So said, so done--the lad was sent, But never reached the continent, An island held him fast-- Yet there his friends danced rigadoons, The Hessians sung in high Dutch tunes, "Prince William's come at last!" "Prince William's come!"--the Briton cried-- "Our labors now will be repaid-- Dominion be restored-- Our monarch is in William seen, He is the image of our queen, Let William be adored!" The tories came with long address, With poems groaned the royal press, And all in William's praise-- The youth, astonished, looked about To find their vast dominions out, Then answered in amaze: "Where all your vast domain can be, Friends, for my soul I cannot see; 'Tis but an empty name; Three wasted islands and a town In rubbish buried--half burnt down, Is all that we can claim; "I am of royal birth, 'tis true, But what, my sons, can princes do, No armies to command? Cornwallis conquered and distrest-- Sir Henry Clinton grown a jest-- I curse--and quit the land." [Illustration] [Illustration] EUTAW SPRINGS. TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS, UNDER GENERAL GREENE, IN SOUTH CAROLINA, WHO FELL IN THE ACTION OF SEPTEMBER 8, 1781, AT EUTAW SPRINGS. BY PHILIP FRENEAU. At Eutaw Springs the valiant died: Their limbs with dust are covered o'er-- Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide; How many heroes are no more! If in this wreck of ruin they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite thy gentle breast, and say The friends of freedom slumber here! Thou who shalt trace this bloody plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, Sigh for the wasted, rural reign; Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest! Stranger, their humble graves adorn; You too may fall and ask a tear; 'Tis not the beauty of the morn That proves the evening shall be clear-- They saw their injured country's woe; The flaming town, the wasted field; Then rushed to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear,--but left the shield. Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, The Britons they compelled to fly; None distant viewed the fatal plain, None grieved, in such a cause to die-- But, like the Parthian, famed of old, Who, flying still their arrows threw; These routed Britons, full as bold, Retreated, and retreating slew. Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from Nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A brighter sunshine of their own. [Illustration] AN ANCIENT PROPHECY. BY PHILIP FRENEAU. (Written soon after the surrender of Cornwallis.)