthful heart
To boldly do and dare.
To boldly do and dare, etc.
No flowery chaplet would we twine
To wither and decay;
The gems that sparkle in her crown
Shall never pass away.
Shall never pass away, etc.
And when these halls in dust are laid,
With reverence and awe,
Another throng shall breathe our song,
In praise of old Nassau.
In praise of old Nassau, elc.
[162]

OF NEW JERSEY

Till then with joy our songs we'll bring,
And while a breath we draw,
We'll all unite to shout and sing,
Long life to old Nassau!
Long life to old Nassau, etc.
Harlan Page Peck.

While an undergraduate of Princeton University, (the Rev.)
Harlan Page Peck, class of 1862, wrote nearly thirty metrical composi
tions which appeared in the Nassau Literary Magazine, including the
'62 class ode and the '62 class poem. In the winter of 1858-59, this maga
zine offered a prize for a college song, and in the number for March, 1859,
appeared Old Nassau, the song that won the prize, just as it is sung to-day
except that the word "harp" in the first verse has been changed to "heart. "
It was sung at first to the air of Auld Lang Syne, but this was found un
suitable; so (the Rev.) William C. Stitt, class of 1857, then a student at the
Theological Seminary, one morning in the spring of 1859, went to the house
of Mr. Langlotz (who was at that time an instructor in music in Princeton),
and told him to write a new piece of music for Old Nassau and stood over
him until he did it.
The words and music appeared the same spring in Songs of Old
Nassau, the first book of Princeton songs and the prototype of the popu
lar and widely known Carmina Princetonia.

THE BUILDERS.
An Academic Ode.

From The Builders and Other Poems, by permission of the author;
copyright 1897 by Charles Scribner's Sons.
Bear with us then a moment, if we turn
From all the present splendours of this place, —
The lofty towers that like a dream have grown
Where once old Nassau Hall stood all alone, —
Back to that ancient time, with hearts that burn
In filial reverence and pride, to trace
The glory of our Mother's best degree,
In that "high son of Liberty,"
Who like a granite block
Riven from Scotland's rock
Stood loyal here to keep Columbia free.
Born far away beyond the ocean's roar,
He found his fatherland upon this shore;
And every drop of ardent blood that ran
Through his great heart was true American. [163]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

He held no weak allegiance to a distant throne.
But made his new-found country's cause his own;
In peril and distress,
In toil and weariness,
When darkness overcast her
With shadows of disaster,
And voices of confusion
Proclaimed her hope delusion,
Robed in his preacher's gown,
He dared the danger down;
Like some old prophet chanting an inspired rune,
Through freedom's councils rang the voice of Witherspoon.
And thou, my country, write it on thy heart:
Thy sons are they who nobly take thy part ;
Who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine,
Wherever born, is born a son of thine.
Foreign in name, but not in soul, they come
To find in thee their long-desired home;
Lovers of liberty, and haters of disorder,
They shall be built in strength along thy border.
Ah, dream not that thy future foes
Will all be foreign-born;
Turn thy clear look of scorn
Upon thy children who oppose
Their passions wild and policies of shame,
To wreck the righteous splendours of thy name!
Untaught and over-confident they rise,
With folly on their tongues and envy in their eyes;
Strong to destroy, but powerless to create,
And ignorant of all that made our fathers great ;
Their hands would take away thy golden crown,
And shake the pillars of thy freedom down
In Anarchy's ocean, dark and desolate.
Oh, should that storm descend,
What fortress shall defend
The land our Fathers wrought for,
The liberties they fought for?
What bulwark shall secure
Her shrines from sacrilege and keep her altars pure?
Then, ah then,
As in the olden days,
The builders must upraise
[164]

Trenton Battle Monument

OF NEW JERSEY
A rampart of indomitable men.
Once again,
Dear Mother, if thy heart and hand be true,
There will be building work for thee to do.
Yea, more than once again,
Thou shalt win lasting praise,
And never dying honour shall be thine,
For setting many stones in that illustrious line,
To stand unshaken in the swirling strife,
And guard their country's honour as her life!
Henry van Dyke.

This Ode was written by Henry van Dyke and recited by him in
Alexander Hall on October 21, 1896, at the Sesquicentennial Celebration
of the Founding of the College of New Jersey and of the ceremonies in
augurating Princeton University. See Memorial Book, printed for the
Trustees of the University by Charles Scribner's Sons. The Ode consists
of twelve irregular sections or stanzas; the ninth stanza is printed here
entire.

BATTLE MONUMENT.
Trenton, October 19, 1893.
By permission of the author; copyrighted
Since ancient Time began
Ever on some great soul God laid an infinite burden —
The weight of all this world, the hopes of man.
Conflict and pain, and fame immortal are his guerdon!
And this the unfaltering token
Of him, the Deliverer — what though tempests beat,
Though all else fail, though bravest ranks be broken,
He stands unscared, alone, nor ever knows defeat.
Such was that man of men ;
And if are praised all virtues, every fame
Most noble, highest, purest — then, ah! then,
Upleaps in every heart the name none needs to name.
Ye who defeated, 'whelmed,
Betray the sacred cause, let go the trust;
Sleep, weary, while the vessels drift unhelmed;
Here see in triumph rise the hero from the dust! [165]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

All ye who fight forlorn
'Gainst fate and failure; ye who proudly cope
With evil high enthroned; all ye who scorn
Life from Dishonor's hand, here take new heart of hope.
Here know how Victory borrows
For the brave soul a front as of disaster,
And in the bannered East what glorious morrows
For all the blackness of the night speed surer, faster.
Know by this pillared sign
For what brief while the powers of earth and hell
Can war against the spirit of truth divine,
Or can against the heroic heart of man prevail.
Richard Watson Gilder.

The Battle Monument at Trenton was dedicated Oct. 19, 1893.
It is surmounted by a statue of Washington, and bears a tablet presented
by the Society of the Cincinnati in the state of New Jersey, which reads:
"This monument is erected by the Trenton Battle Monument Association
to commemorate the victory gained by the American Army over the forces
of Great Britain in this town on the 26th day of December, Anno-Domini,
1776." It stands at the junction of several streets and marks the exact
spot where Washington stood while directing the movements of his troops
during the battle.

TO DELIA.
Written on a leaf in her pocket-book.
Bordentown, N. J., May, 1768.
Go little leaf, and to the fair,
The mistress of my heart,
My truth and constancy declare,
My ardent love impart.
But how shall thy small page contain
That which no bounds control?
Or how shall feeble words explain
The transports of the soul?
Go, tell her then that nothing less
Than a whole life of love
Can all my joy in her express,
Can my fixed passion prove, —

[166]

OF NEW JERSEY

That nought but death can from my mini
Her dear idea part,
And lovely Delia ne'er shal' find
A rival in my heart.
Go, tell her all our peaceful years
In mutual bliss we'll spend,
And hope to meet beyond the spheres
When this frail life shall end.
Francis Hopkinson.

DELIA, PRIDE OF BORDEN'S HILL.
A Song Written July, 1768.
Soft ideas, love-inspiring,
Every placid joy unite;
Every anxious thought retiring,
Fill my bosom with delight.
Soft ideas, gently-flowing,
On your tide so calm and still ,
Bear me where sweet zephyrs, blowing,
Wave the pines of Borden's Hill, —
Where the breezes, odors bringing,
Fill the grove with murmuring sound,
Where shrill notes of birds, sweet-singing,
Echo to the hills around.
To the pleasing gloom convey me;
Let my Delia too be there;
On her gentle bosom lay me,
On her bosom soft and fair.
Whilst I there, with rapture burning
All my joy in her express;
Let her, love for love returning,
Me with fond caresses bless.
On his little wings descending,
Bring the god of soft delight:

[167]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Hymen too, with torch attending,
Must our hands and hearts unite.
She, the source of all my pleasure,
Shall my breast with transport fill:
Delia is my soul's best treasure,
Delia, pride of Borden's- Hill.
Francis Hopkinson

THE DELAWARE.
From Minto and Other Poems; copyright 1888.
Hail! thou prince of noble rivers,
On whose lofty bank I stand,
Listening, as each leaflet quivers
Trilled by evening zephyrs bland —
Listening, while I gazing muse
On thy landscape's sun-lit views.
Onward trending to the ocean,
Glide the sport of many an oar,
Till thy gently rippling motion
Heaves in breakers on its shore —
Till thy waters, mingling there,
Cease to own thee, Delaware.
Once the Indian forest-ranger
Launched on thee his birch-canoe,
And, unawed by foe or danger,
O'er thy crested ripples flew;
But no more the red-man rows
Where thy gurgling current flows.
Once the chief of chieftains chosen,
Anxious on thy margin stood,
Gazing on thee, dark and frozen,
On thy icy-rolling flood —
Gazing, while his shivering bands
Wait unshrinking his commands.
Winter's storm and night appalling,
Fill with double dread thy waves;
He, though fierce the sleet is falling,
Cheers them onward, cheers his braves;

[168]

OF NEW JERSEY
Yes, undaunted he has there
Bid them cross thee, Delaware.
Cold and dark thy sullen waters
Roll around his dauntless few,
Whilst their Chieftain, nerved to slaughters,
Leads them boldly, leads them through —
Leads, and with the morning sun,
Conquest crowns our Washington!
On our eagle's bannered pinions
Wide is borne the victor's fame,
Till, through freedom's owned dominions,
All have echoed back his name;
Till the flag that morn unfurled,
Signaled freedom to the world!
Hail again, thou classic river,
Hail for scenes of other days,
When the might of freedom's Giver
Crowned our arms with fadeless bays —
Crowned, and while those wreaths are there,
Thou art honored, Delaware.
Freighted with the wealth of nations,
Borne to thee from distant climes,
May thy banks the consternations
Know no more of early times ;
But may fleets of commerce glide
Ever safely on thy tide. Oliver Crane.

THE DELAWARE RIVER.

These thoughts were suggested to the author while floating in a
skiff on the Delaware river off Burlington.
The mild and softly flowing Delaware!
Gliding along as if afraid to mar
The deep repose with which on every side
Beauty is sleeping on its tranquil banks.
They tell me that the weary denizens
Of wealth have built them here their bowers of ease ;
[169]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

And well these fair creations of their hours
Of freedom show that deep and innate love
Of nature and of beauty, which had long
Been stifled in the city's slavery.
Through the embowering foliage brightly gleam
The graceful villas with their fair white walls,
And pillared porticoes, and clustering flowers,
And verdant lawns gracefully sweeping down
To meet the river, edged with trees whose boughs
Low drooping kiss their image trembling in
The gentle wave below. In these fair scenes
Each sad remembrance, and each thought of gloom,
And every dark foreboding leaves the soul,
And like the facile bosom of the stream,
It takes the hue and semblance of the calm
And placid beauty which is spread around:
And the vain fancy almost makes us deem
This gentle loveliness the harbinger
Of hope and joy. And such thou wast to us,
Beautiful river! in the war between
The right of weakness and the strength of wrong,
Which ushered us in olden times among
The nations. When that small and patriot band
Had found their untrained valor powerless
Against oppression's mercenary ranks;
When each successive battle had but served
To dye the bosom of their native land
With blood in vain, and cumber it anew
With her devoted sons; and backward drove
A still more shattered remnant, flying still
O'ermatched and destitute, until at last
Their bloody foot-prints marked the frozen ground,
And cold and want struck deeper than their foes;
When shrunk the timid from the unequal strife,
And e'en the best and bravest whispering spoke
Of sad submission, and all seemed subdued,
And dark, and hopeless, save the unyielding soul
Of Washington; — 'twas first upon these banks
That the disastrous tide of battle turned.
'Twas here that feeble, faint, exhausted band,
Which scarce had seemed to have the power to drag
Its wounded length along its blood-stained course,
Rose as a fiery dragon on its foes,
And wrested twice from their astonished grasp
The prize of war, and sent them cowering back
[170]

OF NEW JERSEY

To gain new strength to cope with their despised
And prostrate quarry. And in after times,
When that eventful strife was o'er, and he,
Whose valor had thus led his country's arms
To victory, now ruled in wisdom o'er
Her infant councils, — it was on these shores
That the fair bands of maids and matrons strewed
With flowers his way across the fields, o'er which
He had in times of doubt and peril led
Their husbands and their fathers ; and 'twas here
That they invoked those blessings on his head.
Which still are dearest from our native land,
And ever sweetest in the gentle voice
Of beauty. What emotions must that scene,
The smiles of that fair band, and the sad thoughts.
Of other days have waked within a breast
Like his alive as well to every soft,
As every lofty feeling of the soul !
The fame of that all-noble being seems
An ark too sacred to be rashly touched
By a weak hand like mine. Why speak of him
To those upon whose hearts his memory
Is stamped forever, joined with every fond
And holy feeling, which is wont to rise
Within the human soul to that one word —
Our Father f Why assay to swell the praise
Of one, whose name alone still throws the awe
Of reverence upon the laughing face
Of childhood, and spreads o'er the cheek of youth
The shade of thought, or kindles there the glow
Of emulation, and calls to the eye
Of age the tear of fond devotion, drawn
From the shrunk fountains which have long been dry
To every other feeling? Even now
The flood of deep emotion, which the thought
Of him has raised within my breast, — the crowd
Of feelings struggling each for utterance,
Seems to forbid that I should farther seek
To twine his name within my idle verse.
His tale is graven on a far more high
And lasting tablet than the lying page
Of poesy. And there it stands, a link
To bind us to the noble times of old ;
A lesson to the sordid selfishness
Of modern days. In a polluted age, [1711

PATRIOTIC POEMS

He joined the patriot virtue of old Rome,
With Spartan modesty and courage, ruled
And tempered all, by the stern self-control
And wisdom of the sage of ancient Greece.
In a base, venal age, he staked his wealth,
And life, and fame upon a desperate cause ;
And when his daring and his skill alone
Had won for us the victory which few
Had hoped, he wrung no treasures from his faint
And feeble country; and he turned away
From the bright meed of dazzling power, which
A grateful people, and an army bound
With ties of love, in rivalry had heaped
Upon him. The delusive meteor whims
Of fancy all were impotent with him.
Each faculty and power of his mind
Bowed in subjection to the sway of thought.
The childish vanity, — the thirst for praise,
Which have so often led the great to strive
Rather to dazzle than to serve mankind;
To seek their favor for the present hour,
Before their lasting interest; all these
Were powerless with him. Each hope, and wish,
And feeling of his soul was sternly ruled
By his pure love of country. On the rock
Of self-approval he had made his stand,
And there the storm of power might burst in vain,
And all in vain the gentle summer waves
Of public favor courted him to launch
Upon their treacherous depths. His country's good!
His country's glory! These were the sole rules
Of action which he knew. His only end
Was still to serve his country, e'en against
Her will, — e'en at the risk of forfeiting
For a brief time her love. And he chose well.
And even if, like other conquerors,
He too had toiled for selfish ends alone,
And laughed at patriotism as the lure of fools,
Still he had chosen wisely. In the race
Of fame, who wins as high a meed of praise
As his? What despot's thraldom ever matched
The tyranny of love, with which he ruled
A land of willing freemen? Who through life,
Or after death, has reached the boundless power,
With which his name now sways, and yet shall sway

[172]

OF NEW JERSEY
To latest times, the minds of men? The still
Unchanging watchword in the sacred cause
Of Liberty, — forbidden, hushed, and feared
By tyrants, loudest sounded still, where men
Are leagued to free and to exalt their kind.
Thomas Ward.

The poem above is taken from A Month of Freedom, an American
Poem, a book which was published anonymously in New York city in
1837. The poem is a versified account of a vacation trip beginning at the
city of Washington and extending by way of the rivers Delaware and
Hudson to the Adirondacks and to Niagara Falls.

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS.
David Bushnell of Connecticut spent four years in devising and
constructing a sub-marine vessel for the purpose of destroying warships.
Having completed the machine in 1775, he made three attempts to blow
up British vessels, one in New York harbor, one in the Hudson river and
one in Long Island sound; the first two were complete failures; in the last,
he wrecked a near-by schooner instead of the aimed-at frigate.
In 1777 he invented a triggered contrivance to be fastened in
the middle of a keg of powder which would cause an explosion when
jarred. He went to Bordentown, N. J., and there manufactured a number
of these torpedoes.
We now give the inventor's own account of the affair communi
cated by him to Thomas Jefferson in October, 1787, and published in
volume IV of the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society.
"I fixed several kegs under water, charged with powder, to explode
upon touching any thing, as they floated along with the tide: I then set
them afloat in the Delaware, above the English shipping at Philadelphia,
in December, 1777.
I was unacquainted with the river and obliged to depend upon a.
gentleman very imperfectly acquainted with that part of it, as I after
wards found. We went as near the shipping as he durst venture ; I believe
the darkness of the night greatly deceived him, as it did me.
We set them adrift to fall with the tide, upon the shipping. Had
we been within sixty rods, I believe they must have fallen in with them
immediately, as I designed ; but as I afterwards found, they were set adrift
much too far distant, and did not arrive, until after being detained some
time by frost, they advanced in the day time, in a dispersed situation, and
under great disadvantages.
One of them blew up a boat with several persons in it, who im
prudently handled it too freely, and thus gave the British that alarm
which brought on The Battle of the Kegs." David Bushnell. [173]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The New Jersey Gazette, of Burlington, in its issue of January 21,
1778, published a delightfully humorous account of the Battle of the Kegs.
There can be little doubt that it was written by Francis Hopkinson who
seems to have put it forth as the preliminary step to a climax in order
to prepare the public mind in advance for a keener appreciation of his
poetical treatment of the same subject in his forth-coming and now
famous ballad.
The editor of the Gazette avails himself of the editorial prerogative
of indirectness; he pretends that the account he published in that issue
is an extract from a letter written in Philadelphia on January 9, 1778,
by an eye-witness; that this letter had been secretly forwarded through
the military lines to a friend at Trenton; and that this un -named friend
writing from Trenton to the editor under date of January 12th had en
closed the extract and had expressed a desire for its publication in the
Gazette. "This city has lately been entertained with a most astonishing
instance of the activity, bravery and military skill of the royal navy of
Great-Britain. The affair is somewhat peculiar and deserves your notice.
Sometime last week two boys observed a keg of singular construc
tion floating in the river opposite the city; they got into a small boat,
and attempting to take up the keg, it burst with a great explosion and
blew up the unfortunate boys.
On Monday several kegs of a like construction made their appear
ance. An alarm was immediately spread thro' the city.
Various reports prevailed, filling the city and the royal troops
with unspeakable consternation. Some reported that these kegs were
filled with armed rebels who were to issue forth in the dead of the night,
as the Grecians did of old from the wooden horse at the siege of Troy
and take the city by surprise; asserting that they had seen the points
of their bayonets thro' the bung-holes of the kegs. Others said they
were charged with the most inveterate combustibles to be kindled by
secret machinery and, setting the whole Delaware on fire, were to consume
all the shipping in the harbour ; whilst others asserted that they were con
structed by an art magic, would of themselves ascend the wharfs in the
night time and roll all-aflaming thro' the streets of the city, destroying
everything in their way.
Be this as it may, certain it is that the shipping in the harbour
and all the wharfs of the city were fully manned. The battle began and
it was surprizing to behold the incessant blaze that was kept up against
the enemy, the kegs. Both officers and men exhibited the most unparal
leled skill and bravery on that occasion; whilst the citizens stood gazing
as _ solemn witnesses of their prowess. From the Roebuck and other
ships of war, whole broadsides were poured into the Delaware. In short,
not a wandering chip, stick, or drift-log but felt the vigour of the British
arms. The action began about sun-rise and would have been compleated
with great success by noon, had not an old market-woman, coming down
the river with provisions, unfortunately let a small keg of butter fall
overboard which (as it was then ebb) floated down to the scene of the action.
At this unexpected re-inforcement of the enemy, the battle was
renewed with fresh fury; the firing was incessant till the evening closed
the affair. The kegs were either totally demolished or obliged to fly, as
none of them have shewn their heads since.

[174]

'-yC^r^T^

Francis Hopkinson
Of Bordentown, New Jersey
Signer of the Declaration of Independence

OF NEW JERSEY

It is said His Excellency Lord Howe has dispatched a swift sail
ing packet with an account of this victory, to the court of London.
In a word, Monday the 5th of January, 1778, must ever be distin
guished in history for the memorable Battle of the Kegs.".
Trenton, January 12, 1778.

Gallants, attend and hear a friend
Trill forth harmoniotis ditty;
Strange things I'll tell which late befell
In Philadelphia city.
'Twas early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood
And saw a thing surprising.
As in amaze he stood to gaze,
The truth can't be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs, or more,
Come floating down the tide, sir.
A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,
This strange appearance viewing,
First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise;
Then said, "Some mischief's brewing-
"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,
Pack'd up like pickled herring;
And they've come down to attack the town,
In this new way of ferrying."
The soldier flew, the sailor, too,
And, scared almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.
Now up and down, throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.
Some "Fire!" cried, which some denied
But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys with hideous noise
Ran through the streets half naked.

[175]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Sir William he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a snoring,
Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm,
In bed with Mr. Loring.
Now in a fright he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
"For God's sake, what's the matter?"
At his bedside he then espied
Sir Erskine at command, sir,
Upon one foot he had one boot,
And the other in his hand, sir,
"Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries,
"The rebels — more's the pity —
Without a boat are all afloat,
And ranged before the city.
"The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.
"Therefore prepare for bloody war,
These kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted."
The royal band now ready stand,
All ranged in dread amy, sir,
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.
The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle ;
Since wars began, I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.
The rebel dales, the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

[176]

OF NEW JERSEY
The fish below swam to and fro,
Attacked from every quarter;
"Why sure," thought they, "the devil's to pay
'Mongst folks above the water."
The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sir.
From morn to night, these men of might
Displayed amazing courage;
And, when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.
A hundred men with each a pen,
Or more, upon my word, sir,
It is most true, would be too few
Their valor to record, sir.
Such feats did they perform that day
Against those wicked kegs, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.
Francis Hopkinson.

FANCIES AT NAVESINK.

From Leaves of Grass by permission of Horace Traubel:
copyright 1891
HAD I THE CHOICE.
Had I the choice to tally greatest bards,
To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will,
Homer with all his wars and warriors — Hector, Achilles, Ajax, —
Or Shakespeare's woe-entangled Hamlet, Lear, Othello — Tenny
son's fair ladies —
Metre or wit the best, or choice conceit to wield in perfect
rhyme, delight of singers;
These, these, O sea, all these I'd gladly barter,
Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me transfer,
Or breathe one breath of yours upon my verse,
And leave its odor there. [177]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

PROUDLY THE FLOOD COMES IN.
Proudly the flood comes in, shouting, foaming, advancing,
Long it holds at the high, with bosom broad outswelling,
All throbs, dilates — the farms, woods, streets of cities-workmen
at work,
Mainsails, topsails, jibs, appear in the offing — streamers' pennants
of smoke — and under the forenoon sun,
Freighted with human lives, gaily the outward bound, gaily the
inward bound,
Flaunting from many a spar the flag I love. Walt Whitman.

NEVERSINK.

These hills, the pride of all the coast,
To mighty distance seen,
With aspect bold and rugged brow,
That shade the neighboring main;
These heights, for solitude designed,
This rude, resounding shore.
These vales impervious to the wind,
Tall oaks, that to the tempest bend,
Half Druid, I adore.
From distant lands a thousand sails,
Your hazy summits greet,
You saw the angry Briton come,
You saw him, last, retreat!
With towering crest, you first appear
The news of land to tell;
To him that comes, fresh joys impart,
To him that goes, a heavy heart,
The lover's long farewell.
'Tis yours to see the sailor bold,
Of persevering mind,
To see him rove in search of care,
And leave true bliss behind:
To see him spread his flowing sails
To trace a tiresome road;
By wintry seas and tempests chased,
To see him o'er the ocean haste,
A comfortless abode!

[178]

OF NEW JERSEY

Your thousand springs of waters blue
What luxury to sip,
As from the mountain's breast they flow
To moisten Flora's lip!
In vast retirements herd the deer,
Where forests round them rise,
Dark groves, their tops in ether lost,
That, haunted still by Huddy's ghost,
The trembling rustic flies.
Proud heights! with pains so often seen
(With joy beheld once more),
On your firm base I take my stand,
Tenacious of the shore;
Let those who pant for wealth or fame
Pursue the watery road;
Soft sleep and ease, blest days and nights,
And health, attend these favorite heights,
Retirement's blest abode! Philip Freneau.

Freneau had been a sea-captain for some years and this poem may
be regarded as his farewell to the ocean. The Navesink hills are in Mon
mouth county and form the southern edge of Lower New York bay
through which all sea-going vessels pass on entering or leaving New York
harbor. Navesink is an Indian word and means good-fishing-place. The
New Jersey coast is generally low, but here Mount Mitchel rises to a height
of 282 feet and is the pride of all the coast.

THE COASTERS.

From Songs of Sea and Sail, by permission of the author
copyright, 1898.
Overloaded, undermanned,
Trusting to a lee,
Playing I -spy with the land,
Jockeying the sea — •
That's the way the Coaster goes,
Through calm and hurricane:
Everywhere the tide flows,
Everywhere the wind blows,
From Mexico to Maine.

[179]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

O East and West! 0 North and South!
We ply along the shore,
From famous Fundy's foggy mouth.
From voes of Labrador;
Through pass and strait, on sound and sea,
From port to port we stand —
The rocks of Race fade on our lee,
We hail the Rio Grande.
Our sails are never lost to sight;
On every gulf and bay
They gleam, in winter wind-cloud white,
In summer rain-cloud gray.
We hold the coast with slippery grip;
We dare from cape to cape:
Our leaden fingers feel the dip
And trace the channel's shape.
We sail or bide as serves the tide;
Inshore we cheat its flow,
And side by side at anchor ride
When stormy head-winds blow.
We are the offspring of the shoal,
The hucksters of the sea;
From customs theft and pilot toll
Thank God that we are free.
Legging on and off the beach,
Drifting up the strait,
Fluking down the river reach,
Towing through the gate —
That's the way the Coaster goes,
Flirting with the gale :
Everywhere the tide flows,
Everywhere the wind blows,
From York to Beavertail.

Here and there to get a load,
Freighting anything ;
Running off with spanker stowed
Loafing wing-a-wing —
That's the way the Coaster goes,
Chumming with the land :
Everywhere the tide flows,
Everywhere the wind blows,
From Ray to Rio Grande.

[180]

OF NEW JERSEY

We split the swell where rings the bell
On many a shallow's edge,
We take our flight past many a light
That guards the deadly ledge ;
We greet Montauk across the foam,
We work the Vineyard Sound,
The Diamond sees us running home,
The Georges outward bound;
Absecom hears our canvas beat
When tacked off Brigantine;
We raise the Gulls with lifted sheet,
Pass wing-and-wing between.
Off Monomoy we fight the gale,
We drift off Sandy Key;
The watch of Fenwick sees our sail
Scud for Henlopen's lee.
With decks awash and canvas torn
We wallow up the Stream;
We drag dismasted, cargo borne,
And fright the ships of steam.
Death grips us with his frosty hands
In calm and hurricane ;
We spill our bones on fifty sands
From Mexico to Maine.
Cargo reef in main and fore,
Manned by half a crew,
Romping up the weather shore,
Edging down the Blue —
That's the way the Coaster goes,
Scouting with the lead :
Everywhere the tide flows,
Everywhere the wind blows,
From Cruz to Quoddy Head.
Thomas Fleming Day.

ON BARNEGAT SHOALS.
The wind blows east on Barnegat,
The wind blows east on Squan,"
As homeward bound sails the clipper ship,
As homeward bound from a Madras trip,
She bowls merrily on.

[1811

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The wind blows east on Barnegat,
The wind blows east on Squan,
After nine days of dead reckoning
Tall Barnegat light is beckoning,
She speeds joyously on.
The wind blows east on Barnegat,
The wind blows east on Squan,
The driving mists hide the light from view,
As swift toward death, with her hapless crew,
She sweeps heedlessly on.
The wind blows east on Barnegat,
The wind blows east on Squan,
The breakers crash on the treach'rous shoals:
Pray, women, for your loved ones' souls,
Into the breakers gone.
The wind blows east on Barnegat,
The wind blows east on Squan,
The winding mists blot the heavens out,
The clinging fogs shut the breakers out,
And ship and souls are gone.
The wind blows west on Barnegat,
The wind blows west on Squan,
The bright sun glints on the heaving sea,
The spray leaps up from the bar in glee,
But ship and souls are gone.
William H. Fischer.

PATROLING BARNEGAT.

From Leaves of Grass by permission of Horace Traubel;
copyright, 1891.
Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running,
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering,
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing,
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing,
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering,
On beachy slush and sand sprits of snow fierce slanting,
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting,
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing,
[182]

OF NEW JERSEY
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending,
Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting,
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering,
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting,
That savage trinity warily watching. Walt Whitman.

THE MEN OF THE JERSEY SHORE.
When th' angel bos'n pipes aloft from land an' sea their dead
From ev'ry corner of the earth they'll come with stalwart tread;
There ain't so many of 'em, but they've scattered far and wide,
You couldn't git beyond their reach no matter how you tried; —
Some are in Alaska, climbing Skaguay trail;
Some, south of Van Diemen's Land, chase theblubb'ry whale ;
Some, in far Samoa, watch the surf an' sand gleam white;
Some they fell in Cuba's isle, a-fightin' Freedom's fight: —
Ev'rywhere you'll find 'em, the wide world is their beat,
For they were born on the Jersey shore with the tickle in their feet.
It's good two hundred year an' more since they first started forth
To cover all this globe of ourn, west, east, an' south, an' north;
Not one of 'em has crawfished when once he's set his face,
For if he died along the way, his son stepped in his place.
Some they hail from Manasquan, an' some from old Cape
May,
Some look back to Navesink an' some to Barnegat Bay,
Manahawkin, Little Egg, Absecon, Tuckahoe, —
But their white sails dot the blue seas where'er the free
winds'blow.
They knew Sir Peter Warren an' they foller'd in his train;
They took a hand when the Buccaneers played hell with th'
Spanish Main;
They licked the corsairs of Algiers, scairt into fits the Dey;
An' they went down with the Essex in Valparaiso Bay —
Some they fou't with Washin'ton in Stirlin's Jersey Line;
Some with Scott in Mexico jest thought that scrimmage fine;
Some helped Grant at Vicksburg, marched with Sherman to
the sea;
Some at Appomattox saw the end of Gin'ral Lee. [183]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The sons are like the gran'sires, a most adventurous gang —
The most of 'em are born to drown, but nary a one to hang;
They don't talk much except in fun, they're grim yet jolly, too;
An' anything that can't be done, 's what they set out to do —
Some they preach the gospel to the heathen over sea ;
Some are trainin' Krags upon the "inner cent Chinee;"
Some are hikin' through Luzon a chasin' rebel bands;
Some patrol through night an' storm along the Jersey sands—
Ev'rywhere you'll find 'em, the wide world is their beat,
For they were born on the Jersey shore, -with the tickle in their feet.
William H . Fischer.

Sir Peter Warren, a commodore and afterward an admiral of the
British navy, assisted with the English fleet in the capture of Louisburg
from the French in 1745, and as a mark of honor was presented by the
city of New York with a farm of three hundred acres on Manhattan
Island.

TO THE DOG SANCHO.
An incident of the Pine Barrens, Monmouth County, N. J., 1778.
The world, my dear Sancho, is full of distress,
And you have your share, I allow and confess;
For twice with a musket and now a cutteau —
You had nearly gone off to dog-heaven below.
Was this your reward, to be slashed, to be cut,
For defending at midnight the door of a hut?
You had little to fight for, had little to win,
Yet you boldly held out, till the robbers broke in.
The blade which was meant the bold robber to face,
To guard a fair lady, or serve in the chase,
Was drenched in the blood of an innocent cur,
Who said in dog language, "What want you, good sir?"
Poor fellow, I pity your pitiful case!
In fact they have ruined the round of your face ;
And die when you will, be it early or late,
You will go to your grave with a scar on your pate.
If ever a dog be permitted to pass
Where folks I could mention have fixed on a place
[184]

OF NEW JERSEY
(But which, I suspect, they will hardly attain
While rights of pre-emption in Satan remain) ,
Good Sancho had merit to put in his plea
And claim with the claimants a portion in fee,
On the ground that in life he was one of the few
Who, in watching and barking, were trusty and true.
To warn us of danger, he ventured his beef,
And in his own lingo cried- "Robber and Thief!"
So now in return for the good he has done,
For the vigils he kept, and the battle he won,
I'll give him a verse with the great of his age,
And if he quite dies, he must die in my page;
And long may he live in despite of the mob
And the fools who his master, a poet, would rob!
Wherever I take up my evening retreat,
Dear Sancho, I'll have you to lie at my feet;
And whether at home or in regions remote,
For a bed, I'll allot you the skirt of a coat.
With my dog at my feet, and my gun at my head,
I am equally safe in a fort or a shed;
From a snap of his teeth and the shot of a gun,
Thrice happy the thief that is able to run!
Philip Freneau.

MONMOUTH TEN YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE.
'Tis good ten years since Mercer fell,
Borne down at Princeton's fight;
'Tis good ten years since hill and dell
With battle were alight;
The Hessians have gone back to smoke
Their long Dutch pipes at home ;
The sword of war is bent and broke,
And peaceful days have come.
Earl Moira, on his Irish land,
Forgets how Rawdon fought,
And Clinton dares not take a stand
To tell the deeds he wrought.

[185]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Old seventy-six has glided by,
And seventy-eight gone on,
And under freedom's happy sky
We till the fields we won.
The harvest waves on Monmouth ground,.
But I have seen the day
A bloodier harvest might be found
Stretched out in grim array;
When patriot men and hireling men
Lay quiet side by side,
With ghastly wounds by five and ten,
To tell how each had died.
Oh, friends! it was a bitter day
As e'er in summer came
To drive our cooling breeze away,
And stir our breath to flame.
Beneath our light and scanty dress
We bowed as it were steel —
The very sand like burning brass
Seemed all the day to feel.
The water springs were parched and dry,.
And dry the meadow greens;
The water that we carried by
Grew hot in our canteens.
Yet well we bore the scorching day
And bore the battle's brunt,
And not a soldier slunk away,
While brave men led our front.
But once we trembled — when we stood
Beneath the cannon's beat,
The foe rolled onward like a flood,
And Lee was in retreat.
But Burr dashed in beneath the shot,
And Washington came on
And bade our column waver not,
For yet the day was won.
Oh, friends, ye've seen the good old man,.
Whose glory was our pride,
Borne proudly onward in the van,
With triumph at his side.

[186]

OF NEW JERSEY

But nobler looked he on that day,
And prouder was his face,
As there he bid us wash away
In victory our disgrace.
Lee lives, a sad and broken man,
Because he dared, that day,
To speak hard words to Washington
As well, dear friends, he may:
For sad defeat had rested long
Upon old Monmouth's name,
Had Washington not curbed his wrong
And showed us all our shame.
We pressed them backward, foot by foot.
Still fighting like brave men,
Till long ere sunset we had put
The foe to rout again;
But warily did Clinton draw
His broken troops away,
And with two armies at nightfall
Upon the field we lay.
The evening wind came fresh and cool
Over the clover farms,
As all that night, so worn and dull,
We rested on our arms.
The fires were bright in Clinton's camp,
But long ere morning's dawn
His baggage train was on the tramp
And all his host was gone.
I ween he thinks of Monmouth ground
With less delight than we,
And seldom tells the check he found,
To those beyond the sea.
But never may the cannon sweep
Where sweeps the golden grain
And ne'er again an army sleep
Upon old Monmouth's plain. Henry Morford.

GLOUCESTER SPRING.
A Morning Invitation to Two Young Ladies.
Sequestered from the city's noise,
Its tumults and fantastic joys,

[187]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Fair nymphs and swains retire
Where Delaware's far-rolling tide
Majestic winds by Gloucester's side,
Whose shades new joys inspire.
There innocence and mirth resort,
And round its banks the graces sport —
Young love, delight, and joy;
Bright blushing health unlocks his springs,
Each grove around its fragrance flings
With sweets that never cloy.
Soon as out from the orient main
The sun ascends the etherial plain,
Be-pearling every lawn;
Wild warbling wood-notes float around,
While Echo doubles every sound
To hail the gladsome dawn.
Now Celia with thy Chloe, rise;
Ye fair, unlock those radiant eyes
Nor more the pillow press;
Now rise and taste the vernal bliss;
Romantic dreams and sleep dismiss;
New joys your sense shall bless.
Whether along the velvet green
Adorning all the sylvan scene,
The fair incline to stray
Where lofty trees o'er shade the wave
And Zephyrs leave their secret cave
Along the streams to play;
There lovely views the river crown, —
Woods, meadows, ships, yon spiry town
Where wit and beauty reign —
Where Chloe's and fair Celia's charms
Fill many a youth with love's alarms,
Sweet pleasure mixed with pain.
Or whether o'er the fields we trip
At yon salubrious fount to sip,
Immured in darksome shade,

[188]

OF NEW TERSEY

Around whose sides magnolias bloom
Whose silver blossoms deck the gloom
And scent the spicy glade;
These are Aurora's rural sweets —
Fresh dew-drops, flowers and green retreats,
Perfume, and balmy air.
Rise then and greet the new-born day!
Rise, fair ones, join the linnet's lay,
And Nature's pleasures share!
So shall gay health your cheeks adorn
With blushes sweeter than the morn
And fresh as early day;
And then that Gloucester is the place
To add to beauty's brightest grace,
The world around shall say.
Nathaniel Evans.

HANNAH LADD'S PASS.

This permit to pass through the picket lines of the American army
was issued to Mrs. Ladd in Gloucester county on July 1, 1777, by John
Cooper, counselor and patriot statesman.

The bearer, Mistress Hannah Ladd,
Neither very good nor bad,
Aged, as appears to me,
Not far short of thirty three,
With stockings tied below the knee,
Of complexion rather fair,
Flaxen coloured is her hair,
Her stature neither great nor small,
Her eye perhaps you'd hazel call,
A traveller from here to there,
And may be let go anywhere;
Has permission with her man,
Her horses and her carriage,
To travel all New Jersey o'er,
If well she pays her ferriage.

John Cooper. [189]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

BALLAD OF THE BRITISH SHIP DELIGHT.
'Twas on a day that long has passed,
A hundred years ago or more,
With England's flag a-top the mast,
A gallant vessel left her shore.
No peaceful trader on the seas
Was she ; her errand was to fight ;
Her cargo, soldiers armed for war,
The British privateer, Delight.
Across the sea her prow is set,
Nor winds nor waves her course delay,
Till, borne upon the morning tide,
She floats in triumph up the Bay.
The quiet village slept in peace;
Unwatching and unwarned, they thought;
And here all undefended lay
The harbor which their Captain sought.
Not so; they kept a constant watch,
They knew the threatening danger well,
And from the church tower, loud and clear,
Rang out the clangor of the bell.
They had no army to defend
Their homes and loved ones from the foe;
No forts, no cannon, to protect, —
But yield without a contest? No!
Untried, 'tis true, but not afraid,
For not one coward heart was there;
They knew that God and right were theirs,
And they were strong to do and dare.
Their need was great, but great their faith;
One power, one will inspired the whole;
And all were soldiers, — each possessed
His musket and his dauntless soul.
On swept the ship; from crowded deck
"King George and England" came the cry;
[190]

OF NEW JERSEY
'Our sturdy yeomen on the bank
"For God and Freedom" made reply.
Close to the land the vessel crept;
The order came to swing her 'round,
And bring her guns to bear on shore;
Too late! too late! the ship's a-ground!
All sails were set; aft rushed the men;
"Aft with the guns!" the Captain roared;
In vain they strove to move the ship;
They heaved the cannon overboard.
"Surrender!" cried the minute-men;
"We do" replied the helpless crew;
The luckless Captain struck his flag;
Naught else remained for him to do.

The children of those earnest men
Who made their stand for liberty
And those whose fathers served their king,
To-day clasp hands across the sea.
This day which Freedom claims her own,
Our glorious Nation's natal day,
We place on consecrated ground
This cannon found in yonder Bay.
Here where it speaks no more of war,
In peace and silence it shall rest ;
And in this mouth that belched forth death
The timid thrush may build her nest.
Lucy Weeks Trimble.

This ballad was read at Ocean City, N. J., on July 4, 1906, at the
unveiling of a cannon which had been presented to the New Jersey
Society, Daughters of the Revolution, by Messrs. Ellis and James Marshall,
which cannon had been a part of the equipment of the British privateer
Delight.
THE OLD STONE CHURCH.
Fairton, Cumberland County, N. J.
1780—1880.
Rev. Ethan Osbom was installed pastor of the Old Stone Church
at Fairton on December 3, 1789. He was at that time thirty-one years
[191]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

old; he preached there for fifty-five years, and was at the time of his
death in the one hundredth year of his age.
The stone building, completed in 1780, was used for worship until
1850 when a new edifice was erected near by.

The Old Stone Church, time-worn and gray,
Survives, though since its natal day
A hundred years have passed away, —
Still stands, while those who planned and reared
Its walls have long since disappeared,
A sacred shrine, beloved, revered,
With hallowed memories running o'er,
With visions of the times of yore,
Dear to each heart for evermore.
And with them comes the kindly face
Of one, whose life we fondly trace —
A Pastor, full of heavenly grace,
A youth when, in those distant days,
He led the flock in Wisdom's ways,
With words of love and prayer and praise
And still, through half a century
Of sweet devotion, lived to be
A Father in God's ministry ;
Till with the weight of years oppressed,
His mission closed, accepted, blest,
H e tranquilly lay down to rest.
And re-united now with those
Whom, gathered here, these graves enclose,
The Pastor and his flock repose.
But the archangel's trump shall sound,
And God himself rend every mound
Within this silent burial ground.
Then shall the dead awake, and be
Redeemed from death's deep mystery
To life and immortality.

[192]

OF NEW JERSEY

The fathers sleep ; but what they wrought,
The faith and love their lives have taught,
Survive the changes time has brought.
And cherished with their memory,
Prized as a precious legacy,
The Old Stone Church shall ever be.
Francis De Haes Janvier.

This poem was read in September, 1880, at the bi-centennial cele
bration of the Old Stone Church of Fairfield, N. J.
Rev. Ethan Osborn, the faithful pastor described in the poem,
was born Aug. 21, 1758. He graduated at Dartmouth college, enlisted
in the Continental Army at the age of eighteen, and was under the im
mediate direction of Gen. Washington during the retreat across the Jer-
sies in the times that tried men's souls. He was installed pastor of the
Old Stone Church, December 3, 1789, and resigned in 1844, after a pastor
ate of fifty-four years. He died May 1, 1858, in the one-hundredth year
of his age.

THE COUNTRY PRINTER.

Beside a stream that never yet ran dry
There stands a town, not high advanced in fame ;
Tho few its buildings raised to please the eye,
Still this proud title it may fairly claim;
A tavern (its first requisite) is there,
A mill, a black-smith's shop, a place of prayer.
Nay, more — a little market-house is seen
And iron hooks, where beef was never hung,
Nor pork, nor bacon, poultry fat or lean,
Pig's head, or sausage link, or bullock's tongue:
Look when you will, you see the vacant bench,
No butcher seated there, no country wench.
Great aims were his, who first contrived this town;
A market he would have — but humbled now,
Sighing, we see its fabric mouldering down,
That only serves, at night, to pen the cow:
And hence, by way of jest, it may be said
That beef is there, tho' never beef that's dead.

[193]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Abreast the inn, a tree before the door,
A Printing Office lifts its humble head
Where busy Type old journals doth explore
For news that is thro' all the village read;
Who, year from year (so cruel is his lot),
Is author, pressman, devil — and what not?
Fame says he is an odd and curious wight,
Fond to distraction of his native place ;
In sense, not very dull, nor very bright,
Yet shows some marks of humor in his face,
One who can pen an anecdote, complete,
Or plague the parson with the mackled sheet.
Three times a week, by nimble geldings drawn,
A stage arrives; but scarcely deigns to stop
Unless the driver, far in liquor gone,
Has made some business for the blacksmith shop:
Here comes this printer's harvest time of news,
Welcome alike from Christians, Turks or Jews.
Each passenger he eyes with curious glance,
And, if his phiz be mark'd of courteous kind,
To conversation, straight, he makes advance,
Hoping, from thence, some paragraph to find,
Some odd adventure, something new and rare,
To set the town agape, and make it stare.
All is not truth ('tis said) that travellers tell —
So much the better for this man of news ;
For hence, the country round, that knows him well,
Will, if he prints some lies, his lies excuse.
Earthquakes and battles ; shipwrecks, myriads slain
If false or true — alike to him are gain.
But if this motley tribe say nothing new,
Then many a lazy, longing look is cast
To watch the weary post-boy travelling through,
On horse's rump his budget buckled fast;
With letters, safe in leathern prison pent,
And, wet from press, full many a packet sent.
Not Argus with his fifty pair of eyes
Looked sharper for his prey than honest Type
Explores each package of alluring size,
Prepared to seize them with a nimble gripe,
[194]

OF NEW JERSEY
Did not the post-boy watch his goods, and swear
That village Type shall only have his share.
Ask you what matter fills his various page ?
A mere farrago 'tis of mingled things;
Whate'er is done on Madam Terra's stage
He to the knowledge of his townsmen brings;
One while, he tells of Monarchs run away;
And now, of witches drowned in Buzzard's Bay
Some miracles he makes, and some he steals;
Half Nature's works are giants in his eyes:
Much, very much, in wonderment he deals —
New Hampshire apples grown to pumpkin size,
Pumpkins almost as large as country inns,
And ladies bearing, each, — three lovely twins
He births and deaths with cold indifference views;
A paragraph from him is all they claim —
And here the rural squire, amongst the news,
Sees the fair record of some lordling's fame,
All that was good, minutely brought to light
All that was ill, — concealed from vulgar sight!
Source of the wisdom of the country round!
Again I turn to that poor, lonely shed,
(Where many an author all his fame has found) ,
And wretched proofs by candle-light are read,
Inverted letters, left the page to grace,
Colons deranged, and commas out of place.
Beneath this roof the Muses chose their home; — r
Sad was their choice, less-bookish ladies say;
Since from the blessed hour they deigned to come
One single cobweb was not brushed away: —
Fate only had pronounced this building's doom,
Ne'er to be vexed with boonder, brush or broom.
Here, full in view, the ink-bespangled press
Gives to the world its children with a groan,
Some born to live a month — a day — some less ;
Some, why they live at all, not clearly known,
All that are born must die — Type well knows that—
The almanack's his longest-living brat. [195]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Here lie the types, in curious order ranged,
Ready alike to imprint you prose or verse ;
Ready to speak (their order only changed)
Greek — Indian lingo, Dutch, or Highland erse;
These types have printed Erskine's Gospel Treat;
Tom Dursey's songs, and Bunyan's works complete.
But faded are their charms — their beauty fled!
No more their work your nicer eyes admire ;
Hence, from this press no worthy stuff is read;
But almanacks, and ballads for the Squire,
Dull paragraphs in homely language dress'd,
The peddler's bill, and sermons by request.
Here, doomed the fortune of the press to try,
From year to year poor Type his trade pursues —
With anxious care and circumspective eye
He dresses out his little sheet of news;
Now laughing at the world, now looking grave,
At once the Muse's midwife — and her slave.
In by-past years, perplext with vast designs,
In cities fair he strove to gain a seat ;
But, wandering to a wood of many pines,
In solitude he found his best retreat,
When sick of towns and sorrowful at heart,
He to those deserts brought his favorite art.
Thou, who art placed in some more favored spot,
Where spires ascend, and ships from every clime
Discharge their freights — despise not thou the lot
Of humble Type, who here has passed his prime;
At case and press has labored many a day,
But now, in years, is verging to decay.
He in his time the patriot of his town,
With press and pen attack'd the royal side,
Did what he could to pull their Lion down,
Clipp'd at his beard, and twitched his sacred hide,
Mimick'd his roarings, trod upon his toes,
Pelted young whelps, and tweaked the old one's nose.
Roused by his page, at church or courthouse read,
From depths of woods the willing rustics ran,
Now by a priest and now some deacon led,
With clubs and spits to guard the rights of man
[196]

OF NEW JERSEY
Lads from the spade, the pick-axe, or the plough,
Marching afar to fight Burgoyne or Howe.
Where are they now? — the Village asks with grief,
What were their toils, their conquests, or their gains? —
Perhaps they near some State-house beg relief,
Perhaps they sleep on Saratoga's plains;
Doom'd not to live, their country to reproach
For seven-years' pay transferred to Mammon's coach.
Ye Guardians of your country and her laws!
Since to the pen and press so much we owe,
Still bid them favor freedom's sacred cause;
From this pure source, let streams unsullied flow;
Hence, a new order grows on reason's plan,
And turns the fierce barbarian into man.
Child of the earth, of rude materials framed,
Man, always found a tyrant or a slave,
Fond to be honored, valued, rich tho famed,
Roves o'er the earth, and subjugates the wave:
Despots and kings this restless race may share, —
But knowledge only makes them worth your care!
Philip Freneau.

There is a large element of personal experience underlying this
lively and realistic description of the labors and trials of a country printer
just after the close of the Revolutionary war. It was a topic on which
Philip Freneau could write with minuteness and accuracy; for not only
had he been the editor of several city newspapers, but he had been the
proprietor, editor and printer of the New Jersey Chronicle, a newspaper
published at his own home in Monmouth county.

REVOLUTIONARY SCENES.

A century and more sheds its dim and mellow rays
Over Revolution scenes and the deeds of other days,
But let us part the drapery, enter into memory's halls,
And gaze with reverent spirit at the pictures on her walls.
There's the North Church steeple with the lanterns swinging to
and fro,
And the rider urging on his steed upon the road below: [197]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The hopes and fears that filled the soul of loyal Paul Revere
As he sped upon his errand ,were not voiced to mortal ear,
But as he passed the word to each terror-stricken band,
We can almost hear him saying: "God and my native land!"
There's the Hessian camp at Trenton, December 26th,
The soldiers idling listlessly — their arms in stacks are fixed;
Still lingering o'er their Christmas feast, without a single fear,
They little dream of anything but comfort and good cheer.
But the brave and gallant leader of the now disheartened band
Is already on the Delaware and so the time has planned
That the mercenary Hessians are surprised and put to rout:-
Then throughout the little army, courage takes the place
of doubt;
One thousand of the enemy yield, with cannon and with shot,
And the nation's fate is settled upon that very spot.
Another land and other scenes now come at Memory's call; —
Nobles and lords — a regal court; and grand among them all,
Plain Benjamin Franklin tells the heirs of luxury and ease
The story of his country's needs — the land across the seas.
They bend a listening ear to his projects and his plans
And the struggling little colony clasps the helping hand of France.
The suffering at Valley Forge, of the camp at Morristown;
The traitor's deed; the dark, dark days before the victor's
crown ; —
All come before our vision as we linger in the past,
And the names of martyred heroes crowd upon us thick and
fast.
Not all the noble men went forth upon the battle-field;
Some must remain the lands to till, the firesides to shield;
But when the Short Hills cannon resounds in thunderous
tones,
The fires are lit from hill to hill; then from their various
homes,
The Minute Men like swarms of bees assemble at their posts,
And in a trice the Morris hills are safe from hostile hosts.
Another silent army gave their husbands, brothers, sons,
To the service of their country, when they went to man the guns.
Were there no heroines in their ranks — no glorious matry-
dom?
Did they not suffer oftentimes a thousand deaths in one?
[198]

OF NEW JERSEY
Brave Molly Pitcher faltered not before the cannon's roar;
Ann Halsted donned coat, hat and gun and saved her father's
stores ;
Gay Baltimoreans celebrate their "Peggy Stewart's" day;
The matron of Elizabethtown unbidden went her way
To the Council Chamber where was broached the question of the
hour —
Submission to oppression and to a hostile power ;
Standing before her husband, with firm, unflinching heart,
She said: "If you submit, henceforth our ways do part."
In Morristown, the women through the country far and wide,
Ceased not to knit and spin from early morn till eventide,
And many a weary soldier, when he felt the hand of death,
Murmured blessings on their efforts with his last sad parting
breath.
The Revolutionary heroes have joined the shadowy throng,
But their lineal descendants still live to right the wrong,
To resist the hostile inroads of a grasping, foreign foe,
To uplift the fallen statue of Liberty laid low.
The handful of brave spirits, as the years have passed away,
Has become a mighty nation, and beneath its scepter's sway
Dwell in one common brotherhood all kindreds, tribes and
tongues —
The hordes of pent-up Europe, — the Greeks, the Slavs, the
Huns,
The Turk, the Celt, the Italian, the Spaniard, — all have come,
By thousands and ten thousands to join the general sum;
The Dark Continent and India, and China, too, are here
And each passes on his way, with none molesting, none to
fear.
Sons of the Revolution! What is your duty of the hour?
Would you maintain undimmed the prestige and the power
Of the heritage your fathers won in those dark and trying
days?
Then rouse up from your lethargy and fix your piercing gaze
On the mercenary throngs upon every side arrayed,
That would rob you of your birthright, and in the dust degraded
The principles for which they fought, for which they bled
and died,
And for which, in many a soldier's grave, they are lying side
by side! [199]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Let your Minute Men assemble! Relight your signal fires,
For the safety of your country and the honor of your sires!
Let the lantern be flung out from the North Church tower
again !
Gird on your rusty armor and quit yourselves like men!
When the eagle leaves his eyrie, on your next assembly day,
Let him bear aloft this message to those long since passed away:
That the dear old flag still floats and shall never cease to
wave ,
O'er a land where all are free and o'er homes where all are
brave. Sarah M. Davy.

Dedicated to the New Jersey Society, Sons of the American Revo
lution, and read at a meeting of the Society, December, 1892.

THE JERSEY BLUES.

Brave as the battle roll of drum,
Strong as the surf when tempests come,
Throbbed all the Jersey hearts of oak
When war upon the Jerseys broke;
At streams, by forest springs filled up,
Deep drinks the sea, and smites the shore;
Deep from the brimful bitter cup
The soil drank to the dregs of war.
Then North or South the red-coats came
And South and North they fled again;
The road the Blues fell back — the same
Way in pursuit they sped again.
At last — at last the land was free,
And safe once more the misty main,
And, like some soul to ectasy,
Rose the sweet Sabbath song again.
Clear flow the streams, which, red with blood.
Ran through the battle lines arrayed;
The cross-road's salient long withstood
The charge above the church graves made;
And quiet Quaker villages
Are scenes in this historic story,
And many a field of tillage is
Also a field of strife and glory.

[200]

OF NEW JERSEY

Thus from the waves was Jersey raised
A pathway to the promised land;
Thus shall she keep an epic phrased
On tablets of coagulate sand;
Her many bivouacs were dreams
Of deeds still told, then lately done,
And all her battlefields are gleams
Of victories for freedom won.
Sons of those sires! Ye soldiers who
Bound North and South in folds of blue!
Where, Aphrodite like, still laves
The sea-born State in lapsing waves,
Firm may the arch of Union rest
Forever on her fruitful breast;
For well wrought each artificer
Its ocean-dashed abutment here.
Isaac R. Penny packer.

THE BRITISH PRISON-SHIP.
In this poem Philip Freneau speaks from personal knowledge
and experience, for he had been a prisoner on two of these ships, the
Scorpion and the Hunter.
In the year 1780, Freneau enlisted on a vessel which sailed from
Philadelphia for the island of St. Eustatia in the West Indies, but he was
captured off the capes of Delaware bay on May 20th. He was taken to
New York and placed in the British prison-ship Scorpion. Here he took
sick with a fever and was transferred on June 1st to the Hunter, a hos
pital-ship (so-called) in Wallabout bay, Brooklyn, where he remained
until exchanged July 12, 1780. He retired immediately to his home at
Mount Pleasant, Monmouth county, N. J., where while still suffering from
the effects of his imprisonment, he wrote the following poem which, in
terms of bitter invective and fierce denunciation, voices the righteous
indignation of humanity at the hardships and cruelties wantonly in
flicted on American prisoners. Canto I. — The Capture.
Assist me, Clio! while in verse I tell
The dire misfortunes that a ship befell,
Which outward bound, to St. Eustatia's shore,
Death and disaster through the billows bore.
From Philadelphia's happy port she came;
(And there the builder planned her lofty frame,)
With wonderous skill, and excellence of art
He formed, disposed, and ordered every part, [201]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

With joy beheld the stately fabric rise
To a stout bulwark of stupendous size,
'Till launched at last, capacious of the freight,
He left her to the pilots, and her fate.
First, from her depths the tapering masts ascend,.
On whose tall bulk the transverse yards depend,
By shrouds and stays secured from side to side
Trees grew on trees, suspended o'er the tide:
Firm to the yards extended, broad and vast,
They hung the sails, susceptive of the blast;
Far o'er the prow the lengthy bowsprit lay,
Supporting on the extreme the taut fore-stay,
Twice ten six-po'unders, at their port holes placed
And ranged in rows, stood hostile in the waist:
Thus all prepared, impatient for the seas,
She left her station with an adverse breeze,
This her first outset from her native shore,
To seas a stranger, and untried before.
From the fine radiance that his glories spread,
Ere from the east gay Phoebus lifts his head,
From the bright morn, a kindred name she won,
Aurora called, the daughter of the sun,
Whose form, projecting, the broad prow displays,
Far glittering o'er the wave, a mimic blaze.
The gay ship now, in all her pomp and pride,
With sails expanded, flew along the tide;
'Twas thy deep stream, O Delaware, that bore
This pile intended for a southern shore,
Bound to those isles where endless summer reigns,
Fair fruits, gay blossoms, and enamelled plains;
Where sloping lawns the roving swain invite;
And the cool morn succeeds the breezy night,
Where each glad day a heaven unclouded brings
And sky-topt mountains teem with golden springs.
From Cape Henlopen, urged by favoring gales,
When morn emerged, we sea-ward spread our sails,,
Then, east-south-east, explored the briny way,
Close to the wind, departing from the bay;
No longer seen the hoarse resounding strand,
With hearts elate we hurried from the land,
[202]

OF NEW JERSEY
Escaped the dangers of that shelving ground
To sailors fatal, and for wrecks renowned.
The gale increases as we plow the main,
Now scarce the hills their sky-blue mist retain:
At last they sink beneath the rolling wave
That seems their summits, as they sink, to lave.
Abaft the beam the freshening breezes play,
No mists advancing to deform the day,
No tempests rising o'er the splendid scene,
A sea unruffled, and a heaven serene.
Now Sol's bright lamp, the heaven-born source of light,
Had passed the line of his meridian height,
And westward hung — retreating from the view
Shores disappeared, and every hill withdrew,
When, still suspicious of some neighboring foe,
Aloft the Master bade a seaman go,
To mark if, from the mast's aspiring height,
Through all the round, a vessel came in sight.
Too soon the seaman's glance extending wide
Far distant in the east a ship espied,
Her lofty masts stood bending to the gale,
Close to the wind was braced each shivering sail ;
Next from the deck we saw the approaching foe,
Her spangled bottom seemed in flames to glow
When to the winds she bowed in dreadful haste
And her lee-guns lay deluged in the waist;
From her top-gallant waved an English Jack; —
With all her might she strove to gain our tack,
Nor strove in vain — with pride and power elate,
Winged on by winds, she drove us to our fate,
No stop, no stay her bloody crew intends,
(So flies a comet with its host of fiends)
Nor oaths, nor prayers arrest her swift career,
Death in her front, and ruin in her rear.
Struck at the sight, the master gave command
To change our course, and steer toward the land —
Straight to the task the ready sailors run,
And while the word was uttered, half was done;
As, from the south, the fiercer breezes rise
Swift from her foe alarmed Aurora flies, [203]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

With every sail extended to the wind
She fled the unequal foe that chaced behind. —
Along her decks, disposed in close array,
Each at its port, the grim artillery lay,
Soon on the foe with brazen throat to roar;
But, small their size, and narrow was their bore;
Yet, faithful, they their destined station keep
To guard the barque that wafts them o'er the deep,
Who now must bend to steer a homeward course
And trust her swiftness rather than her force,
Unfit to combat with a powerful foe;
Her decks too open, and her waist too low.
While o'er the wave, with foaming prow, she flies,
Once more emerging, distant landscapes rise;
High in the air the starry streamer plays,
And every sail its various tribute pays;
To gain the land, we bore the weighty blast ;
And now the wished-f or cape appeared at last ;
But the vext foe, impatient of delay,
Prepared for ruin, pressed upon his prey ;
Near, and more near, in awful grandeur came
The frigate Iris, not unknown to fame;
Iris her name, but Hancock once she bore,
Framed and completed on New Albion's shore,
By Manly lost, the swiftest of the train
That fly with wings of canvas o'er the main.
Then, while for combat some with zeal prepare,
Thus to the heavens the Boatswain sent his prayer:
"List, all ye powers that, rule the skies and seas!
Shower down perdition on such thieves as these,
Winds, daunt their hearts with terror and dismay,
And sprinkle on their powder salt-sea spray!
May bursting cannon, while his aim he tries,
Distract the gunner, and confound his eyes —
The chief that awes the quarter-deck, may he
Tripped from his stand, be tumbled in the sea.
May they who rule the round-top's giddy height
Be canted headlong to perpetual night;
May fiends torment them on a leeward coast,
And help forsake them when they want it most —
From their wheeled engines torn be every gun —
And now, to sum up every curse in one,
[204]

OF NEW JERSEY
May latent flames, to save us, intervene,
And hell- ward drive them from their magazine!"
The Frigate, now, had every sail unfurled,
And rushed tremendous o'er the watery world;
Thus fierce Pelides, eager to destroy,
Chased the proud Trojan to the gates of Troy —
Swift o'er the waves while, hostile, they pursue,
As swiftly from their fangs Aurora flew,
At length Henlopen's cape we gained once more,
And vainly strove to force the ship ashore;
Stern fate forbade the barren shore to gain;
Denial sad, and source of future pain!
For then the inspiring breezes ceased to blow,
Lost were they all, and smoothed the seas below;
By the broad cape becalmed, our lifeless sails
No longer swelled their bosoms to the gales ;
The ship, unable to pursue her way,
Tumbling about, at her own guidance lay,
No more the helm its wonted influence lends,
No oars assist us, and no breeze befriends;
Meantime the foe, advancing from the sea,
Ranged her black cannon, pointed on our lee,
Then up she luffed, and blazed her entrails dire,
Bearing destruction, terror, death, and fire.
Vext at our fate, we primed a piece, and then
Returned the shot, to shew them we were men.
Dull night at length her dusky pinions spread,
And every hope to escape the foe was fled,
Close to thy cape, Henlopen, though we pressed,
We could not gain thy desert, dreary breast;
Though ruined trees beshroud thy barren shore
With mounds of sand half hid, or covered o'er,
Though ruffian winds disturb thy summit bare,
Yet every hope and every wish was there:
In vain we sought to reach the joyless strand,
Fate stood between, and barred us from the land.
All dead becalmed, and helpless as we lay,
The ebbing current forced us back to sea,
While vengeful Iris, thirsting for our blood,
Flashed her red lightnings o'er the trembling flood;
At every flash a storm of ruin came
Till our shocked vessel shook through all her frame —

[205]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Mad for revenge, our breasts with fury glow
To wreck returns of vengeance on the foe;
Full at his hull our pointed guns we raised,
His hull resounded as the cannon blazed;
Through his broad sails while some a passage tore.
His sides re-echoed to the dreadful roar,
Alternate fires dispelled the shades of night
But how unequal was this daring fight!
Our stoutest guns threw but a six-pound ball,
Twelve pounders from the foe our sides did maul;
And, while no power to save him intervenes,
A bullet struck our captain of marines ;
Fierce, though he bid defiance to the foe,
He felt his death and ruin in the blow,
Headlong he fell, distracted with the wound,
The deck distained, and heart blood streaming round.
Another blast, as fatal in its aim,
Winged by destruction, through our rigging came,
And aimed aloft, to cripple in the fray,
Shrouds, stays, and braces tore at once away,
Sails, blocks, and oars in scattered fragments fly —
Their softest language was — submit, or die.
Repeated cries throughout the ship resound;
Now every bullet brought a different wound;
Twixt wind and water, one assailed the side:
Through this aperture rushed the briny tide —
'Twas then the Master trembled for his crew,
And bade thy shores, O Delaware, adieu! —
And must we yield to yon destructive ball,
And must our colors to these ruffians fall! —
They fall! — his thunders forced our strength to bend,
The lofty topsails, with their yards, descend,
And the proud foe, such leagues of ocean passed,
His wish completed in our woe at last.
Conveyed to York, we found, at length, too late
That Death was better than the prisoner's fate,
There doomed to famine, shackles, and despair,
Condemned to breathe a foul, infected air
In sickly hulks, devoted while we lay,
Successive funerals gloomed each dismal day —
But what on captives British rage can do,
Another Canto, friends, shall let you know.
[206]

OF NEW JERSEY

The Continental Congress at the beginning of the war authorized
the construction of a number of war-vessels. One of these ships, built
at Boston, Mass., and carrying 32 guns, was named the Hancock and
proved to be very swift ; but it was captured while cruising under Captain
Manly by the Rainbow, 44 guns, Captain Sir George Collier. The
British did not wish to have their prize known by its patriotic name
while in their service so they re-named it the Iris, the Latin word for
rainbow.

Canto II. — The Prison-Ships.
The various horrors of these hulks to tell,
These Prison Ships where pain and penance dwell,
Where death in tenfold vengeance holds his reign,
And injured ghosts, yet unavexiged, complain;
This be my task — ungenerous Britons, you
Conspire to murder whom you can't subdue.
That Britain's rage should dye our plains with gore,
And desolation spread through every shore,
None e'er could doubt, that her ambition knew, —
This was to rage and disappointment due ;
But that those legions whom our soil maintained,
Who first drew breath in this devoted land,
Like famished wolves, should on their country prey,
Assist its foes, and wrest our lives away,
This shocks belief — and bids our soil disown
Such knaves, subservient to a bankrupt throne.
By them the widow mourns her partner dead,
Her mangled sons to darksome prisons led,
By them — and hence my keenest sorrows rise,
My friend — companion — my Orestes dies —
Still for that loss must wretched I complain,
And sad Ophelia mourn her loss — in vain!
Ah! come that day when from this bleeding shore
Fate shall remove them, to return no more —
To scorched Bahama shall the traitors go
With grief, and rage, and unremitting woe,
On burning sands to walk their painful round,
And sigh through all the solitary ground,
Where no gay flower their haggard eyes shall see,
And find no shade — but from the cypress tree.
So much we suffered from the tribe I hate,
So near they shoved us to the brink of fate, [207]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

JERSEY, THE BRITISH PRISONSHIP
She was known as "Hell Afloat", and 11,000 Americans perished in her
of starvation and disease
From a drawing in the original manuscripts of Capt. Thomas
Dring, a prisoner in the Jersey; reproduced here from History of the
Arnold Tavern by courtesy of Mr. Philip H. Hoffman.

[208]

OF NEW JERSEY
When two long months in these dark hulks we lay
Barred down by night, and fainting all the day
In the fierce fervors of the solar beam,
Cooled by no breeze on Hudson's mountain-stream;
That not unsung these threescore days shall fall
To black oblivion that would cover all!
No masts or sails these crowded ships adorn,
Dismal to view, neglected and forlorn;
Here, mighty ills oppressed the imprisoned throng,
Dull were our slumbers, and our nights were long.
From morn to eve along the decks we lay
Scorched into fevers by the solar ray;
No friendly awning cast a welcome shade,
Once it was promised, and was never made;
No favors could these sons of death bestow,
'Twas endless vengeance and unceasing woe:
Immortal hatred does their breasts engage,
And this lost empire swells their souls with rage.
Two hulks on Hudson's stormy bosom lie,
Two, on the east, alarm the pitying eye —
There, the black Scorpion at her mooring rides,
There, Strombolo swings, yielding to the tides;
Here, bulky Jersey fills a larger space,
And Hunter, to all hospitals disgrace.
Thou, Scorpion, fatal to thy crowded throng,
Dire theme of horror and Plutonian song,
Requir'st my lay — thy sultry decks I know,
And all the torments that exist below!
The briny wave that Hudson's bosom fills
Drained through her bottom in a thousand rills:
Rotten and old, replete with sighs and groans,
Scarce on the waters she sustained her bones;
Here, doomed to toil, or founder in the tide,
At the moist pumps incessantly we plied,
Here, doomed to starve, like famished dogs, we tore
The scant allowance that our tyrants bore.
Remembrance shudders at this scene of fears —
Still in my view some tyrant chief appears,
Some base-born Hessian slave walks threatening by,
Some servile Scot, with murder in his eye,
Still haunts my sight, as vainly they bemoan
Rebellions managed so unlike their own! [209]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

O may we never feel the poignant pain
To live subjected to such fiends again,
Stewards and Mates, that hostile Britain bore,
Cut from the gallows on their native shore;
Their ghastly looks and vengeance-beaming eyes
Still to my view in dismal visions rise —
O may I ne'er review these dire abodes,
These piles for slaughter, floating on the floods, —
And you, that o'er the troubled ocean go,
Strike not your standards to this venomed foe,
Better the greedy wave should swallow all,
Better to meet the death-conducting ball,
Better to sleep on ocean's oozy bed,
At once destroyed and numbered with the dead,
Than thus to perish in the face of day
Where twice ten thousand deaths one death delay.
When to the ocean sinks the western sun,
And the scorched Tories fire their evening gun,
"Down, rebels, down!" the angry Scotchmen cry,
"Base dogs, descend, or by our broad swords die!"
Hail, dark abode! what can with thee compare-
Heat, sickness, famine, death, and stagnant air —
Pandora's box, from whence all mischiefs flew,
Here real found, torments mankind anew!
Swift from the guarded deck we rushed along,
And vainly sought repose, so great our throng;
Four hundred wretches here, denied all light,
In crowded mansions pass the infernal night,
Some for a bed their tattered vestments join,
And some on chests, and some on floors recline;
Shut from the blessings of the evening air
Pensive we lay with mingled corpses there,
Meagre and wan, and scorched with heat, below,
We looked like ghosts, ere death had made us so —
How could we else, where heat and hunger joined,
Thus to debase the body and the mind, —
Where cruel thirst the parching throat invades,
Dries up the man and fits him for the shades.
No waters laded from the bubbling spring
To these dire ships these little tyrants bring —
By plank and ponderous beams completely walled
In vain for water and in vain we called —

[210]

OF NEW JERSEY
No drop was granted to the midnight prayer,
To rebels in these regions of despair!
The loathsome cask a deadly dose contains,
Its poison circling through the languid veins;
"Here, generous Briton, generous, as you say,
To my parched tongue one cooling drop convey,
Hell has no mischief like a thirsty throat,
Nor one tormentor like your David Sproat."
Dull passed the hours, till from the East displayed
Sweet morn dispelled the horrors of the shade ;
On every side dire objects met the sight,
And pallid forms, and murders of the night, —
The dead were past their pain, the living groan,
Nor dare to hope another morn their own ;
But what to them is morn's delightful ray?
Sad and distressful as the close of day ;
O'er distant streams appears the dewy green,
And leafy trees on mountain tops are seen,
But they no groves nor grassy mountains tread,
Marked for a longer journey to the dead.
Black as the clouds that shade St. Kilda's shore,
Wild as the winds that round her mountains roar,
At every post some surly vagrant stands,
Culled from the English or the Hessian bands, —
Dispensing death triumphantly they stand,
Their musquets ready to obey command;
Wounds are their sport, as ruin is their aim ;
On their dark souls compassion has no claim,
And discord only can their spirits please:
Such were our tyrants here, and such were these.
Ingratitude! no curse like thee is found
Throughout this jarring world's tumultuous round,
Their hearts with malice to our country swell
Because, in former days, we used them well!
This pierces deep, too deeply wounds the breast;
We helped them naked, friendless, and distrest,
Received them, vagrants, with an open hand;
Bestowed them buildings, privilege, and land —
Behold the change! — when angry Britain rose,
These thankless tribes became our fiercest foes,
By them devoted, plundered, and accurst,
Stung by the serpents whom ourselves had nursed.

[211]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

But such a train of endless woes abound,
So many mischiefs in these hulks are found,
That on them all a poem to prolong
Would swell too far the horrors of our song —
Hunger and thirst, to work our woe, combine,
And moldy bread, and flesh of rotten swine ;
The mangled carcase, and the battered brain,
The doctor's poison, and the captain's cane,
The soldier's musquet, and the steward's debt,
The evening shackle and the noon-day threat.
That balm, destructive to the pangs of care,
Which Rome of old, nor Athens could prepare,
Which gains the day for many a modern chief
When cool reflection yields a faint relief,
That charm, whose virtue warms the world beside,
Was by these tyrants to our use denied;
While yet they deigned that healthsome balm to lade
The putrid water felt its powerful aid,
But when refused — to aggravate our pains —
Then fevers raged and reveled through our veins;
Throughout my frame I felt its deadly heat,
I felt my pulse with quicker motions beat;
A pallid hue o'er every face was spread,
Unusual pains attacked the fainting head;
No physic here, no doctor to assist,
With oaths they placed me on the sick man's list;
Twelve wr-etches more the same dark symptoms took,
And these were entered on the doctor's book;
The loathsome Hunter' was our destined place,
The Hunter to all hospitals disgrace;
With soldiers, sent to guard us on our road,
Joyful we left the Scorpion's dire abode;
Some tears we shed for the remaining crew,
Then cursed the hulk, and from her sides withdrew.

Canto III. — The Hospital Prison-Ship.
Now towards the Hunter's gloomy decks we came,
A slaughter-house, yet hospital in name;
For none came there, till ruined with their fees,
And half consumed, and dying of disease ; —
But when too near, with laboring oars we plied,
The Mate with curses drove us from the side;
[212]

OF NEW JERSEY
That wretch who, banished from the navy crew,
Grown old in blood, did here his trade renew,
His rancorous tongue, when on his charge let loose,
Uttered reproaches, scandal and, abuse,
Gave all to hell, who dared his king dieown,
And swore mankind were made for George alone.
A thousand times, to irritate our woe,
He wished us foundered in the gulf below;
A thousand times, he brandished high his stick,
And swore as often that we were not sick —
And yet so pale! — that we were thought by some
A freight of ghosts, from death's dominions come —
But calmed at length — for who can always rage,
Or the fierce war of boundless passion wage,
He pointed to the stairs that led below
To damps, disease, and varied shapes of woe
Down to the gloom we took our pensive way,
Along the decks the dying captives lay ;
Some struck with madness, some with scurvy pained,
But still of putrid fevers most complained!
On the hard floors these wasted objects laid,
There tossed and tumbled in the dismal shade,
There no soft voice their bitter fate bemoaned,
And death trode stately, while the victims groaned;
Of leaky decks I heard them long complain,
Drowned as they were in deluges of rain,
Denied the comforts of a dying bed,
And not a pillow to support the head —
How could they else but pine, and grieve, and sigh,
Detest a wretched life — and wish to die.
Scarce had I mingled with this dismal band
When a thin victim seized me by the hand —
"And art thou come," (death heavy on his eyes)
"And art thou come to these abodes," — (he cries) ;
"Why didst thou leave the Scorpion's dark retreat
And hither haste, a surer death to meet?
Why didst thou leave thy damp infected cell?
If that was purgatory, this is hell —
We, too, grown weary of that horrid shade
Petitioned early for the doctor's aid;
His aid denied, more deadly symptoms came,
Weak, and yet weaker, glowed the vital flame ;
And when disease had worn us down so low
That few could tell if we were ghosts, or no,

[213]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

And all asserted death would be our fate —
Then to the doctor we were sent — too late.
Here wastes away Eurymedon the brave,
Here young Palemon finds a watery grave,
Here loved Alcander, now alas! no more,
Dies, far sequestered from his native shore;
He late, perhaps, too eager for the fray,
Chased the proud Briton o'er the watery way,
Till fortune, jealous, bade her clouds appear,
Turned hostile to his fame, and brought him here.
"Thus do our warriors, thus our heroes fall,
Imprisoned here, sure ruin meets them all,
Or, sent afar to Britain's barbarous shore,
There pine neglected, and return no more: —
Ah, rest in peace, each injured, parted shade,
By cruel hands in death's dark weeds arrayed.
The days to come shall to your memory raise
Piles on these shores, to spread thro' earth your praise.
From Brooklyn heights a Hessian doctor came,
Not great his skill, nor greater much his fame;
Fair Science never called the wretch her son,
And Art disdained the stupid man to own ; —
Can you admire that Science was so coy,
Or Art refused his genius to employ ? —
Do men with brutes an equal dullness share,
Or cuts yon groveling mole the midway air —
In polar worlds can Eden's blossoms blow,
Do trees of God in barren deserts grow?
Are loaded vines to Etna's summit known,
Or swells the peach beneath the frozen zone —
Yet still he put his genius to the rack
And, as you may suppose, was owned a quack.
He on his charge the healing work begun
With antimonial mixtures, by the tun,
Ten minutes was the time he deigned to stay,
The time of grace allotted once a day. —
He drenched us well with bitter draughts, 'tis true.
Nostrums from hell, and cortex from Peru —
Some with his pills he sent to Pluto's reign,
And some he blistered with his flies of Spain;
His Tartar doses walked their deadly round,
Till the lean patient at the potion frowned
[214]

OF NEW JERSEY

And swore that hemlock, death, or what you will,
Were nonsense to the drugs that stuffed his bill. —
On those refusing, he bestowed a kick,
Or menaced vengeance with his walking stick ; —
Here, uncontroled, he exercised his trade,
And grew experienced by the deaths he made.
By frequent blows we from his cane endured
He killed at least as many as he cured,
On our lost comrades built his future fame,
And scattered fate where'er his footsteps came.
Some did not bend, submissive to his skill,
And swore he mingled poison with his pill,
But I acquit him by a fair confession,
He was no Myrmidon — he was a Hessian —
Although a dunce, he had some sense of sin
Or else the Lord knows where we now had been ;
No doubt, in that far country sent to range
Where never prisoner meets with an exchange —
No sentries stand, to guard the midnight posts,
Nor seal down hatch-ways on a crowd of ghosts.
Knave though he was, yet candor must confess
Not chief Physician was this man of Hesse —
One master o'er the murdering tribe was placed,
By him the rest were honored or disgraced;
Once, and but once, by some strange fortune led
He came to see the dying and the dead —
He came — but anger so deformed his eye,
And such a falchion glittered on his thigh,
And such a gloom his visage darkened o'er
And two such pistols in his hands he bore!
That, by the gods! — with such a load of steel,
He came, we thought, to murder, not to heal —
Rage in his heart and mischief in his head,
He gloomed destruction ,and had smote us dead,
Had he so dared — but fear withheld his hand —
He came — blasphemed — and turned again to land.
From this poor vessel and her sickly crew
A British seaman all his titles drew,
Captain, esquire, commander, too, in chief,
And hence he gained his bread, and hence his beef,
But, sir, you might have searched creation round
And such another ruffian not have found —

[2 IS]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Though unprovoked, an angry face he bore,
All were astonished at the oaths he swore;
He swore, till every prisoner stood aghast,
And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast;
He wished us banished from the public light,
He wished us shrouded in perpetual night!
That were he king, no mercy would he show,
But drive all rebels to the world below;
That if we scoundrels did not scrub the decks
His staff should break our base rebellious necks ; —
He swore, besides, that should the ship take fire
We too must in the pitchy flames expire ;
And meant it so — this tyrant, I engage,
Had lost his life, to gratify his rage. —
If where he walked a murdered carcase lay,
Still dreadful was the language of the day —
He called us dogs ,and would have held us so,
But terror checked the mediated blow
Of vengeance, from our injured nation due
To him, and all the base unmanly crew.
Such food they sent, to make complete our woes,
It looked like carrion torn from hungry crows:
Such vermin vile on every joint were seen,
So black, corrupted, mortified and lean,
That once we tried to move our flinty chief,
And thus addressed him, holding up the beef:
"See, captain, see! what rotten bones we pick,
What kills the healthy cannot cure the sick:
Not dogs on such by Christian men are fed,
And see, good master, see, what lousy bread!"
"Your meat or bread" (this man of death replied)
' 'Tis not my care to manage or provide —
But this, base rebel dogs, I'd have you know,
That better than you merit we bestow:
Out of my sight!" — nor more he deigned to say
But whisked about, and frowning strode away.
Each day, at least six carcases we bore
And scratched them graves along the sandy shore.
By feeble hands the shallow graves were made,
No stone, memorial, o'er the corpses laid;
[216]

OF NEW JERSEY

In barren sands, and far from home, they lie,
No friend to shed a tear, when passing by ;
O'er the mean tombs the insulting Britons tread.
Spurn at the sand, and curse the rebel dead.
When to your arms these fatal islands fall,
(For first, or last, they must be conquered all)
Americans! to rites sepulchral just,
With gentlest footstep press this kindred dust,
And o'er the tombs, if tombs can then be found,
Place the green turf, and plant th" myrtle round.
These all in Freedom's sacred cause allied,
For Freedom ventured and for Freedom died.
To base subjection they were never broke,
They could not bend beneath a foreign yoke:
Had these survived, perhaps in thraldom held,
To serve the Britons they had been compelled —
Ungenerous deed! — can they the charge deny?
This to avoid how many chose to die.
Americans! a just resentment shew,
And glut revenge on this detested foe;
While the warm blood distends the glowing vein
Still shall resentment in your bosoms reign:
Can you forget the greedy Briton's ire,
Your fields in ruin, and your domes on fire,
No age, no sex, from lust and murder free,
And, black as night, the hell-born refugee!
Must York forever your best blood entomb,
And these gorged monsters triumph in our doom,
Who leave no art of cruelty untried; —
Such heavy vengeance, and such hellish pride!
Death has no charms — his realms dejected lie
In the dull climate of a clouded sky,
Death has no charms, except in British eyes,
See, armed for blood, the ambitious vultures rise,
See how they pant to stain the world with gore,
And millions murdered, still would murder more;
That selfish race, from all the world disjoined,
Perpetual discord spread among mankind,
Aim to extend their empire o'er the ball,
Subject, destroy, absorb, and conquer all;
As if the power that formed us did condemn
All other nations to be slaves to them —

[217]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Rouse from your sleep, and crush the invading band,.
Defeat, destroy, and sweep them from the land,
Allied like you, what madness to despair, —
Attack the ruffians while they linger there;
There Tryon sits, a tyrant all complete,
See Vaughan, there, with rude Knyphausen meet,.
And every wretch, whom honor should detest
There finds a home — and Arnold with the rest.
Ah! traitors, lost to every sense of shame,
Unjust supporters of a tyrant's claim;
Foes to the rights of freedom and of men,
Flushed with the blood of thousands you have slain,,
To the just doom the righteous heavens decree
We leave you toiling still in cruelty,
Or on dark plans in future herds to meet,
Plans formed in hell, and projects half complete:
The years approach that shall to ruin bring
Your lords, your chiefs, your desolating king,
Whose murderous acts shall stamp his name accursed,
And his last efforts more than damn the first.
Written in 1780. Philip Freneau.

During the long course of the war, the British took many prisoners..
In order to prevent escape or re-capture, they collected them on the lower-
end of Manhattan, that being their strongest base of operations. They
used the churches and sugar-houses in the vicinity of Liberty street
as prisons and confined therein the American soldiers, placing them in
charge of the notorious William Cunningham as Provost-Marshal. But
they kept the American sailors who fell into their hands imprisoned on
shipboard under the general charge of David Sproat as Commissary of
Naval Prisoners.
The oldest, leakiest vessels of the British navy, having been dis
mantled at Gravesend by the removal of spars and rigging and masts,
and refitted as prisonships, were towed up the East river and moored
in Wallabout bay (now the United States Navy Yard) about three-
quarters of a mile east of the Brooklyn bridge, a place safe from waves
and storm, readily accessible yet far enough away to prevent the spreading
of epidemic and pestilence to their own ships and camps, difficult for
escape and impossible for rescue.
This place became a place of martyrdom, for here, cooped within
these foul and loathsome hulks, died thousands of American patriots,
the victims of cruelty, exposure, neglect, disease and starvation.
The history of the sufferings on the British prisonships begins
October 20, 1776, the day on which the Whitby was moored in Wallabout
bay. The food, ventilation and other health conditions were intolerable ;
and the rows of the victims' graves in the sands of the nearby Brooklyn
shore lengthened so rapidly that the vessel was justly regarded as a float--
[218]

OF NEW JERSEY

ing pest-house. In the following May, she was replaced by two other
boats which were soon destroyed by fire under circumstances that gave
rise to the suspicion, probably well-grounded, that they were set on fire
by the prisoners themselves in their despair.
In April, 1778, the prison fleet included the Hunter, the Falmouth,
and the Good Hope; and among other ships afterward condemned and
assigned to this vile service were the John, formerly a transport, the
Perseverance and the Prince of Wales.
The Good Hope was burned in the early part of 1780; and in March
of that year two other vessels were fitted up for the reception of prisoners,
the Scorpion, a sometime sloop, and the Stromboli, a sometime fire-ship;
and seem to have been anchored for a time in the Hudson river off the
Battery. About this time, too, there was moored in Wallabout bay the
largest and most infamous of all the prison-ships, the Jersey.
These prison hulks, from first to last, included about fifteen vessels;
but five or six was the largest number stationed in Wallabout bay at any
one time. The Jersey had been a, ship-of-the-line of the fourth class, having
been rated as a sixty-gun vessel and manned by a crew of 400 sailors.
She was built in 1736 and had seen much service, having served in the
Mediterranean sea, among the West Indies and on the coast of Newfound
land, and been damaged in battle with the French off Brest. She had
once been under the command of Vice-Admiral Vernon. In 1776 she was
converted into a store-ship and was so used in New York harbor until
1780 when she was changed into a prison-ship. Her port holes were
closed; and four windows, each twenty inches square, were cut on the
side of each deck about ten feet apart and grated with iron bars, for ven
tilation. Each of her two decks was divided into two large compart
ments by a bulkhead; as thus arranged the vessel could hold about 1000
prisoners. She continued to be used as a prison-ship until the end of the war,
and well did she deserve her name of Hell Afloat. She was never removed
from her anchorage ; the worms destroyed her bottom and she sank
into the mud where her ribs could be seen at low tide for many years
thereafter. It is not the purpose of this note to describe the sufferings of the
American prisoners or to set forth the proofs of the inhuman treatment
to which they were subjected by their captors; but perhaps a brief account
of daily life in captivity on these prison-ships may prove of interest,
seeing that here thousands of Americans died the death of martyrs.
The crew of the Jersey consisted of a few officers and twelve
marines from the invalid list of the British fleet, who remained on the
vessel all the time. In addition to this permanent crew, the real force
that held the captives in subjection was a company of thirty soldiers
or marines who were changed every week. These did not mingle with
the prisoners but were stationed behind a barricade which had been built
across the fore part of the ship and was provided with loopholes through
which they could fire on the prisoners in case of insubordination or mutiny.
Sometimes these were Hessians, to these the prisoners were friendly;
sometimes they were English troops; to these the prisoners were in
different ; but when tories were sent on board as a guard, there was con
stant friction, an exchange of jeers, insults and curses.
Ordinary tasks about the ship were performed by a volunteer
working party of twenty American prisoners in charge of an American [219]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

officer known as the boatswain ; these were compensated for their services
by an extra allowance of food. These assisted the sick and disabled,
carried up the dead, hoisted the wood and water and provisions, and
washed the decks. Prisoners were required in turn to work under guard
in the well-room at pumping out the bilge-water that poured in through
the leaks, in order to keep the old hulks from sinking.
During the night all the prisoners remained between decks securely
fastened down, sleeping crowded side by side on the floor, or just above
those on the floor, in long rows of hammocks which were put up and taken
down daily. At sunrise the gratings were removed, and the guards cried,
"Turn out your dead. ' If the weather permitted, the prisoners went on
deck to breathe the fresh air, to take exercise which they did by marching
in platoons at word of command, to wash their clothing which they did
by spreading it on the deck, pouring sea-water over it and trampling on
it with their feet, and to while away the hours as best they could in spin
ning yarns, relating their adventures to each other, carving their names
on beams and planks, and throwing dice and playing cards.
If a prisoner had died during the night, his mess-mates sewed the
body in a sack, and it was carried up and placed on the gratings. Soon
the dead-boat was brought alongside, and volunteers were called for to
bury the dead. This was regarded as a privilege for it meant going on
shore for a short time. When the burial squad was ready, the bodies
were lowered over the rail into the dead-boat one at a time by a rope.
One morning after the dead had been brought up, the work was
delayed for a time by a sudden dash of rain. As the sacks were being
lowered, one of them was observed to stir. "Here is one alive," said
one of the burial squad. "Never mind," said the officer, "if he is not
dead he soon will be." The sack having been ripped open, the victim
enclosed was found to be alive; he recovered and lived a. long time after
the war. The boat was rowed to shore. Shovels were obtained from a
hut, also wheel barrows to convey the bodies to the trenches which were
hastily scooped in long rows on the beach. The graves were sometimes
so shallow that the corpses had to be bent over and trampled down; and
sometimes after a heavy rain, heads and arms could be seen protruding
from the sand.
The prisoners engaged in this work counted themselves happy
if they could on their way back pick up a, stick or two of driftwood
or gather a few handfuls of grass or pluck a stray flower.
Fresh water for use by the prisoners was brought in a boat under
guard from a spring on the east bank of Wallabout creek near the house
of Jeremiah Johnson who was serving in the Continental army. This
supply was limited especially at certain seasons of the year, and then
water was brought from Manhattan island; but even this failed at times
and then they had to use water which had been run into tanks into the
hold through leather hose and was now pumped up, offensive to the smell
and ropy. The men were not allowed free access to the drinking water; this
was kept in a tub guarded by the invalid marines, and was doled out to
the men with chained copper ladles as they marched up in line. Each
man after drinking as much as he wished was allowed to carry away with
him one pint of water daily.
All the prisoners were divided into squads of six, called messes;
each mess was designated by a number, and one of the six acted as a

[220]

OF NEW JERSEY

spokesman or leader. Biscuit and uncooked meat were distributed
at the steward's office daily, each leader as his number was called coming
up and receiving the allowance for his mess, which was pushed out through
an opening. The approved way of eating a biscuit was to keep tapping it
against the floor to rattle the worms out; and some of the biscuit had
been eaten out so hollow that they could be crushed in the hand, and a
little cloud of dust would rise up.
Under the forecastle there was a copper kettle eight feet square
embedded in brick-work where the chief cook and his scullions made all
the soup and boiled all the meat. This huge cauldron, called the Galley
or Great Copper, was divided into two compartments by a partition.
In one end pea soup was prepared and served out daily; in the other end
all the meat was cooked.
The meat distributed to each mess was wrapped up separately
and tied to a long string; a tally stick having on it a name or the number
of the mess was fastened to the other end of the string. At the ringing
of the cook's bell, hundreds of these parcels were thrown into the boiler
and left with the sticks hanging over the edge for identification. At the
next signal of the bell all the packages were taken from the boiler whether
done or not. This kettle was often coated with green rust.
Sometimes the cook would allow some of the prisoners to cook
their own meat which they did by driving a nail into the brick-work
and hanging thereon a little tin pail and heating the water by means
of a handful of fine shavings which they would bring already prepared
in their pockets. Their object in doing this was to avoid the green
rust of the copper kettle.
A Dutch woman in a market boat was wont to come alongside and
offer for sale small articles such as pipes and tobacco, needles and thread,
to any new captive who was so fortunate as to have succeeded in retaining
a little money. Sometimes too a little rye bread or fruit would be sent
on board by the Johnson family at the spring ; and then the starving men
would gather around the lucky possessor and watch him wistfully until
the last particle had disappeared. Letters written to friends at home
were sometimes secretly dropped on the beach or near the spring in the
hope that by some chance they might reach their destination.
Two hours before sundown, the prisoners were required to take
the bedding below. At sunset the guards cried, Down, rebels, down;
all went below and were fastened down by heavy gratings placed over
the hatchways. Each grating had a small trap-door in its center through
which during the night one person at a time was allowed to go on deck.
Occasionally in their despair some of the prisoners would make
attempts to escape. One way was to file the bars from the windows and
wait until some dark stormy night; then those who could swim would
back out of the window feet first, dive off as far as possible and crawl on
the mud for the shore. Guard boats were always on watch around the
ship and when the attempt was discovered, they would give chase and
try to shoot and spear the escaping swimmers.
Many instances of wanton cruelty were inflicted on helpless
American prisoners, but personal brutality is not the worst count in the
indictment which humanity draws against the British administration.
The ventilation was so poor that the air was poisonous and deadly.
The water supplied for drinking was always insufficient and often un
wholesome and foul. The biscuit was unfit for use; and the meat was
putrid when distributed and then poisoned in the cooking. [221]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The truth is that the British army was attended by a swarm of
speculators of high and low degree who lined their pockets by charging
their government for the largest and best while doling out to their victims
the least and worst, the difference being their margin of profit. That
is why there was death in the pot, not occasionally or by accident, but
systematically and deliberately.

CAPTAIN JONES'S INVITATION.
Thou who on some dark mountain's brow
Hast toiled thy life away till now,
And often from that rugged steep
Beheld the vast extended deep,
Come from thy forest, and with me
Learn what it is to go to sea.
There endless plains the eye surveys
As far from land the vessel strays;
No longer hill nor dale is seen,
The realms of death intrude between,
But fear no ill ; resolve with me
To share the dangers of the sea.
But look not there for verdant fields —
Far different prospects Neptune yields;
Green seas shall only greet the eye,
Those seas encircled by the sky,
Immense and deep — come then with me
And view the wonders of the sea.
Yet sometimes groves and meadows gay
Delight the seamen on their way;
From the deep seas that round us swell
With rocks the surges to repel
Some verdant isle, by waves embraced,
Swells, to adorn the wat'ry waste.
Though now this vast expanse appear
With glassy surface calm and clear;
Be not deceived — 'tis but a show,
For many a corpse is laid below —
Even Britain's lads — it can not be —
They were the masters of the sea!
Now combating upon the brine,
Where ships in flaming squadrons join,
[222]

OF NEW JERSEY
At every blast the brave expire
'Midst clouds of smoke and streams of fire;
But scorn all fear; advance with me —
'Tis but the custom of the sea.
Now we the peaceful wave divide,
On broken surges now we ride,
Now every eye dissolves with woe
As on some lee-ward coast we go —
Half lost, half buried in the main
Hope scarcely beams on life again.
Above us storms distract the sky,
Beneath us depths unfathomed lie,
Too near we see, a ghastly sight,
The realms of everlasting night,
A wat'ry tomb of ocean green
And only one frail plank between!
But winds must cease and storms decay,
Nor always lasts the gloomy day,
Again the skies are warm and clear,
Again soft zephyrs fan the air,
Again we find the long-lost shore,
The winds oppose our wish no more.
If thou hast courage to despise
The varying changes of the skies,
To disregard the ocean's rage,
Unmoved when hostile ships engage,
Come from thy forest, and with me
Learn what it is to go to sea. Philip Freneau.

John Paul Jones was born in Scotland in 1747. He came to
America and lived for a time at Fredericksburg, Va. At the outbreak
of the Revolution, his advice was sought by a committee of the Conti
nental Congress concerning the construction and equipment of war-
vessels. In 1775 he was commissioned a Captain in the United States navy,
and commanded in turn the Alfred, Providence, Ranger and Bon Homme
Richard. While in command of the last-named ship, he won his most
famous sea-fight off Flamboro Head on the eastern coast of England
on September 23, 1779, capturing the Serapis, a British ship, after a
desperate three hours' battle. He died at Paris in 1792 and was honored
with a public funeral by the French Assembly. His body was brought
home in 1906 and re-interred in the chapel of the United States Naval
Academy at Annapolis. ,[223]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

SIR HARRY'S INVITATION.
Those Americans who sympathized with Great Britain in her
efforts to subdue the colonies were known as Tories. Some Tories re
mained quietly at their homes awaiting the issue of events; others were
driven away by their patriotic neighbors, or left their homes of their
own accord and sought refuge within the British lines. Hundreds of
these Tories flocked into New York City. When their ready money was
exhausted for board and lodging, they enlisted in the British service
and were employed on the fortifications at low wages.
The words of Freneau's stinging satire are placed in the mouth
of Sir Henry Clinton, the commander-in-chief of the British army, and
are supposed to be addressed by him to the visiting Tories.

Come, gentlemen Tories, firm, loyal and true
Here are axes and shovels and something to do!
For the sake of our king,
Come, labor and sing;
You left all you had for his honor and glory ,
And he will remember the suffering tory ;
We have, it is true,
Some small work to do;
But here's for your pay
Twelve coppers a day,
And never regard what the rebels may say,
But throw off your jerkins and labor away.
To raise up the rampart, and pile up the wall,
To pull down old houses and dig the canal,
To build and destroy —
Be this your employ,
In the day time to work at our fortifications,
And steal in the night from the rebels your rations;
The king wants your aid,
Not empty parade;
Advance to your places,
Ye men of long faces,
Nor ponder too much on your former disgraces,
This year, I presume, will quite alter your cases.
Attend at the call of the fifer and drummer,
The French and the Rebels are coming next summer,
And forts we must build
Though Tories are killed —
Then courage, my jockies, and work for your king,
For if you are taken no doubt you will swing —
[224]

OF NEW JERSEY

If York we can hold
I'll have you enrolled;
And after you're dead
Your names shall be read
As who for their monarch both labored and bled,
And ventured their necks for their beef and their bread.
'Tis an honor to serve the bravest of nations,
And be left to be hanged in their capitulations —
Then scour up your mortars
And stand to your quarters,
'Tis nonsense for Tories in battle to run,
They never need fear sword, halberd or gun
Their hearts should not fail 'em,
No balls will assail 'em,
Forget your disgraces
And shorten your faces,
For 'tis true as the gospel, believe it or not,
Who are born to be hanged, will never be shot.
Philip Freneau.

THE NEW ROOF.
A Song for Federal Mechanics.
Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools,
Your saws and your axes, your hammers and rules ;
Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line,
And plenty of pins of American pine:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
Our government firm, and our citizens free.
Come, up with the plates, lay them firm on the wall,
Like the people at large, they're the ground work of all;
Examine them well, and see that they're sound,
Let no rotten part in our building be found:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
A government firm, and our citizens free.
Now lay up the girders, lay each in his place,
Between them the joists must divide all the space;
Like assemblymen, these should lie level along,
Like girders, our senate prove loyal and strong:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be
A government firm over citizens free. [225]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The rafters now frame, your king-posts and braces;
And drive your pins home to keep all in their places ;
Let wisdom and strength in the fabric combine,
And your pins be all made of American pine:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
A government firm over citizens free.
Our king-posts are judges; how upright they stand,
Supporting the braces, — the laws of the land —
The laws of the land, which divide right from wrong,
And strengthen the weak, by weak'ning the strong:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
Laws equal and just for a people that's free.
Up! up! with the rafters; each frame is a state;
How nobly they rise! their span, too, how great!
From the north to the south, o'er the whole they extend
And rest on the walls, whilst the walls they defend:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be
Combined in strength, yet as citizens free.
Now enter the purlins, and drive your pins through;
And see that your joints are drawn home and all true.
The purlins will bind all the rafters together:
The strength of the whole shall defy wind and weather:
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
United as states but as citizens free.
Come, raise up the turret, our glory and pride;
In the center it stands, o'er the whole to preside ;
The sons of Columbia shall view with delight
Its pillars and arches and towering height:
Our roof is now raised, and our song still shall be,
A federal head o'er a people that's free.
Huzza! my brave boys, our work is complete;
The world shall admire Columbia's seat;
Its strength against tempest and time shall be proof,
And thousands shall come to dwell under our roof: •
Whilst we drain the deep bowl, our toast still shall be
Our government firm, and our citizens free.
Francis Hopkinson.
[226]

OF NEW JERSEY

WELCOME TO WASHINGTON.
Sung in his presence at Trenton, April 21, 1789, by a choir
of virgins and matrons.
Air : See the Conquering Hero Comes.
If a book ever be written on the joys of the life of George Wash
ington, one of the chapters in that book will be devoted to an account of
his triumphal journey from Mount Vernon to New York city as President
elect. He was notified of his election on April 14, 1789; he left his home
on the second day thereafter, and on April 23rd he crossed from Eliza
bethtown to Manhattan.
His journey was a continuous ovation. As the presidential party
approached, men, women and children flocked to the roadside; towns
people lined the streets; local military organizations, horse and foot,
mustering in full force, advanced to meet him and then escorted him as a
guard of honor to the next town; cities greeted him with formal addresses
of welcome, and public banquets were given in his honor.
But the climax of the whole joyous procession was at Trenton,
where New Jersey gave him a most loyal welcome. The method and
manner of his reception was unique, but appropriate, graceful and tender.
But this was not General Washington's first visit to Trenton.
as all the world knows. He had crossed the Delaware twelve years before,
and how impressive were the contrasts.
When he made his famous crossing, it was night and bitterly
cold ; the Delaware was full of floating ice ; and he was turning in despair
against the insolent foe quartered in Trenton under the ill-starred Rail;
this time the river was rippling brightly in the April sunshine, and glad
hearts were awaiting his arrival.
When a week later he had stood behind Assunpink creek, he was
hemmed in by a superior force of grenadiers under Cornwallis who was
expecting to crush him in the morning; this time he advanced across
Assunpink bridge under a triumphal arch of evergreen and laurels and
was welcomed by youth and beauty with flowers and song. The top of the
arch bore this inscription, The Defender of the Mothers will be the Pro
tector of the Daughters
"At this bridge," says Washington Irving, "the matrons of the
city were assembled to pay him reverence; and as he passed under the
arch, a number of young girls, dressed in white and crowned with garlands,
strewed flowers before him singing an ode expressive of their love and
gratitude." As the choir began to sing, Washington checked his steed, un
covered his head and listened with deep emotion. The ode which they
sang had been written for the occasion by the Governor of New Jersey.

Choir : Welcome, mighty Chief, once more,
Welcome to this grateful shore;
Now no mercenary foe
Aims at thee the fatal blow,
Virgins : Aims at thee the fatal blow.
[227]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Virgins : Virgins fair
Matrons . and matrons grave,
Choir : These thy conquering arms did save,
Build for thee triumphal bowers;
Matrons : Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers,
Virgins : Strew our Hero's way with flowers.
Gov. Richard Howell

Washington was deeply affected and subsequently handed to Rev.
James Francis Armstrong the following note:
"Trenton, April 21st, 1789.
"General Washington cannot leave this place without expressing
his acknowledgment to the matrons and young ladies who received him
in so novel and graceful a manner, at the triumphal arch in Trenton,
for the exquisite sensation he experienced in that affecting moment.
"The astonishing contrast between his former and actual situation
at the spot, the elegant taste with which it was adorned for the present
occasion, and the innocent appearance of the white-robed choir, who met
him with a gratulatory song, have made such impressions upon his re
membrance as he assures them will never be effaced. G. Washington."

THE BOWER.

Epigrams on the States of the Union, July 4, 1789
On the 4th of July, 1789, there was an elegant bower erected in
front of the White Hall tavern in New Brunswick, N. J. It was made of
pine and cedar bushes. The front of the bower consisted of twelve hand
some arches, emblematical of the States which had then accepted the
new Constitution. The following epigrams were printed on cards and
placed over the arches of the States they were designed to represent:

New Hampshire.
Her active sons, a hardy race,
All friends to freedom will embrace.
Massachusetts.
Fell discord now no longer there is seen,
The Arts now flourish, all is now serene;
A potent friend her sister states doth know ;
The scourge of tyrants — Britain found her so.
Connecticut.
All useful arts throughout this state are spread,
And idleness ashamed to show her head.

[228]

OF NEW JERSEY

New York.
This state is honoured with the federal seat,
And anti-federals now must own they're beat.
New Jersey.
When Howe had fairly done his best,
He said this was a hornet's nest.
Pennsylvania.
This state in federal measures took the lead ;
In war's alarms, for war her sons decreed;
In times which tried men's souls, they firmly stood
And nobly sealed their freedom with their blood.
Maryland.
Proudly by mountain and bay she stands,
A grantor of rights but a claimer of lands.
Delaware.
This little state, when in the darkest hour,
Threw in her mite and did all in her power.
Virginia.
She can justly boast the birth
Of the greatest man on earth.
South Carolina.
Although by Britons over-run,
Yet they could not subdue;
For when they thought their task near done,
Then Greene made them look blue.
North Carolina.
This state in clouds of darkness lies,
Though in five months her sun will rise.
Georgia.
This feeble state, distressed by a savage band,
Her sister states should lend a helping hand.
Cap t. Moses Guest.
Fell discord. Insurgents in western Massachusetts, led by Daniel
Shays,5had tried to prevent the collection of debts. ,,-.,.
Federal seat. The first national congress met in New York city;
and in that city Washington took the oath of office as President of the
United States. [229]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

In clouds of darkness. North Carolina in 1788 had refused to
ratify the United States Constitution. Meanwhile the first ten amend
ments had been added to the constitution ; these were acceptable to
North Carolina, and there was no doubt that she would ratify the con
stitution at a convention which had been called to meet in November,
1789. Distressed by savage band. The Creek Indians who could muster
6000 warriors allied themselves with the British during the Revolution
ary war. After the treaty of peace, these Indians, incited by the Tories
who took refuge among them, continued to ravage the frontiers of
Georgia until 1790.
Rhode Island did not ratify the Constitution until May, 1790.

JERSEY BLUE.
A Song of the New Jersey Militia
Written at Bedford, Pa., 1794.
This song was New Jersey's patriotic response to the first call for
troops ever made by a President of the United States. It was written
in camp and sung on the march: it was written by a New Jersey Governor
commanding personally in the field, and sung by New Jersey troops while
marching to uphold the authority of National law. The New Jersey
militia had been mustered into the national service and were pushing west
ward over the mountains of Pennsylvania to suppress the Whiskey insur
rection. They had been worn out and exhausted by their long, tedious,
tiresome marches. This song was composed for the purpose of re-kind
ling their enthusiasm; and it accomplished that purpose by touching
exactly the right chord of the soldier's heart.

To arms once more our hero cries,
Sedition lives and order dies.
To peace and ease then bid adieu,
And dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue,
Dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue,
Jersey Blue, Jersey Blue,
And dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue.
Since proud ambition rears its head,
And murders rage, and discords spread,
To save from spoil the virtuous few,
Dash over the mountains, Jersey Blue.
Roused at the call, with magic sound
The drums and trumpets circle round ;
As soon the corps their route pursue, —
Dash over the mountains, Jersey Blue.
Unstained with crimes, unused to fear.
In deep array our youths appear

[230]

OF NEW JERSEY
And fly to crush the rebel crew,
Or die in the mountains, Jersey Blue.
Tho' tears bedew the maiden's cheeks,
And storms hang round the mountain peaks,
'Tis glory calls, to love adieu,
Then dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue.
Should foul misrule and party rage
With law and liberty engage,
Push home your steel, you'll soon review
Your native plains, brave Jersey Blue,
Jersey Blue, Jersey Blue,
And dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue.
Gov. Richard Howell.

To arms once more our hero cries. This allusion to George
Washington is very effective; as President of the United States he had
summoned the Jersey Blues to the field. By this reference to General
Washington, the poet very skillfully associates their present expedition
with the glory of the Revolutionary campaigns.
Sedition lives. Mass meetings had been held and resolutions
had been passed to defy the laws of Congress.
And murders rage. This expression is not justified by the facts;
the more hot-headed element among the discontented population ad
vocated open resistance, but the Whiskey Boys were not murderers.
To save from spoil the virtuous few. Some who saw the serious
turn which the agitation was assuming professed their readiness to obey
the law and pay the excise, but they were intimidated; their distilleries
were broken into by unknown persons and the equipments rendered use
less or destroyed.
Our youths appear. Most of the volunteers were young men
who had been boys during the Revolution and therefore unable to take
part in that struggle.
Push home your steel. Many arrests were made, but there was
no fighting. Jersey Blue. This term is synonymous with patriotism, fortitude
and courage. The expression Jersey Blue as applied to a Jerseyman
is of Revolutionary origin and dates from the year 1776. The British
garrison stationed at Newark by Lord Howe in November, 1776, as he was
pursuing the Americans across the Jerseys, committed so many outrages
on the inhabitants of Essex county that a company of volunteers was
organized under Captain Eliakim Littell in order to prevent and punish
their depredations. The patriotic ladies of the community furnished
these volunteers with frocks and trousers of tow, home-spun, home-made,
and dyed a bright blue.
The name of this distinctive Jersey uniform became in this
way associated with the most sacred memories of our State and has
ever since been proudly retained. [231]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

The Constitution of the United States went into operation with the
inauguration of Washington as President; and the first serious test to
which the Union was subjected was the outbreak known as the Whiskey
Insurrection. Congress in 1791 imposed an excise tax on distilled liquor. It is
admitted that this tax tell with great inequality on the different sections
of our country and with special hardship on the settlers of western Penn
sylvania. The difficulties of transportation prevented the farmers from
conveying their grain to the eastern markets; the only thing they could
do was to make it into whiskey, crowding the highest value into the least
weight, and then send the whiskey'over the mountains in kegs on pack-
horses. Moreover, the excise was payable in cash, and there was no'money
circulating in that isolated frontier community. So there were good
grounds for complaint and remonstrance, and violent resolutions passed
in mass-meeting under excitement might have been overlooked, but the
agitators finally crossed the line which separates legal opposition from
criminal resistance.
President Washington decided to enforce the national law, but
he showed great tact in making use of the militia instead of the standing
army. The insurgents were known as the Whiskey Boys and could prob
ably have mustered 7000 men. They posted placards signed by Tom the
Tinker, and in ridicule they nicknamed the visiting militia the Water-
Melon army. Washington called on four States to furnish a total of 15000 men.
Pennsylvania herself sustained the national cause and furnsihed her full
quota of militia under Gov. Mifflin. The Marylanders were commanded
by Gen. Samuel Smith and the Virginians by Gen. Daniel Morgan. The
Jersey Blues were led by Gov. Richard Howe. The Maryland and
Virginia regiments formed the left wing; and those from New Jersey and
Pennsylvania, the right wing. The whole expedition was placed under
the command of Gov. Henry Lee (Light-Horse Harry) of Virginia. It
will be noticed that all these officers had served in the Revolutionary
war. Starting from Trenton on September 22nd, the Jersey Blues
marched two hundred miles across the Blue Mountains and reached
Bedford on October 23rd; it was still one hundred miles to Pittsburg,
their destination, and just in front of them towered the highest peaks
of the Alleghany mountains. The rain drenched them every day and
the mud was ankle deep. There and then Gov. Howell composed this
song for his troops and they sang it with a will.

ODE TO NEW JERSEY.
The rolling wave is on thy shore,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
Aloft thine azured mountains soar,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
Hill-top and vale, low-lying plain,
Thy pines, thy streams with murmuring strain,
These ne'er will let thy beauty wane,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
[232]

OF NEW JERSEY

On fame's bright roll thy name is found,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
Thine every rood is hallowed ground,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
At Trenton and on Princeton's field
On Monmouth's plain, with valor steeled,
Thy sons their lives for freedom sealed,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
Minerva holds thee near her heart,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
Their gifts the sacred Nine impart,
Jersey land, my Jersey land!
Fair wisdom's sons thou lov'st to call
From wayside shrine or college hall;
Thine altar fires bid welcome all,
Jersey land, dear Jersey land! Anonymous.

OUR WHOLE COUNTRY.

By love of freedom led,
Our Pilgrim Fathers fled
Over the sea.
Here long they toiled and prayed,
Here deep foundations laid,
Here they a stronghold made
For Liberty.
For Liberty they fought,
And with their life-blood bought
Our native land;
Where now in peace we dwell,
Low grassy mounds still tell
Where many a hero fell
With sword in hand.
Led by that noble band,
Millions from every land
Have hither come
For some exalted end
Doth God his children send,
And here all nations blend
In our fair home. [233]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

* * * *
Nourished by Freedom, here
Shall a new race appear;
From many, one;
Beneath her ample shield,
Upon this wide-spread field
Shall ancient strifes be healed',.
New life begun.
Here will the Lord make plain
Things men have sought in vain.
Since time's first morn;
Called forth by Freedom's might,
Here first shall see the light
Vast powers for man and right,
As yet unborn. T* -f" *P "P
In the titanic struggle yet to be
When right and light and human liberty
With powers of greed and tyranny engage
In mortal combat, final war to wage —
A world-wide struggle comingon apace
In many a waking land and longing race-
My Country, do thou make a valiant fight,
And for the people's cause put forth thy might,
And may the Lord of Hosts who made thee free
Make thee, great Guardian of Liberty,
To lead the nations, marching in the van,
The fearless Champion of the Rights of Man
Henry Nehemiah Dodge.
Stanzas selected by permission from Christus Victor, copyright?.
1901, by Henry N. Dodge.

[2341

OF NEW JERSEY
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF AUTHORS.

Andre. — John Andre was born in London in 1751, served in the
British army with the rank of major, was the British agent in negotiating
treason with Benedict Arnold, was arrested as a spy at Tarrytown on
September 21, 1780, and was hanged at Tappan, N. Y, on October 2nd.
His remains were afterward removed to England and buried in West
minster Abbey.
Archer. — Henry Archer came from England to America in 1778
and joined the Continental Army as a volunteer. Critics declare that his
toast The Volunteer Boys for Old Jersey's Defense is the best convivial
song produced during the Revolutionary war.
We quote from the Pennsylvania Packet under date of October,
1778: "Philadelphia — Friday last, arrived in this city Henry Archer,
Esq. This young gentleman has been educated at a military school in
England where he owned a handsome fortune which he has lately sold in
order to embark as a volunteer in the American army."

Bevier. — Louis Bevier, Jr., A. M., Ph. D., is a descendant of Louis
Bevier, a Huguenot who settled in New York state in 1665 and was one
of the twelve patentees of the New Paltz Palatinate. He graduated from
Rutgers college in 1878, and then studied for three years at Johns Hop
kins. After traveling and studying in Europe, he became an instructor
in Modern Languages at Rutgers, and in 1893 was elected Professor of
Greek.

Branson. — Shortly after the close of the Revolution, a versified
epitome of the leading events of the war, consisting of twelve cantos and
entitled The Columbiad, was published by an author who signed himself
A New-Jersey Farmer. The brochure contains I-IV and 1-46 pages.
The authorship is attributed to John Branson, of Haddonfield, N. J.

Bridges. — Robert Bridges was born in Pennsylvania, and gradu
ated from Princeton in 1879. He is a journalist and litterateur of New
York City and formerly wrote under the penname of Droch.

Carleton — Will Carleton was born in Michigan in 1845 and graduat
ed at Hillsdale college in 1869. He is editor of the magazine Everywhere
published in Brooklyn. His poems are largely devoted to the humor and
pathos of American rural life. Betsy and I Are Out is probably his most
popular poem. The titles of his books are Farm Ballads, Farm Legends,
Centennial Rhymes, Farm Festivals and City Ballads.
Cloud. — Virginia Woodward Cloud, author of the Ballad of Sweet
P, was born at Baltimore, Md. She is a writer of stories, poems and
dramatic verse. Some of her poems were collected and published by
Richard G. Badger and Company, under the title A Reed by the River.
Collins. — A volume of poems on Irish themes was written by Wil
liam Collins and published in New York in 1875 under the title Ballads,
Songs and Poems. [235]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Cooper. — John Cooper was a prominent and influential patriot of
Gloucester county. He was born near Woodbury in 1729 and died in
that city in 1785 in a colonial mansion which he himself had built and
which is still standing nearly opposite the court-house.
In 1775 he became a member of the Gloucester county Committee
of Correspondence, a delegate to the New Jersey Provincial Congress, and
the Treasurer of West Jersey. At the first election held under the Con
stitution of 1776, he was chosen by the people of his county as a member
of the Legislative Council, that is, of the upper house of the Legislature
now called the State Senate.
In 1779 he joined Governor Livingston and seven others in the
relief of the New Jersey Brigade stationed at Elizabeth, by requesting the
Treasurer to furnish the troops with clothing, and guaranteeing the pay
ment of seven thousand pounds, should the legislature make no provision
for that purpose. The legislature finally did its duty, but the guarantee
showed that John Cooper was one of those who in darkest hours were
willing to sacrifice all in the cause of freedom. After the war he was
Presiding Judge of the Court of Common Pleas.
It was by virtue of his office as a member of the state legislature
that Mr. Cooper could issue passes that would be honored by the Jersey
militia. Mrs. Ladd, a rich Quakeress, whose maiden name had been Han
nah Mickle, was a widow, and at least sixty years old; but Mr. Cooper's
gallantry was equal to the occasion and so he describes her as a lady of
about thirty-three, such poetic license being under the circumstances
clearly justifiable.

Crane. — Rev. Oliver Crane, D. D., LL. D., a descendant of Jasper
Crane who was one of the founders of Newark, was born in 1822 at Mont
clair, N. J., and died in 1896. Having graduated at Yale in 1845, he
taught for one year in Girard's boarding-school at Bordentown, N. J.,
and there composed his poem The Delaware. Having studied theology
at Andover and at Union, he sailed in 1848 for Syria where he labored
as a missionary for five years. He returned on account of his wife's ill
health and engaged in regular pastoral work; but in 1860 he went again
to the foreign field and stayed three years. Coming home again he took
charge of a church at Carbondale, Pa., but resigned in 1869 and devoted
the remainder of his life to literary pursuits. He translated Virgil's
Aeneid into English dactylic hexameter.
He published in 1888 a collection of his verses in a volume entitled
Minto and Other Poems.

Davis. — John Davis was an Englishman. He was a novelist and
a translator of military histories. He became a confirmed traveler,
making his first voyage in 1787 to India and visiting the United States in
1798-1802. He soon came to America again and composed his Ode to the
Raritan during the winter of 1804-5 while visiting his friend Mr. George
at Raritan, near Somerville, N. J. He sent the Ode to England and it
was published in the London Review, May, 1806.

Davy. — Sarah M. Davy, daughter of Joseph Davy and a descend
ant of Ann Halstead of Revolutionary fame, was born at Newark, N. J.
She attended Antioch college when Horace Mann was president of that
[236]

OF NEW JERSEY
institution. Miss Davy has studied and practised stenography in office
and court -room; she has also studied law and has been admitted to the
bar.

Day. — Thomas Fleming Day is the son of Prof. Edward H. Day
of the Normal college, New York city. He was bom in Somersetshire,
England, in 1861 and came to the United States in 1868. He is a popular
writer on all yachting matters and since 1895 has been the editor of the
Rudder, a yachting monthly in New York city.
The Coasters is from his Songs of Sea and Sail.

Dodge. — Henry Nehemiah Dodge, A. M., Litt. D., is the son of Dr.
Joseph S. and Julia A. Dodge. He was bom in New York city, in 1843,
but has resided at Morristown, N. J., since 1870.
He attended Columbia College two years, and Hamilton College
one year; ill-health pre\*»ted his graduation, but later he traveled ex
tensively in Europe with Prof. Henry Drisler of Columbia College, study
ing Roman antiquities while in Italy. He graduated from the College
of Physicians and Surgeons in 1868, and from the Philadelphia Dental
College in 1869.
He is the author of two volumes of poetry: Christus Victor issued
in 1901 by G. P. Putnam's Sons, and the Mystery of the West issued by
Richard G. Badger.
His verses on Washington's Headquarters were read on February
22, 1895, before the Washington Association of New Jersey.

Drummond. — Sara King Wiley, daughter of William H. Wiley,
married Frederic L. Drummond. She resides at East Orange, N. J.
She is the author of Poems Lyric and Dramatic : Cromwell, a Play, pub
lished in 1900 by John Wiley and Sons.

English. — Thomas Dunn English, M. D., LL. D., was born at
Philadelphia in 1819; graduated in medicine from the University of Penn
sylvania in 1839, and settled at Fort Lee, Bergen county, N. J., in 1856,
but removed to Newark, N. J., in 1878, where he lived until his death on
April 2, 1902. He was a prolific writer of novels, plays and short stories,
and was widely known as the author of the ballad Ben Bolt. He wrote
two volumes of patriotic poems, American Ballads and The Boy's Book
of Battle Lyrics, both published by Harper and Brothers.
Dr. English served two terms in the New Jersey legislature and
two terms in Congress. He was a personal friend of Edgar Allan Poe,
Nathaniel P. Willis and George P. Morris. A volume of Dr. English's
Reminiscences has been prepared by Rev. Arthur H. Noll, Sewanee, Tenn.
The following extract seems to relate to the John Berry mentioned
in Dr. English's poem, Jack the Regular, and is taken from a letter written
on June 7, 1778, by Peter Wilson to Rev. Dirck Romeyn of New Barba
does, Bergen county, N. J.; which extract has been kindly furnished by
Miss Maud E. Johnson, of the library of the New Jersey State Historical
Society. Mr. Wilson, referring to the action of the New Jersey legislature,
says: "I have obtained a Resolution in favor of the Non-Commissioned
Officers & Privates who were concerned in taking John the Regular, for
[237]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

drawing 1000 dollars. Our Treasury is exhausted and our finances low,
or else they might have expected 3 times the sum; it is only an acknowledg
ment of their Zeal, Bravery & Activity."

Evans. — Rev. Nathaniel Evans lived at Haddonfield, N. J. His
poem Gloucester Spring was published in 1772 in a volume edited by
William Smith, and was reprinted in 1844 by Isaac Mickle in his Remi
niscences of Old Gloucester.
Numerous bubbling springs once existed within and near Glou
cester City and were severally known as the Mineral spring, the Indian
spring and so forth; but most of them have now been filled in. Hon.
John Redfield, a well-informed antiquarian, stated that the Gloucester
Spring celebrated in this poem was on the Harrison estate at the foot of
the hill on the south branch of Newton Creek.

Fischer. — William H. Fischer was born at Bass River, Burlington
county, N. J., in 1867, but has resided at Toms River since early boy
hood. He became part owner of the New Jersey Courier in 1891 and sole
owner and editor in 1896. He is fond of historical research and contribu
ted many chapters to the Cyclopedia of Biography of Ocean County.

Folsom. — Rev. Joseph Fulford Folsom is the pastor of a church in
Newark. He was born at Bloomfield, N. J., and is a descendant of John
Folsom, an early settler of Exeter, N. H. He is the recording secretary
of the New Jersey Historical Society, and writes occasional articles on
antiquarian and historical subjects.

Ford. — The verses On An Old Mirror, signed Y. F. and attached
to a looking-glass on exhibition in Washington's Headquarters at Morris
town, N. J., were written by Theodosia (Barlow) Ford, afterward of
Augusta, Georgia. Her husband, the Rev. Edward E. Ford, was bom
in the Washington Headquarters, and was a great grandson of the Col.
Jacob Ford, Jr., who built and owned that mansion.

Freneau. — Philip Freneau, of Monmouth county, New Jersey,
was the Poet of the American Revolution, a title which he richly deserves
not only on account of the quantity and high quality of his verse in gen
eral, but especially on account of the patriotic songs and satires with
which he aroused the zeal and cheered the hearts of his desponding coun
trymen. As a commencement exercise on graduating from Princeton in
1771 at the age of nineteen, he and a classmate composed and delivered
a dialogue in blank verse on The Rising Glory of America.
He came out strongly in favor of war and independence in some
satires which he wrote against the British as early as 1775.
Having spent a couple of years in the West Indies, he returned
and took up his pen again in behalf of the colonies during 1778 and 1779.
He was captured at sea in May, 1780, and confined for seven weeks in
the prison-hulks in New York harbor. This experience, which he de
scribed in The British Prisonships, aroused his indignation to a white
heat and he continued to be a sturdy British-hater during his long life.
He wrote poem after poem, all full of jeers and scorn and satire on King
George, and the British statesmen, generals, and editors, and the British
[238]

OF NEW JERSEY

•army and navy, and on all their doings; and especially did he pour out
his wrath on the tories.
No matter how dark things seemed or what disasters befell the
American cause, every poem of Freneau's was full of absolute confidence
in final victory. His words of cheer did much to encourage the Conti
nental soldiers in camp and field.
A few of his short poems such as The Wild Honeysuckle and The
Indian Burying-Ground, are gems and rank with the best in American
literature; but Freneau's greatest glory is that his verses expressed the
hopes and feelings of the American people during that great struggle
which resulted in our national independence.
After the war he became a warm personal friend and political
supporter of Thomas Jefferson. He was a newspaper editor both in
New York city and in Philadelphia; and he also published for one year
the New Jersey Chronicle at his own home in Monmouth county. When
not engaged in editorial duties, he turned his attention to commerce and
made many voyages to the West Indies, and at least one trip to Cal
cutta, India. Philip was the son of Pierre Freneau and the grandson of Andrew
Freneau, a Huguenot who came to America in 1707. He was born in
New York city January 2, 1752 (O. S.), and removed to Monmouth county
in 1762. He married Eleanor, daughter of Samuel Forman, and left four
daughters. Eleanor was a sister of Gen. Jonathan Forman and a cousin
of Gen. David Forman. Philip lived to be eighty years of age; he lost
his way one afternoon while crossing a swamp during a blinding snow
storm and froze to death December 18, 1832.

Fuller. — Howard Newton Fuller, author of On the Banks of the
Old Raritan, was born at New Baltimore, N. Y., in 1853, and graduated
from Rutgers college in 1874. He is the son of William A. and Lydia
(Swezey) Fuller, and a grandson of Jonathan Dickinson, the first Presi
dent of Princeton College. He is comptroller of the city of Albany, N. Y.,
a member of the Sons of the Revolution, and a Trustee of Rutgers College.

Gates. — Mary C. Bishop was the daughter of William S. Bishop
of Rochester, N. Y. In 1873 she married (at Orange, N. J., at the home
of her brother, Rev. George S. Bishop, D. D., then pastor of the Brick
Church) Merrill Edwards Gates, afterward President of Rutgers Col
lege, 1882-1890, and of Amherst College, 1890-1899.
Mrs. Gates began to write editorially for the Sunday School Times
while she resided at New Brunswick, N. J. Her poems appeared in many
of our best magazines and religious papers. She also published articles
upon literary, social and religious themes.
After Dr. Gates resigned the presidency of Amherst, save for a
year of foreign travel, they resided in Washington, D. C, where Mrs.
Gates died December 17, 1905. A volume of her verse and another of
her prose are being edited for publication.

Gilder. — Richard Watson Gilder, editor, poet and reformer, was
bom at Bordentown, N. J., He was associate editor of Scribner's Month
ly, and has been editor-in-chief of theCentury Magazine since 1881. [239]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Guest. — Moses Guest was born about 1765 at New Brunswick,
N. J. He served in the Middlesex militia, first as ensign and afterward
as captain. During Col. Simcoe's expedition in 1779, Guest with a de
tachment of thirty-five men who had assembled at the Landing bridge
was sent toward Millstone to ascertain the whereabouts of the raiders.
He had scarcely started before he learned that the British horsemen were
close at hand and riding toward him. The militia, firing from ambush,
killed Simcoe's horse and captured the Colonel himself. In 1817, Cap
tain Guest with his wife and four of his children went west in a wagon and
settled at Cincinnati, Ohio, where five years later he published his Poems
on Several Occasions to which he annexed a Journal describing some of
his travels.

Harte. — Bret Harte, who was born at Albany, N. Y., in 1839 and
died abroad in 1902, was a distinguished author of marked originality.
The scene of his historical novel Thankful Blossom is laid at Morristown
in 1779.

Herbert. — Henry William Herbert was born in London in 1807,
graduated at the University of Oxford , emigrated to New Jersey, taught
the classics at Newark in 1830, devoted himself to various kinds of liter
ary work, and died in 1858, having spent the last twelve years of his life
at the Cedars near Newark, N. J. He edited magazines, translated
French novels and wrote many historical works and semi-historical ro
mances; but his popularity rests mainly on his books on sporting and
game which were published under the penname of Frank Forrester by
the Orange Judd Company. He wrote a series of American Historical
Ballads; an elegant edition of which was edited by Morgan Herbert and
published in 1887.

Hopkinson. — Francis Hopkinson, of Bordentown, was one of the
New Jersey delegates to the Continental Congress and a Signer of the
Declaration of Independence. He was born in Philadelphia in 1737
and died there in 1791. In 1768 he married Ann Borden to whom he
had addressed two of his songs, To Delia and Delia, Pride of Borden's
Hill. After his marriage he removed to Bordentown. N. J., and made
that village his permanent home.
His political writings were very effective in creating a public senti
ment in favor of independence and in support of the war. His Battle of
the Kegs is said to have been worth a thousand men to the patriotic cause.
He threw his whole influence also in favor of the adoption of the Consti
tution of the United States; his song The New Roof should be read in this
connection. He became a Judge of Admiralty. He left a son Joseph
who in 1798 wrote the national song Hail Columbia.

How. — Henry Kollock How, whose father, the Rev. Samuel B.
How, was for many years pastor of the First Reformed church at New
Brunswick, N. J., was graduated from Rutgers College in 1842. Having
learned the drug business under the instruction of Mr. Charles D. Deshler,
he became an apothecary and kept a drug store, first at New Brunswick
and later at Trenton. In the course of a few years however, he gave up
the business and retired to his home at Franklin Park, N. T., where he
died in 1873.
[2401

PATRIOTIC POEMS

In 1856, he published The Battle of Trenton in a pamphlet of six
teen pages from the press of J. Terhune, 31 Albany street, a poem written
for the definite and express purpose of creating a public sentiment in sup
port of the proposition to erect a monument in commemoration of that
famous victory. Mr. How was also the author of A Tribute to Rutgers,
which he read at the one-hundredth anniversary of the founding of his
Alma Mater.

Howell. — Richard Howell was born at Newark, Del., in 1754 and
died at Trenton, N. J., in 1803. He lived in Cumberland county, N. J..
at the outbreak of the Revolution and was one of the forty men who dis
guised themselves as Indians and seized the tea which had been landed
from the GrayhoUnd and stored at Greenwich, and burned it in the streets.
After serving as captain in Col. William Maxwell's brigade, he re
signed from the army ; but he continued to serve his country in a far more
dangerous position, being employed by Gen. Washington in the secret
service. After the war, he practised law in Cumberland county. He
was Governor of New Jersey from 1792 to 1801, and during his adminis
tration he wrote two songs, both of which are included in this volume.
He wrote the Welcome to Washington which was sung in Trenton at the
triumphal arch erected in honor of the President-elect; and he wrote
the Jersey Blue while marching to suppress the Whisky Insurrection.

Hunter. — Eleanor A. Hunter was born at Goshen, Indiana. She
is a granddaughter of Rhoda Farrand, the heroine of the poem published
in this volume under that title. She has written a number of books pub
lished by the American Tract Society including Stories Told by u Doll,
Wiscasset Stories, Talks to Boys, Talks to Girls, and Children and the
Home.

Irving. — Washington Irving, the distinguished author, was a name
sake of the first President of the United States. His Life of George
Washington is regarded by many as the greatest biography of America's
greatest man. Cockloft Hall, an old mansion still standing at the corner
of Mount Pleasant avenue and Gouverneur street, was Irving's residence
during the time he resided in Newark, N. J.
Irving's poem, The Falls of the Passaic, is based on a legend con
cerning the origin of the Falls which was current among the Indians.

Janvier. — Francis DeHaes Janvier wrote The Old Stone Church
for the celebration in 1880 of the bi-centennial anniversary of the church
at Fairfield, Cumberland county, N. J.
A volume of Mr. Janvier's poems relating to the Civil War was
published by J. B. Lippincott and Company, in 1866, under the title of
Patriotic Poems.
Kinney. — Elizabeth Clementine Dodge was the daughter of David
L Dodge, and a, sister of William E. Dodge, the philanthropist. She,
was bom in New York City in 1810, and died at Summit, N. J., in 1889.
In 1830 she married Major Edmund Burke Stedman. The poet and
critic, Edmund Clarence Stedman, was their son. Mrs. Stedman after
ward' became the wife of William Bumet Kinney, proprietor of the
[2411

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Newark Daily Advertiser. Her work as a writer of prose and poetry has
been highly commended.
An edition of the collected Poems of Elizabeth C. Kinney was
published by Hurd and Houghton, New York, 1867. Her fine lyrical
poem Divident Hill was written at the suggestion of William A. White
head, the historian, and was printed in the Proceedings commemorative
of the Settlement of Newark, N. J ., May, 1866.

Livingston. — William Livingston was the first Governor of New
Jersey. His administration began in August, 1776, and continued until
his death in 1790, a period of nearly fourteen years. He made an excel
lent war-governor, bold, active and energetic. He was born in 1723,
graduated from Yale in 1741, and became prominent as an editor and a
lawyer in New York city. He removed to Elizabeth, N. J., and built
for himself a mansion still known as Liberty Hall. He was a member
of the First Continental Congress. His political writings against the
British and Tories were so aggressive and bitter that he became to them
an object of special enmity.
William Livingston in the year 1747 at the age of twenty-four
had written and published a poem of about seven hundred lines entitled
Philosophic Solitude, or The Choice of a Rural Life. In taking up the
poet's pen again in 1778 after an interval of thirty-one years, he alludes
in the opening paragraph of To His Excellency General Washington to
the poetry written by him in his earler days.

Moore. — Captain James Moore of Princeton was a tanner and
currier by trade and lived on the street which still bears his name. He
was a Ruling Elder in the church from 1807 until his death on November
29, 1832, at the age of eighty years. He was an active patriot during the
Revolution. At the battle of Princeton, when the British grenadiers
sought refuge in the college building, Captain Moore, aided by a few of
his men, burst open the door and called on them to surrender, which they
instantly did. His grave in the Princeton cemetery is marked by a
monument. The original manuscript of The Jersey-man's Resolve, in Captain
Moore's handwriting, is still extant.

Morford. — Henry Morford was born at New Monmouth, N. J.,
in 1823, and died in 1881. He was the founder and editor of the New
Jersey Standard, a newspaper published at Matawan in Monmouth
county. In 1859 he published a collection of his poems under the title
Rhymes of Twenty Years. His prose works include one book of humor,
two books of travel, and seven novels. Another collection of his verse,'
Rhymes of an Editor, appeared in 1873 ; and best of all, in the centennial
year at Philadelphia, appeared that delightful ballad of his, The Spur
of Monmouth; or Washington in Arms.

Orne — Caroline Frances Orne resided at Cambridge, Mass., and
published two volumes of poems, Sweet Auburn and Mount Auburn,
and Morning Songs of American Freedom. Her poem Washington at
Princeton was published in Graham's Magazine, February, 1856.
Palmer. — John Williamson Palmer, M. D., was born in Baltimore
Md., in 1826, and died there in 1906. He was an editor of the Century
[242]

OF NEW JERSEY
Dictionary and also of the Standard Dictionary. He was the author of
Old and New, Up and Down the Irrawaddi, and After His Kind. Among
his ballads, which are few in number, but high in merit, are For Charlie's
Sake, The Maryland Battalion, Stonewall Jackson's Way, The Fight at
San Jacinto, and Theodosia Burr; these have been gathered into a volume
published by the Funk and Wagnalls Company.
The Maryland Battalion was read at the unveiling of the monu
ment to Maryland's Four Hundred in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, on
August 27, 1895, but it was not written for that occasion.

Peck. — Rev. Harold Page Peck, the author of Old Nassau, was an
earnest and successful pastor and filled charges as follows: 1865-68 at
Beaver Dam, Wis.; 1869-70 at Marenquo, 111.; 1870-75 at Lincoln, Neb.;
1875-81 at Salem, Ore.; 1881-83 at Merced, Cal.; and then in Washing
ton territory where he died in 1884.

Pennypacker. — Isaac Rusling Pennypacker of Haddonfield, N. J.,
was born at Phoenixville, Pa. He served for a number of years on the
editorial staff of the Philadelphia Press and of the Philadelphia In
quirer. He has contributed literary reviews to the New York Nation,
and has published many historical papers, including a history of the
Old Tavern-House at Haddonfield. He is the author of the Life of Gen
eral Meade in the "Great Commanders" series issued by the Appletons,
and of Gettysburg and Other Poems. The ode Gettysburg was read at the
dedication of the Pennsylvania monuments erected upon that battle
field. The Jersey Blues was read before the Society of the Cincinnati
of New Jersey at Trenton, February 23, 1891.

Piatt. — Charles Davis Piatt, of Dover, N. J., was born at Eliza
beth and has always been a Jerseyman. He is of Revolutionary stock,
being a descendant of Deacon Joseph Davis of Bloomfield, N. J., and also
of Capt. James McClure of Philadelphia whose certificate of member
ship in the Society of the Cincinnati hangs in the Washington Head
quarters at Morristown.
He has celebrated in verse many of the historic events that oc
curred in his native state, which poems were published at Morristown,
N. J., in 1896, as Ballads of New Jersey in the Revolution. Every lib
rary should contain a. copy of Mr. Piatt's Ballads. In composing these,
he has purposely departed from the literary style now in vogue: in matter
he has kept very close to the original prose narratives; and in language
he has endeavored to use plain and simple forms of expression not inap
propriate to the life and times of that early period.
The New Jersey Society, S. A. R., appreciates Mr. Piatt's gener
osity in allowing seven of his poems to be included in the present col
lection.

Richards. — Laura Elizabeth Howe, daughter of Samuel Gridley
Howe, and his wife Julia Ward, married Mr. Henry Richards. They
reside at Gardiner, Me. Mrs. Richards is a very successful writer of
juvenile literature. She has published about forty books, including
Five Mice in a Mouse-Trap which appeared in 1880, Our Baby's Favorite,
Toto's Merry Winter, Captain January and Queen Hildegarde. She is
a frequent contributor to the St. Nicholas. [243]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Roche. — James Jeffrey Roche was born in Ireland in 1847 but
when a child was taken to Prince Edwards Island and there educated
at Charlottetown. He went to Boston, Mass., in 1866 and engaged in
commercial pursuits; but in 1890 he became editor of the Pilot. Among
his poetical works are Songs and Satires and Ballads of Blue Water;
among his prose works are The Fight of the Armstrong Privateer and
The Filibusters.

Sands. — Robert Charles Sands was born in 1799 and died at
Hoboken, N. J., in 1832. From 1824 to 1830 he was the editor successive
ly of three magazines in New York city. He was the author of two
metrical works, The Bridal of Vaumond, and Yamoyden, a Tale of th«
Wars of King Philip. His most important work was the Life and Corre
spondence of John Paul Jones published at New York in 1830. The
Writings of R. C. Sands in Prose and Verse, with a memoir by G. C. Ver-
planck, was published in two volumes in 1834.

Stedman. — Edmund Clarence Stedman was born at Hartford
Conn. He joined the class of 1853 at Yale. He is a distinguished
journalist, critic and poet. He resided for a time in Elizabeth, N. J.,
and there wrote Fuit Ilium. The title Fuit Ilium, "Ilium has been,"
meaning "Troy is a thing of the past," is taken from verse 325 in the second
book of Virgil's Aeneid.
Antiquarians may differ as to the identification of the colonial
mansion described; but the undertone of regret and indignation which
pervades the poem, tinged as it is with a stoical feeling of helplessness,
at the ruthless destruction of Revolutionary landmarks, finds a, lively
response in the heart of many a reader.

Trimble. — Lucy Raymond Weeks was born and educated in New
ark, N. J., in which city her paternal ancestors settled in 1665, coming
from the eastern coast of Massachusetts where the family landed in 1635.
She has been a facile writer from early girlhood and has occasionally
contributed verses and sketches to magazines and newspapers. She
married Mr. James M. Trimble, of Montclair, N. J.

Trumbull. — John Trumbull was born at Watertown, Conn., in
1750, and graduated at Yale in 1767 but studied there as a post-graduate
for three years. He studied law with Samuel Adams at Boston. He
began the practise of law at Hartford, Conn., in 1781. He became state
attorney and also served in the legislature. He became a Superior Court
Justice in 1801; after retiring from the bench in 1819 he removed to
Detroit, Mich., and resided with his married daughter until his death in
1831. His famous satirical poem McFingal did good service for the pat
riotic cause. It was first published in 1774; but it was enlarged and re
cast and published at Hartford, Conn., in 1782. It has passed through
more than thirty editions, Benjamin J. Lossing's, which appeared in
1860, being the best for general use.
This poet should not be confused with his kinsman bearing the
same name who was an artist.
[244]

PATRIOTIC POEMS

Van Dyke. — Rev. Henry Van Dyke was born at Germantown, Pa.
He graduated at Princeton in 1873 and at Princeton Seminary in 1877.
He has written many books on literary and religious subjects, and has
been Professor of English Literature at Princeton University since 1900.
Among his works are The Builders and Other Poems and The American
ism of George Washington.

Word.— Thomas Ward, M. D., son of General Thomas Ward,
was bom at Newark, N. J., in 1807 and died in 1873. He was educated
at Princeton and at Rutgers Medical college.
-4 Month of Freedom, a narrative poem describing one of his
vacation trips, was published by him anonymously in 1837, and from it
we have taken an extract relating to The Delaware River; a collection of
his verses was published at New York in 1842 by Wiley & Putnam, en
titled Passaic, a Group of Poems Touching that River : with Other Mus
ings, by Flaccus, from which we have taken two poems relating to the
Revolutionary war, The Martyr and The Retreat of Seventy-Six. At the
bi-centennial celebration of the founding of his native city, held in May,
1866, he read a Lyrical Poem on the Two Hundredth Anniversary of the
Settlement of Newark, from which we have selected a few lines and placed
them at the beginning of this book under the title of Our Gallant State.

Whitman. — Walt Whitman was bom on Long Island, N. Y., in
1819. He was a printer by trade. In his first attempts at poetry he
followed the long-established forms, but he soon devoted himself to a
style of marked originality. The first edition of Leaves of Grass appeared
in 1855. He has associated his name patriotically with the War for the
Union in two ways: first, by service for three years as a wound-dresser in
the hospitals about Washington city; and second, by writing two groups
of poems, Drum-Taps and Memories of President Lincoln, afterward in
cluded in the final edition of Leaves of Grass which was published in
1892. After the war, he was employed for seven or eight years as a clerk
in the government offices at Washington; but having been stricken with
paralysis in 1873, he removed to Camden, N. J., where he spent the re
mainder of his life.

Witherspoon. — Rev. John Witherspoon, a lineal descendant of
John Knox, was born in Scotland in 1722. He came to America in the
summer of 1768 and on the 17th of August was inaugurated President of
Princeton college. He espoused the cause of America openly and bold
ly. He was a member of the Constitutional convention of New Jersey in
1776. He was a Signer of the Declaration of Independence and he was
for six years one of the New Jersey delegates in the Continental Con
gress. "He was," says De Witt, "bold and influential as an agitator;
active with his pen and his voice; one of the foremost of the party of
action; not only ready for a declaration of independence but earnest
in his advocacy of it." He died at Princeton, N. J., in 1794.

[24S]

PATRIOTIC POEMS
INDEX TO AUTHORS.

ANDRE, MAJOR JOHN
The Cow Chace  101
ANONYMOUS Our Women  6
Washington's Victories in New Jersey (An Extract)  11
Battle of Trenton  20
The Jersey Road  54
Great News from the Jerseys  61
Sergeant Champe  116
A Visit to Washington's Headquarters, by D. A. W  137
An Old Mirror; by Y. F  138
Ode to New Jersey  232
ARCHER, HENRY
Volunteer Boys for Old Jersey's Defense  4
BEVIER, LOUIS, Jr.
Rutgers College Hymn  159
BRANSON, JOHN
Retreat of the British Army (An Extract)  66
BRIDGES, ROBERT
The Towers of Princeton  161
CARLETON, WILL
The Longest Battle  75
CLOUD, VIRGINIA WOODWARD
The Ballad of Sweet P  18
COLLINS, WILLIAM
Molly Maguire at Monmouth  80
COOPER, JOHN
Hannah Ladd's Pass  189
CRANE, OLIVER
Rock of the Passaic Falls  133
The Delaware  168
DAVIS, JOHN
Ode to the Raritan  158
DAVY, SARA M
Revolutionary Scenes  197
DAY, THOMAS FLEMING
The Coasters  179
D. A. W.
A Visit to Washington's Headquarters  137
DODGE, HENRY NEHEMIAH
Washington's Headquarters  142
Our Whole Country (An Extract)  233
DRUMMOND, SARA WILEY
Washington at Trenton  22
The Battle of Monmouth  72
EVANS, NATHANIEL
The Old Stone Church  18T
ENGLISH, THOMAS DUNN
Assunpink and Princeton  48
The Battle of Monmouth  67
The Raid on Ramapo  125
Jack the Regular  127

[246]

OF NEW JERSEY
INDEX TO AUTHORS.
FISCHER, WILLIAM H.
Captain Josh Huddy  >.  120
On Barnegat Shoals  181
The Men of the Jersey Shore  183
FOLSOM, JOSEPH FULFORD
The Ballad of Daniel Bray  15
Eagle Rock  135
FORRESTER, FRANK; see Henry W. Herbert.
FRENEAU, PHILIP
Neversink  178
To the Dog Sancho  184
The Country Printer  193
The British Prison-Ships  201
Captain Jones's Invitation  222
Sir Harry's Invitation  224
FULLER, HOWARD NEWTON
On the Banks of the Old Raritan  160
GATES, MARY C.
New Jersey  2
GILDER, RICHARD WATSON
Battle Monument  165
GUEST, CAPTAIN MOSES
Simcoe's Raid Up the Raritan Valley  93
Governor Paterson's Barge on the Raritan  157
The Bower  282
HARTE, BRET
Caldwell of Springfield  100
HERBERT, HENRY WILLIAM
The Surprize of Trenton  23
HOPKINSON, FRANCIS
Washington, A Toast  4
Room for America  60
The Beasts, the Birds and the Bat  64
To Delia  166
Delia, Pride of Borden's Hill  167
The Battle of the Kegs  173
New Roof  225
HOW, HENRY KOLLOCK
The Battle of Trenton  30
HOWELL, GOVERNOR RICHARD
Welcome to Washington  227
Jersey Blue  230
HUNTER, ELEANOR A.
Rhoda Farrand  148
IRVING, WASHINGTON
The Falls of the Passaic  132
JANVIER, FRANCIS DE HAES
The Old Stone Church  191
KINNEY, ELIZABETH CLEMENTINE
Divident Hill  152
LIVINGSTON, GOVERNOR WILLIAM
To his Excellency, General Washington  56
[247]

f ' &
PATRIOTIC POEMS
INDEX TO AUTHORS.

MOORE, CAPTAIN JAMES
The Jerseyman's Resolve  3
MORFORD, HENRY
The Spur of Monmouth  86
Monmouth Ten Years after the Battle  185
ORNE, CAROLINE F.
Washington at Princeton  53
PALMER, JOHN WILLIAMSON
The Maryland Battalion  12
PECK, HARLAN PAGE
Old Nassau  162
PENNYPACKER, ISAAC R.
The Jersey Blues  200
PLATT, CHARLES D.
Washington at Princeton  52
General Mercer at Princeton  56
Light-Horse Harry at Paulus Hook  91
Parson Caldwell at Springfield  98
The Washington Headquarters  139
A Call on Lady Washington  144
Fort Nonsense  145
Anna Kitchel's Protection  147
RICHARDS, LAURA ELIZABETH
Molly Pitcher  84
ROCHE, JAMES JEFFREY
Sergeant Molly  82
SANDS, ROBERT CHARLES 
Weehawken  122
STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE
Aaron Burr's Wooing  123
Fuit Ilium  154
TRIMBLE, LUCY WEEKS
Ballad of the British Ship Delight  190
TRUMBULL, JOHN
McFingal (An Extract)  89
VAN DYKE,. HENRY....
The Builders (An Extract)  163
WARD, THOMAS
Our Gallant State (An Extract)  1
The Retreat of Seventy-Six  37
The Martyr, Joesph Hedden, Jr  94
The Delaware River (An Extract)  169
WHITMAN, WALT
The Centenarian's Story.'  7
Fancies at Navesink  177
Patroling Barnegat  182
WILEY, SARA KING, see Drummond.
WITHERSPOON, JOHN
Go On Illustrious Chief  59
Y. F. An Old Mirror  138

[248]

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