For when the morn began to shine, Fatal to her, the ocean brine Pour'd through each spacious wound; Quick in the deep she disappear'd, But Jones to friendly Belgia steer'd, With conquest and with glory crown'd. 20 Go on, great man, to daunt the foe, And bid the haughty Britons know They to our Thirteen Stars shall bend; The Stars that veil'd in dark attire, Long glimmer'd with a feeble fire, But radiant now ascend; 21 Bend to the Stars that flaming rise In western, not in eastern, skies, Fair Freedom's reign restor'd. So when the Magi, come from far, Beheld the God-attending Star, They trembled and ador'd. [42] This was the first poem contributed by Freneau to the _Freeman's Journal_. It appeared August 8, 1781. The exploit of Jones is too well known to need further comment; it took place September 23, 1779. The text follows the edition of 1786. [43] "Overwhelming half below."--_Ed. 1795._ [44] "And hosts were shrouded in the main."--_Ed. 1795._ AN ADDRESS[45] To the Commander-in-Chief, Officers, and Soldiers of the American Army Accept, great men, that share of honest praise A grateful nation to your merit pays: Verse is too mean your merit to display, And words too weak our praises to convey. When first proud Britain raised her hostile hand With claims unjust to bind our native land, Transported armies, and her millions spent To enforce the mandate that a tyrant sent; "Resist! resist!" was heard through every state, You heard the call, and feared your country's fate; Then rising fierce in arms, for war arrayed, You taught to vanquish those who dared invade. Those British chiefs whom former wars had crowned With conquest--and in every clime renowned; Who forced new realms to own their monarch's law, And whom even George beheld with secret awe-- Those mighty chiefs, compelled to fly or yield, Scarce dared to meet you on the embattled field; To Boston's port you chased the trembling crew, Quick, even from thence the British veterans flew-- Through wintry waves they fled, and thought each wave Their last, best safety from a foe so brave![46] What men, like you, our warfare could command, And bring us safely to the promised land?-- Not swoln with pride,[47] with victory elate-- 'Tis in misfortune you are doubly great: When Howe victorious our weak armies chased, And, sure of conquest, laid Cesarea waste, When prostrate, bleeding, at his feet she lay, And the proud victor tore her wreathes away, Each gallant chief[48] put forth his warlike hand And raised the drooping genius of the land, Repelled the foe, their choicest warriors slain, And drove them howling to their ships again. While others kindle into martial rage Whom fierce ambition urges to engage, An iron race, by angry heaven designed To conquer first and then enslave mankind;