The mode is this, now acted on; In conflagrating Washington, They held our independence gone! Supposing George's house at Kew Were burnt, (as we intend to do,) Would that be burning England too? Supposing, near the silver Thames We laid in ashes their saint James, Or Blenheim palace wrapt in flames; Made Hampton Court to fire a prey, And meanly, then, to sneak away, And never ask them, what's to pay? Would that be conquering London town? Would that subvert the english throne, Or bring the royal system down? With all their glare of guards or guns, How would they look like simpletons, And not at all the lion's sons! Supposing, then, we take our turn And make it public law, to burn, Would not old english honor spurn At such a mean insidious plan Which only suits some savage clan-- And surely not--the english man! A doctrine has prevail'd too long; A king, they hold, can do no wrong-- Merely a pitch-fork, without prong: But de'il may trust such doctrines, more,-- One king, that wrong'd us, long before, Has wrongs, by hundreds, yet in store. He wrong'd us forty years ago; He wrongs us yet, we surely know; He'll wrong us till he gets a blow That, with a vengeance, will repay The mischiefs we lament this day, This burning, damn'd, infernal play; Will send one city to the sky, Its buildings low and buildings high, And buildings--built the lord knows why; Will give him an eternal check That breaks his heart or breaks his neck, And plants our standard on Quebec. TO THE LAKE SQUADRONS[206] The brilliant task to you assign'd Asks every effort of the mind, And every energy, combined, To crush the foe. Sail where they will, you must be there; Lurk where they can, you will not spare The blast of death--but all things dare To bring them low. To wield his thunders on Champlain, Macdonough leads his gallant train, And, his great object to sustain, Vermont unites Her hardy youths and veterans bold From shelter'd vale and mountain cold, Who fought, to guard, in days of old Their country's rights. That country's wrongs are all your own And to the world the word is gone-- Her independence must to none Be sign'd away. Be to the nation's standard true, To Britain, and to Europe shew That you can fight and conquer too, And prostrate lay. That bitter foe, whose thousands rise No more to fight us in disguise, But count our freedom for their prize, If valor fails: Beneath your feet let fear be cast, Remember deeds of valor past, And nail your colors to the mast And spread your sails. In all the pride and pomp of war Let thunders from the cannon roar, And lightnings flash from shore to shore, To wing the ball.