Down long glades of the forest floor The same thrill ran through every vein, And down the long Atlantic's shore; Its heat the tyrant's fetters tore And welded them through stress and strain Of long years to a mightier chain. That mighty chain with links of steel Bound all the Old Thirteen at last, Through one electric pulse to feel The common woe, the common weal. And that great day the Port Bill passed Made us a nation hard and fast. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. Gage arrived at Boston in May, 1774, and at once issued a proclamation calling upon the inhabitants to be loyal, and warning them of his intention to maintain the authority of the King at any cost. A PROCLAMATION [May, 1774] America! thou fractious nation, Attend thy master's proclamation! Tremble! for know, I, Thomas Gage, Determin'd come the war to wage. With the united powers sent forth, Of Bute, of Mansfield, and of North; To scourge your insolence, my choice, While England mourns and Scots rejoice! Bostonia first shall feel my power, And gasping midst the dreadful shower Of ministerial rage, shall cry, Oh, save me, Bute! I yield! and die. Then shall my thundering cannons rattle, My hardy veterans march to battle, Against Virginia's hostile land, To humble that rebellious band. At my approach her trembling swains Shall quit well-cultivated plains, To seek the inhospitable wood; Or try, like swine of old, the flood. Rejoice! ye happy Scots rejoice! Your voice lift up, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness on each tongue, The mighty praise of Bute be sung. The praise of Mansfield, and of North, Let next your hymns of joy set forth, Nor shall the rapturous strain assuage, Till sung's your own proclaiming Gage. Whistle ye pipes! ye drones drone on. Ye bellows blow! Virginia's won! Your Gage has won Virginia's shore, And Scotia's sons shall mourn no more. Hail, Middlesex! oh happy county! Thou too shalt share thy master's bounty, Thy sons obedient, naught shall fear, Thy wives and widows drop no tear. Thrice happy people, ne'er shall feel The force of unrelenting steel; What brute would give the ox a stroke Who bends his neck to meet the yoke? To Murray bend the humble knee; He shall protect you under me; His generous pen shall not be mute, But sound your praise thro' Fox to Bute. By Scotchmen lov'd, by Scotchmen taught, By all your country Scotchmen thought; Fear Bute, fear Mansfield, North and me, And be as blest as slaves can be. _The Virginia Gazette_, 1774.