The Poems of Philip Freneau, Volume II - The Original Classic Edition. Freneau Philip

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And some on chests, and some on floors recline;[30]

       Shut from the blessings of the evening air, Pensive we lay with mingled corpses there, Meagre and wan, and scorch'd with heat below,

       We loom'd like ghosts, ere death had made us so-- How could we else, where heat and hunger join'd 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 the British monsters bring-- By planks and ponderous beams completely wall'd In vain for water, and in vain, I call'd--

       No drop was granted to the midnight prayer, To Dives in these regions of despair!--

       The loathsome cask a deadly dose contains, Its poison circling through the languid veins; "Here, generous Britain, generous, as you say, "To my parch'd tongue one cooling drop convey, "Hell has no mischief like a thirsty throat,

       "Nor one tormentor like your David Sproat."[A] Dull flew the hours, till, from the East display'd, Sweet morn dispells the horrors of the shade; On every side dire objects meet the sight,

       And pallid forms, and murders of the night,[Pg 30] 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, Mark'd 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,

       Pick'd from the British or the Irish bands,

       Some slave from Hesse, some hangman's son at least

       Sold and transported, like his brother beast-- Some miscreant Tory, puff 'd with upstart pride, Led on by hell to take the royal side;

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       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 extended round, Their hearts with malice to our country swell Because in former days we us'd them well!-- This pierces deep, too deeply wounds the breast; We help'd them naked, friendless, and distrest, Receiv'd their vagrants with an open hand, Bestow'd them buildings, privilege, and land-- Behold the change!--when angry Britain rose, These thankless tribes became our fiercest foes, By them devoted, plunder'd, and accurst,

       Stung by the serpents whom ourselves had nurs'd.[Pg 31] 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 high the horrors of my song-- Hunger and thirst to work our woe combine, And mouldy bread, and flesh of rotten swine, The mangled carcase, and the batter'd 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 juice 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 deign'd that healthy juice to lade

       The putrid water felt its powerful aid;

       But when refus'd--to aggravate our pains-- Then fevers rag'd and revel'd 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 attack'd the fainting head, No physic here, no doctor to assist,

       My name was enter'd on the sick man's list;

       Twelve wretches more the same dark symptoms took, And these were enter'd on the doctor's book;

       The loathsome Hunter was our destin'd 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 curs'd the hulk, and from her sides withdrew.

       [A] Commissary of Prisoners at New-York.--Freneau's note. [Pg 32]

       Canto III.--The Hospital Prison Ship

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       Now tow'rd the Hunter's gloomy sides we came, A slaughter-house, yet hospital in name;[31]

       For none came there (to pass through all degrees)

       'Till half consum'd, and dying with disease;-- But when too near with labouring oars we ply'd, The Mate with curses drove us from the side; That wretch who, banish'd from the navy crew, Grown old in blood, did here his trade renew;

       His serpent's tongue, when on his charge let loose, Utter'd reproaches, scandal, and abuse,

       Gave all to hell who dar'd his king disown,

       And swore mankind were made for George alone: Ten thousand times, to irritate our woe,

       He wish'd us founder'd in the gulph below;

       Ten thousand times he brandish'd 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 calm'd at length--for who can always rage,

       Or the fierce war of endless passion wage,

       He pointed to the stairs that led below

       To damps, disease, and varied shapes of woe--[Pg 33] Down to the gloom I took my pensive way,

       Along the decks the dying captives lay;

       Some struck with madness, some with scurvy pain'd, But still of putrid fevers most complain'd!

       On the hard floors these wasted objects laid, There toss'd and tumbled in the dismal shade, There no soft voice their bitter fate bemoan'd,

       And Death strode stately, while the victims groan'd; Of leaky decks I heard them long complain, Drown'd as they were in deluges of rain,

       Deny'd 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 spectre seiz'd 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

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