Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, The nations admire and the ocean obey; Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, And the east and the south yield their spices and gold. As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow; While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the world. Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread, From war's dread confusion I pensively strayed, The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired; The winds ceased to murmur; the thunders expired; Perfumes as of Eden flowed sweetly along, And a voice as of angels, enchantingly sung: "Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, "The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." [Illustration] [Illustration] TAXATION OF AMERICA. BY PETER ST. JOHN, OF NORWALK, CONN. [In Moore's "Songs and Ballads of the Revolution," this poem bears date as of 1765, but the references in it to Burgoyne's surrender, to Brandywine, etc., indicate a much later date. It is possible that a part of the poem was written and published about 1765, and that additions making reference to revolutionary incidents were made afterward. But, internal evidence renders even this assumption improbable, and suggests that the date Moore gives is the result of some mistake.--EDITOR.] While I relate my story, Americans give ear; Of Britain's fading glory You presently shall hear; I'll give a true relation, Attend to what I say Concerning the taxation Of North America. The cruel lords of Britain, Who glory in their shame, The project they have hit on They joyfully proclaim; 'Tis what they're striving after Our right to take away, And rob us of our charter In North America. There are two mighty speakers, Who rule in Parliament, Who ever have been seeking Some mischief to invent; 'Twas North, and Bute his father, The horrid plan did lay A mighty tax to gather In North America. They searched the gloomy regions Of the infernal pit, To find among their legions One who excelled in wit; To ask of him assistance, Or tell them how they may Subdue without resistance This North America. Old Satan the arch-traitor, Who rules the burning lake, Where his chief navigator, Resolved a voyage to take; For the Britannic ocean He launches far away, To land he had no notion In North America. He takes his seat in Britain, It was his soul's intent Great George's throne to sit on And rule the Parliament; His comrades were pursuing A diabolic way, For to complete the ruin Of North America.