When opprest and reproach'd, our king we implore,
Still firmly persuaded our rights he'll restore;
When our hearts beat to arms to defend a just right,
Our monarch rules there, and forbids us to fight.
Chorus.

Not the glitter of arms, nor the dread of a fray,
Could make us submit to their chains for a day;
Withheld by affection, on Britons we call,
Prevent the fierce conflict which threatens your fall.
Chorus.

All ages shall speak with amaze and applause,
Of the prudence we show in support of our cause.
Assur'd of our safety a Brunswick still reigns,
Whose free, loyal subjects are strangers to chains.
Chorus.

Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all,
To be free, is to live; to be slaves is to fall;
Has the land such a dastard as scorns not a lord?
Who dreads not a fetter much more than a sword?
Chorus.

A song to the same tune was composed in New York, in honor of some of the leaders of opinion in that day, a portion of whom afterwards figured on the royalist side. It appeared in the New York Journal, January 26, 1769.

▲ SONG.

Come, cheer up, my lads, like a true British band, In the cause of our country who join heart and hand;

Fair Freedom invites-she cries out-" Agree !
And be steadfast for those that are steadfast for me."

Hearts of oak are we all,
Hearts of oak we'll remain :
We always are ready-
Steady, boys, steady-

To give them our voices again and again. With the brave sons of Freedom, of every degree, Unite all the good-and united are we :

But still be the lot of the villains disgrace-
Whose foul, rotten hearts give the lie to their face.
Hearts of oak, &c.

See! their unblushing chieftain! perverter of laws!
His teeth are the shark's, and a vulture's his claws-
As soon would I venture-howe'er he may talk,
My lambs with a wolf, or my fowls with a hawk.
Hearts of oak, &c.

First-the worth of good Cruger let's crown with applause,

Who has join'd us again in fair Liberty's cause—
Sour Envy, herself, is afraid of his name,

And weeps that she finds not a blot in his fame.
Hearts of oak, &c.

To Jauncey, my souls, let your praises resound! With health and success may his goodness be crown'd:

May the cup of his joy never cease to run o'er-
For he gave to us all when he gave to the poor!
Hearts of oak, &c.

What Briton, undaunted, that pants to be free,
But warms at the mention of brave De Launcey?
Happy Freedom!" said Fame, "what a son have
you here!

66

Whose head is approved, and whose heart is sincere." Hearts of oak, &c.

For worth and for truth, and good nature renown'd,
Let the name and applauses of Walton go round:
His prudence attracts-but his free, honest soul
Gives a grace to the rest, and enlivens the whole.
Hearts of oak, &c.

Huzza for the patriots whose virtue is tried-
Unbiass'd by faction, untainted by pride:
Who Liberty's welfare undaunted pursue,
With heads ever clear, and hearts ever true.
Hearts of oak, &c.

The planting of the first liberty pole in the country in The Fields at New York, in that portion of the present Park between the west end of the City Hall and Broadway, by the Sons of Liberty, and the struggle which ensued between that energetic band and the government troops, during which the pole was cut down, again set up, again felled, and finally hooped and otherwise protected with iron, seems to have excited the attention of some Tory versifier, who perpetrated a burlesque cantata, a copy of which is preserved in its original form of four folio pages, printed in large type, in the collection of broadsides made by Du Simitière, now in the possession of the Library Company of Philadelphia. A MS. note by that antiquary on the copy, informs us that "this paper was found under the front door of a great many houses in New York on the morning of the fifth of March, 1770."

The Procession with the Standard of Faction: a Cantata, opens with a few lines of

RECITATIVE.

"Twas on the morn when Virtue wept to see
Discord stalk forth in robes of liberty,
The sons of Faction met (a ghastly band!)
To fix their standard in our bleeding land:

Come listen, good neighbours of every degree,
Whose hearts, like your purses, are open and free,
Let this pole a monument ever remain,
Of the folly and arts of the time-serving train.
Derry down, &c.

Its bottom, so artfully fix'd under ground,
Resembles their scheming, so low and profound;
The dark underminings, and base dirty ends,
On which the success of the faction depends.
Derry down, &c.

The vane, mark'd with freedom, may put us in mind,
As it varies, and flutters, and turns, with the wind,
That no faith can be plac'd in the words of our foes,
Who change as the wind of their interest blows.
Derry down, &c.

The iron clasp'd around it, so firm and so neat,
Resembles too closely their fraud and deceit,
If the outside's but guarded, they care not a pin,
How rotten and hollow the heart is within.
Derry down, &c.

Then away, ye pretenders to freedom, away,
Who strive to cajole us in hopes to betray;
Leave the pole for the stroke of the lightning to

sever,

And, huzzah for King George and our country for ever!

Derry down, &c,

This curious production has never, to our knowledge, been reprinted or noticed. Our extracts are from Du Simitière's copy, the only one we have met with.

The burning of the armed schooner Gaspee in the waters of Rhode Island, one of the earliest instances of resistance to British authority, gave rise to a ballad at the time which has a genuine flavor of the popular feeling. The passage of history to which it refers is thus related by Bancroft. The time was June, 1772.

"Inhabitants of Providence, in Rhode Island, had in the last March, complained to the Deputy Governor of the conduct of Lieutenant Dudingston, Commander of the Gaspee, who obstructed their vessels and boats, without showing any evidence of his authority. Hopkins, the Chief Justice, on being consulted, gave the opinion, that any person who should come into the Colony and exercise any authority by force of arms, without showing his commission to the Governor, and if a Custom House officer, without being sworn into his office, was guilty of a trespass, if not piracy.' The Governor, therefore, sent a sheriff on board the Gaspee, to ascertain by what orders the Lieutenant acted; and Dudingston referred the subject to the Admiral. The Admiral answered from Boston: 'The Lieutenant, Sir, has done his duty. I shall give the King's officers directions, that they send every man taken in molesting them to me. As sure as the people of Newport attempt to rescue any vessel, and any of them are taken, I will hang them as pirates.' Dudingston seconded the insolence of his superior officer, insulted the inhabitants, plundered the islands of sheep and hogs, cut down trees, fired at market. boats, detained vessels without a colorable pretext, and made illegal seizures of goods of which the recovery cost more than they were worth.

66 On the ninth of June, the Providence Packet was returning to Providence, and proud of its speed, went gayly on, heedless of the Gaspee. Dudingston gave chase. The tide being at flood, the Packet ventured near shore; the Gaspee confidently followed; and drawing more water ran aground on Nauquit, a little below Pautuxet. The following night a party of men in six or seven boats, led by John Brown and Joseph Brown of Providence, and Simeon Potter of Bristol, boarded the stranded schooner, after a scuffle in which Dudingston was wounded, took and landed its crew, and then set it on fire."*

The author of the old ballad is unknown:

NEW SONG CALLED THE GASPEE.†
"Twas in the reign of George the Third,
The public peace was much disturb'd,
By ships of war that came and laid,
Within our ports to stop our trade.
In seventeen hundred and seventy-two,
In Newport harbor lay a crew

That play'd the parts of pirates there,
The sons of Freedom could not bear.

Sometimes they'd weigh, and give them chase,
Such actions, sure were very base!-
No honest coasters could pass by,
But what they would let some shot fly.

Bancroft's United States, vi. 416, 417.

+ From Sketches of Newport and its Vicinity, published by John S. Taylor, New York, 1842, pp. 150-2.

Which did provoke to high degree Those true-born Sons of Liberty,So that they could no longer bear Those sons of Belial staying there. It was not long, ere it fell out

That William Duddingston, so stout, Commander of the Gaspee tender, Which he has reason to remember

Because, as people do assert,

He almost met his just desert;

*

Here on the twelfth day of last June,
Between the hours of twelve and one-
Did chase the sloop called the Hannah,
Of which one Lindsay was commander-
They dogg'd her up Providence Sound,
And there the rascals got aground.

The news of it flew that very day,
That they on Naquit Point did lay;-
That night, about half after ten,
Some Narragansett Indian-men,
Being sixty-four, if I remember,

Soon made this stout coxcomb surrender-
And what was best of all their tricks.
In him a ball too they did fix-

Then set the men upon the land
And burnt her up, we understand-
Which thing provok'd the king so high
He said those men should surely die
So if he can but find them out,
King George has offered very stout
One thousand pounds to find out one
That wounded William Duddingston.
One thousand more, he says he'll spare
To those who say they Sheriffs were-
One thousand more there doth remain
For to find out the leader's name.

Likewise one hundred pound per man,
For any one of all the clan;
But let him try his utmost skill,
I'm apt to think he never will
Find out one of these hearts of gold,
Though he should offer fifty fold.

We have next to present three out of several scraps of verse on the exciting topic of tea. The first is from the New Hampshire Gazette of July 22, 1774; the second from the Pennsylvania . Journal of September 14, in the same year; the third is also from a newspaper of about the same period:

IV.

Forbid it, Heaven, let us be wise,
And seek our country's good;
Nor ever let a thought arise,
That tea should be our food.

V.

Since we so great a plenty have,
Of all that's for our health;
Shall we that baleful herb receive,
Impoverishing our wealth.

VI.

When we survey the breathless corpse,
With putrid matter fill'd;

For crawling worms a sweet resort,
By us reputed ill.

VII.

Noxious effluvia sending out
From its pernicious store,
Not only from the foaming mouth,
But every lifeless pore.

VIII.

To view the same enroll'd in TEA,
Besmear'd with such perfumes,
And then the herb sent o'er the sea,
To us it tainted comes.

IX.

Some of it tinctur'd with the filth
Of carcases embalm'd;

Taste of this herb then if thou wilt,
Sure me it cannot charm.

X.

Adieu, away, O TEA begone,
Salute our taste no more;
Though thou art coveted by some,
Who're destin'd to be poor.

VIRGINIA BANISHING TEA.

By a Lady.

Begone, pernicious baneful tea,
With all Pandora's ills possess'd;
Hyson, no more beguiled by thee,
My noble sons shall be oppress'd.
To Britain fly, where gold enslaves

And venal men their birth-right sell;
Tell North and his brib'd clan of knaves
Their bloody acts were made in hell.
In Henry's reign those acts began,
Which sacred rules of justice broke;
North now pursues the hellish plan,
To fix on us his slavish yoke.
But we oppose, and will be free,

This great good cause we will defend; Nor bribe, nor Gage, nor North's decree, Shall make us "at his feet to bend." From Anglia's ancient sons we came, Those heroes who for freedom fought; In Freedom's cause we'll match their fame, By their example greatly taught. Our king we love, but North we hate, Nor will to him submission own;

If death's our doom, we'll brave our fate, But pay allegiance to the throne.

A LADY'S ADIEU TO HER TEA-TABLE.

Farewell the tea-board, with its gaudy equipage
Of cups and saucers, cream-bucket, sugar-tongs,
The pretty tea-chest also, lately stor'd
With Hyson, Congou, and best double fine.

Full many a joyous moment have I sat by ye,
Hearing the girls tattle, the old maids talk scandal,
And the spruce coxcomb laugh at-may be-nothing.
No more shall I dish out the once lov'd liquor,
Though now detestable,

Because I am taught (and I believe it true)
Its use will fasten slavish chains upon my country,
And LIBERTY's the goddess I would chose
To reign triumphant in AMERICA.

The Association, &c., of the Colonies at the Grand Congress held at Philadelphia, September 1, 1774, by "Bob Jingle, Esq., Poet-Laureat to the Congress," printed in that year, is a parody in verse of the Articles of Association, which seems to have been a favorite species of wit with the Tory bards, who found in the new proceedings of legislation novel matter for their jocularity. A clever squib, in verse, A Dialogue between a Southern Delegate and his Spouse, on his return from the Grand Continental Congress, of the same year, is in a similar vein, the humor consisting in the indignant wife rating her simpleminded husband for his rashness in intermeddling with affairs of state. A single passage of the altercation will suffice:

WIFE Good Lord! how magnanimous !

I fear, child, thou'rt drunk,

Dost thou think thyself, deary, a Cromwell, or Monck? Dost thou think that wise nature meant thy shallow pate,

To digest the important affairs of a state?

Thou born! thou! the machine of an empire to wield?

And thou wise in debate? Should'st feel bold in the field?

If thou'st wisdom to manage tobacco, and slave,
It's as much as God ever designed thee to have:
Because men are males, are they all politicians?
Why then I presume they're divines and physicians,
And born all with talents every station to fill,
Noble proofs you've given! no doubt of your skill:
Would! instead of Delegates, they'd sent Delegates'
wives;

Heavens! we couldn't have bungled it so for our lives!

If you had even consulted the boys of a school, Believe me, Love, you could not have played so the fool:

Would it bluster, and frighten its own poor dear wife,

As the Congress does England! quite out of her life?

HUSBAND. This same Congress, my dear, much disturbeth thy rest,

God and man ask no more than that men do their best;

Tis their fate, not their crimes, if they've little pretence,

To your most transcendent penetration and sense; Tis great pity, I grant, they hadn't ask'd the advice Of a judge of affairs, so profound and so nice; You're so patient, so cool, so monstrous eloquent, Next Congress, my Empress shall be made President.

A mild remonstrance against a famous practice appears in Rivington's Gazette at this date. We give it with its introductory note, showing its author at least did not set an extravagant value on his contribution.

MR. RIVINGTON—

I shall take it very kind in you, sir, if you will be so good to put the verses, wrapt up in this paper,

into your next Gazetteer, for fear of some terrible mischief: I am concerned I can't afford to give you any thing for't, but I hope you will do it for nothing, for A POOR MAN.

New York, Dec. 19, 1774.

ON HEARING THAT THE POOR MAN WAS TARRED AND FEATHERED. hard

Upon my word it's very
A man can't speak his mind,
But he must tarr'd and feather'd be,
And left to north-west wind.

God knows my heart, my neighbours dear,
I meant to serve you all;
And little did I think or fear

My pride would have such fall.
Oh sad! the toil of many an hour,
One moment can destroy.
How great is inspectional power,
How vain all human joy.

I meant to serve you all, 'tis true,
With heart, and strength, and might,
Yet selfish hop'd some praise was due
To what I did indite.

Alas! 'twas all an idle dream,

These tyrants to oppose,

In vain we strive against the stream,
They have us by the nose.

Our noses they will grind full well,
On grindstone hard and ruff,
Until we wish them all at h―ll,
And cry, Enuff, enuff.

Ah, where's the man in your defence,
That boldly will arise,

With homely language, downright sense,
To open on your eyes.

Tar, feathers, haunt him day and night,
And check his bold career.
He's not afraid of human wight,

But loves his wife full dear.

Ah, should she view him dress'd in tar,
And feathers, ah so grim,

She'd rage and rave, and storm and swear,
And tear them limb from limb.

Inspectors all, beware, beware,

Come not unto our house,

She'll scratch your eyes, and tear your hair,
And crack you like a louse.

"Twould be a shame, a woman poor

Your pow'r should dare oppose,
Kick you, and cuff you out of door,
As God and nature's foes.

Rivington's New York Gazette, Thursday,
Dec. 22, 1774.

Another, but more vigorous Tory strain, appears in the same journal a little later. As these pieces show the spirit of the time, and the activity of the foe enhances the glory of the conqueror, we do not scruple to insert them. Each section of the country seems to have furnished its quota.

On Calvert's plains new faction reigns,
Great Britain-we defy, Sir;
True liberty-lies gag'd in chains,
Tho' freedom is the cry, Sir

The Congress, and their factious tools,
Most wantonly oppress us,
Hypocrisy triumphant rules,
And sorely does distress us.

The British bands with glory crown'd,
No longer shall withstand us;

Our martial deeds loud fame shall sound,
Since mad Lee-now commands us :
Triumphant soon, a blow he'll strike,
That all the world shall awe, Sir,
And General Gage, Sir, Perseus-like,
Behind his wheels,-he'll draw, Sir.
When Gallic hosts, ungrateful men,
Our race meant to exterminate,
Pray, did Committees save us then,
Or H-k, or such vermin?

Then faction spurn, think for yourselves,
Your parent state, believe me,

From real griefs, from factious elves,
Will speedily relieve ye.
Baltimore, Dec. 19.

Contributed by "Agricola" to Rivington's New York Gazetteer, Thursday, Jan. 5, 1775.

We find in the Pennsylvania Journal of May 31, 1775, a song, which we have not met in any other shape, and which well deserves the honor of a reprint:

A SONG.

To the tune of "The Echoing Horn."

Hark! 'tis Freedom that calls, come, patriots, awake!
To arms, my brave boys, and away:
"Tis Honour, 'tis Virtue, 'tis Liberty calls,
And upbraids the too tedious delay.
What pleasure we find in pursuing our foes,
Thro' blood and thro' carnage we'll fly;
Then follow, we'll soon overtake them, huzza!
The tyrants are seized on, they die.

II.

Triumphant returning with Freedom secur'd,
Like men, we'll be joyful and gay-

With our wives and our friends, we'll sport, love, and drink,

And lose the fatigues of the day.

'Tis freedom alone gives a relish to mirth, But oppression all happiness sours;

It will smooth life's dull passage, 'twill slope the de

scent,

And strew the way over with flowers.

A few months later in the same year, we meet the date, October, 1775, of the composition of one of the finest and most popular productions of the war, the "Why should vain mortals tremble?" of Nathaniel Niles:

THE AMERICAN HERO.

A Sapphic ode, written in the time of the American Revolu tion, at Norwich, Conn., October, 1775.

Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of
Death and destruction in the field of battle,
Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in
crimson,

Sounding with death-groans?

Death will invade us by the means appointed,
And we must all bow to the king of terrors;
Nor am I anxious, if I am prepared,

What shape he comes in.

Infinite Goodness teaches us submission,
Bids us be quiet under all his dealings;
Never repining, but forever praising

God, our Creator.

Good is Jehovah in bestowing sunshine,

Nor less his goodness in the storm and thunder,
Mercies and judgment both proceed from kindness,
Infinite kindness.

O, then, exult that God forever reigneth;
Clouds which, around him, hinder our perception,
Bind us the stronger to exalt his name, and
Shout louder praises.

Then to the wisdom of my Lord and Master
I will commit all that I have or wish for,
Sweetly as babes' sleep will I give my life up,
When call'd to yield it.

Now, Mars, I dare thee, clad in smoky pillars,
Bursting from bomb-shells, roaring from the cannon,
Rattling in grape-shot like a storm of hailstones,

Torturing ether.

While all their hearts quick palpitate for havoc,
Let slip your blood-hounds, nam'd the British lions;
Dauntless as death stares, nimble as the whirl-wind,
Dreadful as demons!

Let oceans waft on all your floating castles,
Fraught with destruction, horrible to nature;
Then, with your sails fill'd by a storm of vengeance,
Bear down to battle.

From the dire caverns, made by ghostly miners,
Let the explosion, dreadful as volcanoes,
Heave the broad town, with all its wealth and peo-
ple,

Quick to destruction.

Still shall the banner of the King of Heaven
Never advance where I am afraid to follow:
While that precedes me, with an open bosom,
War, I defy thee.

Fame and dear freedom lure me on to battle,
While a fell despot, grimmer than a death's-head,
Stings me with serpents, fiercer than Medusa's,
To the encounter.

Life, for my country and the cause of freedom,
Is but a trifle for a worm to part with;
And, if preserved in so great a contest,
Life is redoubled.

Nathaniel Niles was a graduate of Princeton of 1766 and Master of Arts of Harvard 1772; be settled in Vermont, where he became District Judge of the United States. He died in West Fairlee, Vermont, in November, 1828, at the age of eighty-six. His grandfather, Samuel Niles, the minister of Braintree, Ma-s., was an author of note. He wrote Tristia Ecclesiarum, an account of the New England churches in 1745, and a tract in verse, God's Wonder Working Providence for New England in the reduction of Louisburg, in 1747, also several theological publications, and a History of the Indian Wars published in the Massachusetts Historical Collections, dying in 1762 at the age of eighty-nine.t

Niles, we learn further, preached occasionally as a Presbyterian clergyman in Norwich, Conn., during the Revolution, where he also established a wire manufactory, previous to his removal to

* Charlestown, near Boston.

+ Mass. Hist. Coll., Third eries, vi. 154–279. Updike's Nar. Ch. 37.