Epilogue

What are these strangers from a foreign isle, That we should fear their hate or court their smile?-- Pride sent them here, pride blasted in the bud, Who, if she can, will build her throne in blood, With slaughtered millions glut her tearless eyes, And bid even virtue fall, that she may rise. What deep offence has fired a monarch's rage? What moon-struck madness seized the brain of Gage? Laughs not the soul when an imprisoned crew Affect to pardon those they can't subdue, Though thrice repulsed, and hemmed up to their stations, Yet issue pardons, oaths, and proclamations!-- Too long our patient country wears their chains, Too long our wealth all-grasping Britain drains. Why still a handmaid to that distant land? Why still subservient to their proud command? Britain the bold, the generous, and the brave Still treats our country like the meanest slave, Her haughty lords already share the prey, Live on our labours, and with scorn repay;-- Rise, sleeper, rise, while yet the power remains, And bind their nobles and their chiefs in chains: Bent on destructive plans, they scorn our plea, 'Tis our own efforts that must make us free-- Born to contend, our lives we place at stake, And rise to conquerors by the stand we make.-- The time may come when strangers rule no more, Nor cruel mandates vex from Britain's shore, When commerce may extend her shortened wing, And her rich freights from every climate bring, When mighty towns shall flourish free and great, Vast their dominion, opulent their state, When one vast cultivated region teems From ocean's side to Mississippi streams, While each enjoys his vineyard's peaceful shade, And even the meanest has no foe to dread. And you, who, far from Liberty detained, Wear out existence in some slavish land-- Forsake those shores, a self-ejected throng, And armed for vengeance, here resent the wrong: Come to our climes, where unchained rivers flow, And loftiest groves, and boundless forests grow. Here the blest soil your future care demands; Come, sweep the forests from these shaded lands, And the kind earth shall every toil repay, And harvests flourish as the groves decay. O heaven-born Peace, renew thy wonted charms-- Far be this rancour, and this din of arms-- To warring lands return, an honoured guest, And bless our crimson shore among the rest-- Long may Britannia rule our hearts again, Rule as she ruled in George the Second's reign, May ages hence her growing grandeur see, And she be glorious--but ourselves as free!

Text from the edition of 1809. The poem was first published in New York in 1775 by Anderson, under the title, "A Voyage to Boston, a poem," and a second edition was printed the same year in Philadelphia for William Woodhouse. The revision of the poem in the 1786 edition of Freneau's works mentions that the poem was published in September, 1775. This is evidently a mistake. In the issue of October 21, of Anderson's Constitutional Gazette, appears the advertisement, "This day is published & to be sold by the printer, 'A Voyage to Boston: a Poem.'" The copy of the poem in possession of the Library Company, Philadelphia, has endorsed upon it, "published in October, 1775." This earliest version, only a fragment of which was given in the various editions of the poet's works, has never before been reprinted. It is as follows: