Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BURNING OF JAMESTOWN, by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BURNING OF JAMESTOWN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Mad berkeley believed, with his gay cavaliers
Last Line: The rogues rule and ruin, while honest men swing.
Subject(s): Bacon, Nathaniel (1647-1676); Jamestown, Virginia


MAD Berkeley believed, with his gay cavaliers,
And the ruffians he brought from the Accomac shore,
He could ruffle our spirit by rousing our fears,
And lord it again as he lorded before:
It was -- "Traitors, be dumb!"
And -- "Surrender, ye scum!"
And that Bacon, our leader, was rebel, he swore.

A rebel? Not he! He was true to the throne;
For the King, at a word, he would lay down his life;
But to listen unmoved to the piteous moan
When the redskin was plying the hatchet and knife,
And shrink from the fray,
Was not the man's way --
It was Berkeley, not Bacon, who stirred up the strife.

On the outer plantations the savages burst,
And scattered around desolation and woe;
And Berkeley, possessed by some spirit accurst,
Forbade us to deal for our kinsfolk a blow;
Though when, weapons in hand,
We made our demand,
He sullenly suffered our forces to go.

Then while we were doing our work for the crown,
And risking our lives in the perilous fight,
He sent lying messengers out, up and down,
To denounce us as outlaws -- mere malice and spite;
Then from Accomac's shore
Brought a thousand or more,
Who swaggered the country around, day and night.

Returning in triumph, instead of reward
For the marches we made and the battles we won,
There were threats of the fetters or bullet or sword --
Were these a fair guerdon for what we had done?
When this madman abhorred
Appealed to the sword,
And our leader said "fight!" did he think we would run?

Battle-scarred, and a handful of men as we were,
We feared not to combat with lord or with lown,
So we took the old wretch at his word -- that was fair;
But he dared not come out from his hold in the town
Where he lay with his men,
Like a wolf in his den;
And in siege of the place we sat steadily down.

He made a fierce sally, -- his force was so strong
He thought the mere numbers would put us to flight, --
But we met in close column his ruffianly throng,
And smote it so sore that we filled him with fright;
Then while ready we lay
For the storming next day,
He embarked in his ships, and escaped in the night.

The place was our own; could we hold it? why, no!
Not if Berkeley should gather more force and return;
But one course was left us to baffle the foe --
The birds would not come if the nest we should burn;
So the red, crackling fire
Climbed to roof-top and spire,
A lesson for black-hearted Berkeley to learn.

That our torches destroyed what our fathers had raised
On that beautiful isle, is it matter of blame?
That the houses we dwelt in, the church where they praised
The God of our Fathers, we gave to the flame?
That we smiled when there lay
Smoking ruins next day,
And nothing was left of the town but its name?

We won; but we lost when brave Nicholas died;
The spirit that nerved us was gone from us then;
And Berkeley came back in his arrogant pride
To give to the gallows the best of our men;
But while the grass grows
And the clear water flows,
The town shall not rise from its ashes again.

So, you come for your victim! I'm ready; but, pray,
Ere I go, some good fellow a full goblet bring.
Thanks, comrade! Now hear the last words I shall say
With the last drink I take. Here's a health to the King,
Who reigns o'er a land
Where, against his command,
The rogues rule and ruin, while honest men swing.





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