Through mutual share of sunburst and of gloom,

The common faith that made us what we are.

That lifted blade transformed our jangling clans,

Till then provincial, to Americans,
And made a unity of wildering plans;

Here was the doom fixed; here is marked the date

When this New World awoke to man's estate, Burnt its last ship and ceased to look behind: Nor thoughtless was the choice; no love or hate

Could from its poise move that deliberate mind,

Weighing between too early and too late
Those pitfalls of the man refused by Fate:
His was the impartial vision of the great
Who see not as they wish, but as they find.
He saw the dangers of defeat, nor less
The incomputable perils of success;
The sacred past thrown by, an empty rind;
The future, cloud-land, snare of prophets
blind;

The waste of war, the ignominy of peace;
On either hand a sullen rear of woes,
Whose garnered lightnings none could guess,
Piling its thunder-heads and muttering
"Cease!"

Yet drew not back his hand, but gravely chose The seeming-desperate task whence our new nation rose.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Tory balladists found rich material for their rhymes in the undisciplined and motley army of which Washington was the head, but, strangely enough, the commander himself was the object of very few attacks of this kind. The following is almost the only one which has survived.

THE TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE

[July 3, 1775]

WHEN Congress sent great Washington
All clothed in power and breeches,
To meet old Britain's warlike sons
And make some rebel speeches;

"T was then he took his gloomy way Astride his dapple donkeys,

And travelled well, both night and day, Until he reach'd the Yankees.

Away from camp, 'bout three miles off,
From Lily he dismounted,
His sergeant brush'd his sun-burnt wig
While he the specie counted.

All prinkèd up in full bag-wig;
The shaking notwithstanding,
In leathers tight, oh! glorious sight!
He reach'd the Yankee landing.

The women ran, the darkeys too; And all the bells, they tolled; For Britain's sons, by Doodle doo, We're sure to be consoled.

Old mother Hancock with a pan All crowded full of butter, Unto the lovely Georgius ran, And added to the splutter.

Says she, "Our brindle has just calved,
And John is wondrous happy.
He sent this present to you, dear,

As you're the country's papa.'

"You'll butter bread and bread butter, But do not butt your speeches. You'll butter bread and bread butter, But do not grease your breeches."

Full many a child went into camp,

All dressed in homespun kersey, To see the greatest rebel scamp

That ever cross'd o'er Jersey.

The rebel clowns, oh! what a sight!
Too awkward was their figure.
"T was yonder stood a pious wight,
And here and there a nigger.

Upon a stump he placed (himself),
Great Washington did he,
And through the nose of lawyer Close,
Proclaimed great Liberty.

The patriot brave, the patriot fair,
From fervor had grown thinner,
So off they march'd, with patriot zeal,
And took a patriot dinner.

169

The Colonials, on the other hand, among whom he seems to have inspired almost instant respect and affection, made him the subject of many songs, the most popular of which was Sewall's "War and Washington," which was sung by sol diers and civilians during the whole Revolution.

While the army at Cambridge was getting into shape to assume the offensive, the British were by no means idle. They recovered St. John's, which Arnold had captured in May, and a fleet under Admiral Wallace ravaged the shores of Narragansett Bay. On October 7, 1775, he bombarded the town of Bristol, which had refused to furnish him with supplies, - an incident which is described in one of the most ingenuous and amusing of Revolutionary ballads.

THE BOMBARDMENT OF BRISTOL

[October 7, 1775)

IN seventeen hundred and seventy-five,
Our Bristol town was much surprised
By a pack of thievish villains,
That will not work to earn their livings.

October 't was the seventh day,
As I have heard the people say,
Wallace, his name be ever curst,
Came on our harbor just at dusk.

And there his ship did safely moor,
And quickly sent his barge on shore,
With orders that should not be broke,
Or they might expect a smoke.

Demanding that the magistrates
Should quickly come on board his ship,
And let him have some sheep and cattle,
Or they might expect a battle.

At eight o'clock, by signal given,
Our peaceful atmosphere was riven

By British balls, both grape and round,
As plenty afterwards were found.

But oh! to hear the doleful cries
Of people running for their lives!
Women, with children in their arms,
Running away to the farms!

With all their firing and their skill
They did not any person kill;
Neither was any person hurt
But the Reverend Parson Burt.

And he was not killed by a ball,
As judged by jurors one and all;
But being in a sickly state,

He, frightened, fell, which proved his fate.

Another truth to you I'll tell,
That you may see they levelled well;

For aiming for to kill the people, They fired their shot into a steeple.

They fired low, they fired high,
The women scream, the children cry;
And all their firing and their racket
Shot off the topmast of a packet.

171

From the moment, almost, of the fight at Lexington, the conquest of Canada had been dreamed of, and in September, 1775, a force of two thousand men, under General Richard Montgomery, started for Quebec. He was joined by another force under Benedict Arnold, and an attempt was made to carry the citadel by storm. But Montgomery fell as he led the way over the walls, Arnold was wounded, and the Americans were beaten back.

MONTGOMERY AT QUEBEC

[December 31, 1775]

ROUND Quebec's embattled walls Moodily the patriots lay; Dread disease within its thralls

Drew them closer day by day; Till from suffering man to man, Mutinous, a murmur ran.

Footsore, they had wandered far,

They had fasted, they had bled; They had slept beneath the star With no pillow for the head; Was it but to freeze to stone In this cruel icy zone?

Yet their leader held his heart,

Naught discouraged, naught dismayed; Quelled with unobtrusive art

Those that muttered; unafraid Waited, watchful, for the hour When his golden chance should flower.

"T was the death-tide of the year; Night had passed its murky noon; Through the bitter atmosphere

Pierced nor ray of star nor moon; But upon the bleak earth beat Blinding arrows of the sleet.

While the trumpets of the storm

Pealed the bastioned heights around, Did the dauntless heroes form,

Did the low, sharp order sound. "Be the watchword Liberty !" Cried the brave Montgomery.

Here, where he had won applause, When Wolfe faced the Gallic foe, For a nobler, grander cause

Would he strike the fearless blow, Smite at Wrong upon the throne, At Injustice giant grown.

"Men, you will not fear to tread

Where your general dares to lead! On, my valiant boys!" he said,

And his foot was first to speed;
Swiftly up the beetling steep,
Lion-hearted, did he leap.

Flashed a sudden blinding glare;
Roared a fearsome battle-peal;
Rang the gloomy vasts of air;

Seemed the earth to rock and reel;
While adown that fiery breath
Rode the hurtling bolts of death.

Thy genius, once the pride
Of Britain's ancient isle,
Brought o'er the raging tide
By our forefathers' toil;
In spite of North's despotic power,
Shines glorious on this western shore.

In Hancock's generous mind
Awakes the noble strife,
Which so conspicuous shined
In gallant Sydney's life;

While in its cause the hero bled,
Immortal honors crown'd his head.

Let zeal your breasts inspire; Let wisdom guide your plans; "T is not your cause entire, On doubtful conflict hangs; The fate of this vast continent, And unborn millions share th' event.

To close the gloomy scenes
Of this alarming day,
A happy union reigns
Through wide America.

While awful Wisdom hourly waits
To adorn the councils of her states.

Brave Washington arrives,
Arrayed in warlike fame,
While in his soul revives

Great Marlboro's martial flame, To lead your conquering armies on To lasting glory and renown.

To aid the glorious cause,
Experienc'd Lee has come,
Renown'd in foreign wars,
A patriot at home.

While valiant Putnam's warlike deeds
Amongst the foe a terror spreads.

Let Britons proudly boast,
"That their two thousand braves
Can drive our numerous host,

And make us all their slaves;"
While twice six thousand quake with fear,
Nor dare without their lines appear.

Kind Heaven has deign'd to own
Our bold resistance just,
Since murderous Gage began
The bloody carnage first.

Near ten to one has been their cost,

For each American we've lost.

Stand firm in your defence, Like Sons of Freedom fight, Your haughty foes convince That you'll maintain your right. Defiance bid to tyrants' frown, And glory will your valor crown. The Connecticut Gazette, 1776.

Howe realized that Boston was untenable unless the Americans could be dislodged; but with the memory of Bunker Hill before him, he had no heart for the enterprise. While he hesitated, the American works were made well-nigh impregnable, and Howe decided to abandon the town. On March 17, 1776, the British troops, eight thousand in number, sailed away for Halifax. Washington at once took possession of the city.

A POEM CONTAINING SOME RE MARKS ON THE PRESENT WAR

[March 17, 1776]

BRITONS grown big with pride
And wanton ease,

And tyranny beside,
They sought to please
Their craving appetite,

They strove with all their might.
They vow'd to rise and fight,
To make us bow.

The plan they laid was deep
Even like hell;

With sympathy I weep,
While here I tell

Of that base murderous brood,
Void of the fear of God,
Who came to spill our blood
In our own land.

They bid their armies sail

Though billows roar,

And take the first fair gale
For Boston's shore;
They cross'd the Atlantic sea
A long and watery way,
Poor Boston fell a prey
To tyranny.

Gage was both base and mean,
He dare not fight,

The men he sent were seen
Like owls in night:

It was in Lexington

Where patriots' blood did run

Before the rising sun In crimson gore.

Here sons of freedom fell
Rather than flee,

Unto those brutes of hell
They fell a prey;

But they shall live again,
Their names shall rise and reign
Among the noble slain
In all our land.

But oh! this cruel foe
Went on in haste,
To Concord they did go,
And there did waste
Some stores in their rage,
To gratify old Gage,
His name in every page
Shall be defam'd.

Their practice thus so base,
And murder too,

Rouz'd up the patriot race,
Who did pursue,
And put this foe to flight,
They could not bear the light,
Some rued the very night
They left their den.

And now this cruelty
Was spread abroad,
The sons of liberty
This act abhorr'd,
Their noble blood did boil,
Forgetting all the toil,

In troubles they could smile,
And went in haste.

Our army willingly
Did then engage,
To stop the cruelty
Of tyrants' rage!

They did not fear our foe,
But ready were to go,
And let the tyrants know
Whose sons they were.

But when old Gage did see
All us withstand,
And strive for liberty
Through all our land,

He strove with all his might,
For rage was his delight,
With fire he did fight,

A monster he.