Life and adventures of Col. L. A. Norton - Part 79
THE F-C PATRIOT'S DREAM
SOULS of the brave, who, passed and gone
Beyond the praise of mortal tongue,
No longer lead your legions on,
Like the immortal WASHINGTON!
No thrilling shout to freedom's son,
To gird his glittering armor on;
No victory now is lost or won,
Nor battle stayed at setting sun;
Nor no terrific cannons roar,
To rouse the dreadful god of war.
But would to God the trump could sound,
For those now in oppression bound,
And let them pass the watchword round,
To Canada's remotest bound;
That freedom's sons might catch the tone
All Tory faction to put down;
While rushing on to liberty,
Their only watchword--victory.
The patriot then did heave a sigh,
That's wafted by the breeze on high;
Likewise the spirits of the slain,
"Revenge!" they one and all proclaim.
{Begin page no. 485}
Arrayed before their God, they stand,
And retribution there demand.
And now, methinks, I do behold
Bright swords of steel, and crowns of gold,
Descending near with a proud crest,
The haughty tyrants to arrest.
I saw them, marshaled one by one,
In single file come marching down;
I saw their gallant leader mount,
And well I knew the murdered LOUNT.
Then next to him, in this bright train,
Behold the bleeding MATHEWS came.
The next I saw was freedom's son,
A warlike, bold Kentuckian;
With rifle long and steel all bared,
For deadly conflict then prepared;
And on his breast he wore a star,
That marked him as a man of war;
His step was measured, firm, and slow--
In him I recognized MORROW!
And then the next I did descry
Was WILLIAM PUTNAM'S eagle eye.
I saw his form erect and fair,
His dauntless look and manly air;
I saw him marching to the field,
With vengeance written on his shield.
{Begin page no. 486}
VAN SCHOULTS next came to grace the band,--
An exiled son of Poland's land;
Well trained to arms in days of yore--
A military air he bore!
And as I stood there, quite amazed,
Upon the motley crowd I gazed;
But soon I turned my eye again
From the bright legions of the plain--
When at my side and all alone,
In armor bright, stood captain DONE.
He waved a banner in his hand,
An emblem of the Spartan band ,
Who yielded not to Britain's power--
Who scorned to flee in danger's hour.
And then I turned to look again
On the bright legions of the plain;
I heard a bugle's distant peal,
I heard the clang of hoof and steel!
I saw the warlike hosts did kneel;
And their bent forms did then reveal
Fair freedom's noblest, bravest son--
The great, immortal WASHINGTON!
He made a signal with his hand--
Each chief arose at his command;
Loud shouts burst from the sceptered crowd,
The echo came both long and loud;
Again the hero waved his hand,
Again the crowd obeyed command.
{Begin page no. 487}
His dress was as in days of yore;
A uniform of blue he wore,
A plume of white his cap it bore,
That high above the rest did soar.
His face was pale, though calm his eye--
He looked around, then heaved a sigh;
Bowed to the crowd with a caress,
And thus commenced his last address.
10
WASHINGTON.
"Chieftains of war, in battle tried--
Your country's care, your nation's pride!
Who fought not for an empty name,
Nor shed your blood for gold or fame;
But from the rise to set of sun
Stood as your country's champion;
Who deepest hewed where despots stood,
On plains Canadian shed their blood;
Ye noble shades of earthly dust,
Well might your country in ye trust!
And ye have passed death's stormy waves,
Your bodies rest in earthly graves;
But there they will no longer feel
Oppression's hand nor traitor's steel.
11
"Our country's bound in servile chains,
And pampered despots hold the reins;
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With bitter cries our country groans--
Her fairest daughters make their moans;
Her noblest sons have exiles fled,
Or rest with the forgotten dead,
Or groan within some prison cell,
Or in some secret cavern dwell,
Or in a menial, servile way,
For clemency to despots pray;
Or start forth with a stalwart hand,
Strike down some leader of their band,
And then, unaided, he must fly,
Or like a felon he must die.
12
"But haste! ye heroes of the past,
At God's command, shout forth the blast;
Call forth the dead, in battle slain,
And let them all return again,
To meet in field their country's foe,
And deal to them a deathly blow,
And hurl Great Britain from the land
Where freedom's flag has made a stand.
13
'But unto me no power is given,
From the great Judge or court of Heaven,
Now to descend to earth again,
On battle-fields to witness pain--
Else with the sword I once did wield,
I'd march with you into the field;
And then in conflict dread to see, Strike for a nation's Liberty !
But at the bar of God I'll stand
And plead for that devoted band."
{Begin page no. 489}
14
The heavens rang, so loud they cheered;
I looked again, he'd disappeared;
The bugle sounds its lofty strains,
One living sea now spreads the plains;
All in bright armor now arrayed,
Marshaled for war and on parade.
I saw their glittering armor flash,
I saw their noble chargers dash;
I watched them long with startling eyes,
As fast to earth the legion flies.
15
When I awoke I was alone,
My seat was a moss-covered stone;
The leaves in listless silence hung,
The night insects around me sung;
The sun had sought the western hill,
Throwing its last rays on the rill,
That murmured on in music sweet,
And played in gambols at my feet--
Then hurrying on in swift retreat,
Some other listening ear to greet;
Or the broad Fox's stream to meet,
And roll on with that crystal sheet--
But still my mind will oft revert
To scenes the nearest to my heart.
16
Canadian wilds! my early home,
I think of thee whene'er alone;
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An exile now compelled to roam
In a strange land, to all unknown;
None to extend a genial hand--
A pilgrim in a stranger land.
17
The lonely crag to me endeared--
Its mossy brown my childhood cheered.
The rising hill, the creek, the dell,
The ancient tree, the pond, and well,
The field my youthful hand did till,
The plowman's song, the clattering mill:
All these endeared this land to me--
Home of my youth and infancy.
Thy stumpy fields I fain would sow,
The growing thistle up I'd hoe;
Protect my corn against the crow,
And in the depths of winter go
To hunt the deer 'mid four feet snow.
With all those hardships I'd comply,
And labor until called to die,
If but one boon could granted be,
My country's rights,--her liberty.
18
But oh! how could I longer stand,
And see a ruthless Tory band,
Without an order or command,
Wide ravaging my native land.
19
Age was then no guard 'gainst wrong,
Weakness protected not the young;
For them did beauty have no charms,
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Save while within the ruffian's arms:
To justice blind, in manners base--
A curse unto the human race!
In parlors grand their horses eat;
Behold their inmates in the street;
Behold that mother far and near
Seeks shelter for her offspring dear,
And when successful, she at last
Can shield them from the winter's blast;
But driven from affluency,
To most degrading misery.
20
While the sire, flying from his home,
Now in a foreign land to roam,
With a sad and troubled mind,
To leave his dearest ones behind:
And rude the shelter they would find
'Mid tyrants who, to justice blind,
Had robbed him of that much-loved home,
And then compelled him far to roam.
21
But hark! again they come--they come,
The bugle sounds, the rattling drum--
Now, Spartans bold, defend your home!
But ah, behold in prison den,
Where lies her noblest, bravest men.
With galling chains their limbs are bound,
And, closely pinioned to the ground,
In vain for justice there they cry,
Without a trial doomed to die.
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22
While you rule with mighty sway,
Now, Britain, list to what I say:
You'll think of it some coming day,
When colonies are swept away;
And when your empire, proud and vast,
Is blotted from the light of day,
Some passing traveler will say,
"Here was an empire of renown,
That ruled and wore Britannia's crown;
But she , like other nations past,
Is crushed by her own guilt at last."
23
But she sinks not to oblivion shade,
Where fated Rome and Greece are laid;
But rises from her fallen state,
With sister nations to be great.
With tyranny no longer wed--
No longer bow to crowned head;
But freedom's living light now shed,
Where tyranny in darkness fled.
Now peace and plenty kindly smile
Where want and misery frowned erewhile.
How cheerful is each village clan,
The boon from God bestowed to man;
How happy then old England's shore,
When despots rule her courts no more!
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