On A Hessian Debarkation[159]

1776

There is a book, tho' not a book of rhymes, Where truth severe records a nation's crimes;-- To check such monarchs as with brutal might Wanton in blood, and trample on the right.

Rejoice, O Death!--Britannia's tyrant sends From German plains his myriads to our shore; The Caledonian with the English joined:-- Bring them, ye winds, but waft them back no more.

To these far climes with stately step they come, Resolved all prayers, all prowess to defy; Smit with the love of countries not their own, They come, indeed, to conquer--not to die.

In the slow breeze (I hear their funeral song,) The dance of ghosts the infernal tribes prepare: To hell's dark mansions haste, ye abandoned throng, Drinking from German sculls old Odin's beer.

From dire Cesarea[A] forced, these slaves of kings, Quick, let them take their way on eagle's wings: To thy strong posts, Manhattan's isle, repair, To meet the vengeance that awaits them there!

[A] The old Roman name of Jersey.--Freneau's note.

This poem first appears in the 1795 edition, though the opening stanzas had formed a part of "The House of Night" in the 1786 edition. It must have been composed after this edition was published. I have inserted it here on account of its historical significance. Text is from the edition of 1809.