Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE BRITISH FROM CHARLESTON, by PHILIP FRENEAU


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE BRITISH FROM CHARLESTON, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: His triumphs of a moment done
Last Line: "these for their country fought and bled."
Subject(s): American Revolution; Charleston, South Carolina


HIS triumphs of a moment done;
His race of desolation run,
The Briton, yielding to his fears,
To other shores with sorrow steers:

To other shores -- and coarser climes
He goes, reflecting on his crimes,
His broken oaths, a murder'd Hayne,
And blood of thousands, spilt in vain.

To Cooper's stream, advancing slow,
Ashley no longer tells his woe,
No longer mourns his limpid flood
Discolor'd deep with human blood.

Lo! where those social streams combine
Again the friends of Freedom join;
And, while they stray where once they bled,
Rejoice to find their tyrants fled,

Since memory paints that dismal day
When British squadrons held the sway,
And circling close on every side,
By sea and land retreat deny'd --

Shall she recall that mournful scene,
And not the virtues of a GREENE,
Who great in war -- in danger try'd,
Has won the day, and crush'd their pride.

Through barren wastes and ravag'd lands
He led his bold undaunted bands,
Through sickly climes his standard bore
Where never army marched before:

By fortitude, with patience join'd
(The virtues of a noble mind),
He spread, where'er our wars are known,
His country's honor and his own.

Like Hercules, his generous plan
Was to redress the wrongs of men;
Like him, accustom'd to subdue,
He freed a world from monsters too.

Through every want and every ill
We saw him persevering still,
Through Autumn's damps and Summer's heat,
Till his great purpose was complete.

Like the bold eagle, from the skies
That stoops, to seize his trembling prize,
He darted on the slaves of kings
At Camden heights and Eutaw Springs.

Ah! had our friends that led the fray
Surviv'd the ruins of that day,
We should not damp our joy with pain,
Nor, sympathizing, now complain.

Strange! that of those who nobly dare
Death always claims so large a share,
That those of virtue most refin'd
Are soonest to the grave consign'd! --

But fame is theirs -- and future days
On pillar'd brass shall tell their praise;
Shall tell -- when cold neglect is dead --
"These for their country fought and bled."





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