But when, repentant of her prouder aim, She gently waives the long-disputed claim; Extends the Charter with your Rights restor'd, And hides in olive-wreaths the blood-stain'd sword, Then to reject her peaceful wreaths, and throw Your Country's Freedom to our mutual Foe!-- Infatuate Land!--from that detested day Distracted Councils, and the thirst of Sway, Rapacious Avarice, Superstition vile, And all the _Frenchman_ dictates in his guile Disgrace your Congress!--Justice drops her scale! And radiant Liberty averts her sail! They fly indignant the polluted plain, Where Truth is scorn'd, and Mercy pleads in vain. That she does plead in vain, thy witness bear, Accursed Hour!--thou darkest of the Year! That with Misfortune's deadliest venom fraught, To Tappan's Wall the gallant André brought. Oh Washington! I thought thee great and good, Nor knew thy Nero-thirst of guiltless blood! Severe to use the pow'r that Fortune gave, Thou cool determin'd Murderer of the Brave! Lost to each fairer Virtue, that inspires The genuine fervor, of the patriot fires! And You, the base Abettors of the doom, That sunk his blooming honors in the tomb, Th' opprobrious tomb your harden'd hearts decreed, While all he ask'd was as the Brave to Bleed! Nor other boon the glorious Youth implor'd Save the cold Mercy of the Warrior-Sword! O dark, and pitiless! your impious hate O'er-whelm'd the Hero in the Ruffian's fate! Stopt with the[82]Felon-cord the rosy breath! And venom'd with disgrace the darts of Death! Remorseless Washington! the day shall come Of deep repentance for this barb'rous doom! When injur'd André's memory shall inspire A kindling Army with resistless fire; Each falchion sharpen that the Britons wield, And lead their fiercest Lion to the field! Then, when each hope of thine shall set in night, When dubious dread, and unavailing flight Impel your Host, thy guilt-upbraided Soul Shall wish untouch'd the sacred Life you stole! And when thy Heart appall'd and vanquish'd Pride Shall vainly ask the mercy they deny'd, With horror shalt thou meet the fate they gave, Nor Pity gild the darkness of thy grave! For Infamy, with livid hand shall shed Eternal mildew on the ruthless head! Less cruel far than thou, on Ilium's plain Achilles, raging for Patroclus slain! When hapless Priam bends the aged knee, To deprecate the Victor's dire decree, The nobler Greek, in melting pity spares The lifeless Hector to his Father's prayers, Fierce as he was;--'tis _Cowards_ only know Persisting vengeance o'er a _fallen_ Foe.