While in the arms of power and peace you lay, Ambition led your restless soul astray. Possest of lands extending far and wide, And more than Rome could boast in all her pride, Yet, not contented with that mighty store, Like a true miser, still you sought for more; And, all in raptures for a tyrant's reign, You strove your subjects dearest rights to chain: Those ruffian hosts beyond the ocean sent, By your commands on blood and murder bent, With cruel hand the form of man defac'd, And laid the toils of art and nature waste. (For crimes like these imperial Britain bends, For crimes like these her ancient glory ends) These lands, once truest to your name and race, Whom the wide ocean's utmost waves embrace, Your just protection basely you deny'd, Their towns you plunder'd, and you burnt beside. Virginia's slaves, without one blush of shame, Against their lords[9] you arm'd with sword and flame; At every port your ships of war you laid, And strove to ruin and distress their trade, Yet here, ev'n here, your mighty projects fail'd; For then from creeks their hardy seamen sail'd, In slender barques they cross'd a stormy main, And traffick'd for the wealth of France and Spain; O'er either tropic and the line they pass'd, And, deeply laden, safe return'd at last: Nor think they yet had bow'd to Britain's sway, Though distant nations had not join'd the fray, Alone they fought your armies and your fleet, And made your Clintons and your Howes retreat, And yet while France stood doubting if to join, Your ships they captur'd, and they took Burgoyne! How vain is Briton's strength, her armies now Before Columbia's bolder veterans bow; Her gallant veterans all our force despise, Though late from ruin[C] we beheld them rise; Before their arms our strongest bulwarks fall, They storm the rampart and they scale the wall;[D] With equal dread, on either service sent, They seize a fortress, or they strike a tent. But should we bow beneath a foreign yoke, And potent France atchieve the humbling stroke, Yet every power, and even ourselves, must say, "Just is the vengeance of the skies to-day:" For crimes like ours dire vengeance[10] must atone; Forbear your fasts, and let the skies[11] alone-- By cruel kings, in fierce Britannia bred, Such seas of blood have first and last been shed, That now, distrest for each inhuman deed, Our turn has come--our turn has come to bleed: Forbear your groans; for war and death array, March to the foe, and give the fates their way. Can you[12] behold, without one hearty groan, The fleets of France superior to your own? Can you behold, without one poignant pang, The foreign conquests of the brave D'Estaing?[E] North is your friend, and now destruction knocks, Still take his counsel, and regard not Fox. [C] The Year 1776.--_Freneau's note._ [D] Stoney Point, Powles Hook, &c.--_Ib._