Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MIDNIGHT CONSULTATIONS; OR A TRIP TO BOSTON, by PHILIP FRENEAU


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MIDNIGHT CONSULTATIONS; OR A TRIP TO BOSTON, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Small bliss is theirs, whom fate's too heavy hand
Last Line: And she be glorious -- but ourselves as free!
Subject(s): American Revolution; Boston


SMALL bliss is theirs, whom Fate's too heavy hand
Confines through life to some small speck of land;
More wretched they, whom heaven inspires to roam,
Yet languish out their lives, and die at home.

Heaven gave to man this wide extended round,
No climes confine him, and no oceans bound;
Heaven gave him forest, mountain, vale and plain,
And bade him vanquish, if he could, the main;
But sordid cares our short-lived race confine,
Some toil at trades, some labour in the mine,
The miser hoards, and guards his shining store,
The sun still rises where he rose before --
No happier scenes his earth-born fancy fill
Than one dark valley, or one well-known hill,
To other shores his mind, untaught to stray,
Dull and inactive, slumbers life away.

BUT by the aid of yonder glimmering beam
The pole star, faithful to my vagrant dream,
Wild regent of my heart! in dreams convey
Where herded Britons their bold ranks display;
So late the pride of England's fertile soil.
(Her grandeur heightened by successive toil)
See, how they sicken in these hostile climes,
Themes for the stage, and subjects for our rhimes.

WHAT modern poet have the muses led
To draw the curtain that conceals the dead?
What bolder bard to Boston shall repair,
To view the peevish, half-starved spectres there?

O thou wronged country! why sustain these ills?
Why rest thy navies on their native hills?
See, endless forests shade the uncultured plain,
Descend, ye forests, and command the main:
A leafy verdure shades the mighty mast,
And every oak bends idly to the blast,
Earth's entrails teem with stores for your defence,
Descend, and drag the stores of war from thence;
Your fertile soil the flowing sail supplies,
And Europe's arts in every village rise --
No want is yours -- Disdain unmanly fear.
And swear, no Tyrant shall reign master here;
Know your own strength -- in rocky deserts bred,
Shall the fierce tiger by the dog be led,
And bear all insults from that snarling race
Whose courage lies in impudence of face? --
No -- rather bid the wood's wild native turn,
And from his side the unfaithful guardian spurn.

Now, pleased, I wander to the dome of state
Where Gage resides, our western potentate --
Chief of ten thousand, all a race of slaves,
Sent to be shrouded in untimely graves;
Sent byour angry Jove, sent sword in hand
To murder, burn, and ravage through the land --

You dream of conquest -- tell me how or whence --
Act like a man, and get you gone from hence;
A madman sent you to this hostile shore
To vanquish nations, that shall spill your gore --
Go fiends, and each in friendly league combined
Destroy, distress, and triumph o'er mankind! --
'Tis not our peace this murdering hand restrains,
The want of power is made the monster's chains;
Compassion is a stranger to his heart,
Or if it came, he bade the guest depart;
The melting tear, the sympathising groan
Were never yet to Gage or Jefferies known;
The seas of blood his heart fore-dooms to spill
Is but a dying serpent's rage to kill,
What power shall drive these vipers from our shore,
These monsters swoln with carnage, death, and gore?

Twelve was the hour -- congenial darkness reigned
And no bright star a mimic day-light feigned --
First, GAGE we saw -- a crimson chair of state
Received the honour of his honour's weight,
This man of straw the regal purple bound,
But dullness, deepest dullness, hovered round.

Next Graves, who wields the trident of the brine,
The tall arch-captain of the embattled line
All gloomy sate -- mumbling of flame and fire,
Balls, cannon, ships,and all their damned attire;
Well pleased to live in never ending hum,
But empty as the interior of his drum.

Hard by, BURGOYNE assumes an ample space,
And seemed to meditate with studious face,
As if again he wished our world to see
Long, dull, dry letters writ to General LEE --
Huge scrawls of words through endless circuits drawn
Unmeaning, as the errand he's upon. --
Is he to conquer -- he subdue our land? --
This buckram hero, with his lady's hand?
By Cesars to be vanquished is a curse,
But by a scribbling fop -- by heaven, is worse!

Lord Piercy seemed to snore -- but may the muse
This ill-timed snoring to the peer excuse;
Tired was the long boy of his toilsome day,
Full fifteen miles he fled -- a tedious way,
How should he then the dews of Somnus shun,
Perhaps not used to walk, much less to run.
Red faced as suns, when sinking to repose,
Rec lined the infernal captain of the ROSE,
In fame's proud temple aiming for a nich,
With those who find her at the cannon's breech;
Skilled to direct the cannonading shot,
No Turkish rover half so murdering hot,
Pleased with base vengeance on defenceless towns,
His heart was malice -- but his words were, Zounds!

HOWE, vext to see his starving army's doom,
Once more besought the skies for elbow room --
Small was his stock, and theirs, of heavenly grace,
Yet just enough to ask a larger place. --
He cursed the brainless minister that planned
His bootless errand to this hostile land,
But awed by Gage, his bursting wrath recoiled,
And in his inmost bosom doubly boiled.

These, chief of all the tyrant-serving train,
Exalted sate -- the rest (a pensioned clan,)
A sample of the multitudes that wait,
Pale sons of famine, at perdition's gate,
NORTH'S friends down swarming, (so our monarch wills)
Hungry as death, from Caledonian hills;
Whose endless numbers if you bid me tell,
(I'll count the atoms of this globe as well)
Knights, captains, 'squires -- a wonder-working band!
Held at small wages 'till they gain the land,
Flocked pensive round -- black spleen assailed their hearts,
(The sport of plough boys, with their arms and arts)
And made them doubt (howe'er for vengeance hot)
Whether they were invincible or not.

Now Gage up-starting from his cushioned seat
Swore thrice, and cryed -- "'Tis nonsense to be beat!
Thus to be drubbed! -- pray, warriors, let me know
Which be in fault, myself, the fates, or you --
Henceforth let Britain deem her men mere toys --
Gods! to be frightened thus by country boys;
Why, if your men had had a mind to sup,
They might have eat that scare-crow army up --
Three thousand to twelve hundred thus to yield,
And twice five hundred stretched upon the field! --
O shame to Britain, and the British name,
Shame damps my heart, and I must die with shame
Thus to be worsted, thus disgraced and beat! --
You have the knack, Lord Piercy, to retreat,
The death you 'scaped my warmest blood congeals,
Heaven grant me, too, so swift a pair of heels --
In Chevy-Chace, as, doubtless, you have read,
Lord Piercy would have sooner died than fled --
Behold the virtues of your house decay --
Ah! how unlike the Piercy of that day!"

Thus spoke the great man in disdainful tone
To the gay peer -- not meant for him alone --
But ere the tumults of his bosom rise
Thus from his bench the intrepid peer replies:
"When once the soul has reached the Stygian shore,
My prayer-book says, it shall return no more --
When once old Charon hoists his tar-blacked sail,
And his boat swims before the infernal gale,
Farewell to all that pleased the man above,
Farewell to feats of arms, and joys of love,
Farewell the trade that father Cain began,
Farewell to wine, that cheers the heart of man;
All, all farewell! -- the pensive shade must go
Where cold Medusa turns to stone below,
Where Belus' maids eternal labours ply
To drench the cask that stays forever dry,
And Sisiphus, with many a weary groan,
Heaves up the mount the still recoiling stone!

"Since, then, this truth no mortal dares deny,
That heroes, kings -- and lords, themselves, must die,
And yield to him who dreads no hostile sword,
But treats alike the peasant and the lord;
Since even great George must in his turn give place
And leave his crown, his Scotchmen, and his lace --
How blest is he, how prudent is the man
Who keeps aloof from fate -- while yet he can;
One well-aimed ball can make us all no more
Than shipwrecked scoundrels on that leeward shore.

"But why, my friends, these hard reflections still
On Lexington affairs -- 'tis Bunker's Hill --
O fatal hill! -- one glance at thee restrains
My once warm blood, and chills it in my veins --
May no sweet grass adorn thy hateful crest
That saw Britannia's bravest troops distrest --
Or if it does -- may some destructive gale
The green leaf wither, and the grass turn pale --
All moisture to your brow may heaven deny,
And God and man detest you, just as I --
'Tis Bunker's Hill, this night has brought us here,
Pray question him who led your armies there,
Nor dare my courage into question call,
Or blame Lord Piercy for the fault of all."

HOWE chanced to nod while heathenish Piercy spoke,
But as his lordship ceased, his honour 'woke,
(Like those whom sermons into sleep betray)
Then rubbed his eyes, and thus was heard to say:

"Shall those who never ventured from the town,
Or their ships' sides, now pull our glory down?
We fought our best -- so God my honour save --
No British soldiers ever fought so brave --
Resolved I led them to the hostile lines,
(From this day famed where'er great Phoebus shines)
Firm at their head I took my dangerous stand,
Marching to death and slaughter, sword in hand,
But wonted Fortune halted on her way,
We fought with madmen, and we lost the day --
Putnam's brave troops, your honours would have swore
Had robbed the clouds of half their nitrous store,
With my bold veterans strewed the astonished plain,
For not one musquet was discharged in vain. --
But, honoured Gage, why droops thy laurelled head? --
Five hundred foes we packed off to the dead. --

"Now captains, generals, hear me and attend!
Say, shall we home for other succours send?
Shall other navies cross the stormy main? --
They may, but what shall awe the pride of Spain?
Still for dominion haughty Louis pants --
Ah! how I tremble at the thoughts of France. --
Shall mighty George, to enforce his injured laws,
Transport all Russia to support the cause? --
That allyed empire countless shoals may pour
Numerous as sands that strew the Atlantic shore,
But policy inclines my heart to fear
They'll turn their arms against us, when they're here --
Come, let's agree -- for something must be done
Ere autumn flies, and winter hastens on --
When pinching cold our navy binds in ice,
You'll find 'tis then too late to take advice."

The clock strikes two! -- Gage smote upon his breast,
And cryed, -- " What fate determines must be best --
But now attend -- a counsel I impart
That long has laid the heaviest at my heart --
Three weeks -- ye gods! -- nay, three long years it seems
Since roast-beef I have touched, except in dreams.
In sleep, choice dishes to my view repair,
Waking, I gape and champ the empty air. --
Say, is it just that I, who rule these bands,
Should live on husks, like rakes in foreign lands? --
Come let us plan some project ere we sleep
And drink destruction to the rebel sheep.
On neighbouring isles uncounted cattle stray,
Fat beeves, and swine, an ill defended prey --
These are fit visions for my noon day dish,
These, if my soldiers act as I would wish,
In one short week should glad your maws and mine --
On mutton we will sup -- on roast beef dine."

Shouts of applause re-echoed thro' the hall,
And what pleased one as surely pleased them all,
WALLACE was named to execute the plan,
And thus sheep-stealing pleased them to a man.

Now slumbers stole upon the great man's eye,
His powdered foretop nodded from on high,
His lids just opeed to find how matters were,
Dissolve, he said, and so dissolved ye are,
Then downward sunk to slumbers dark and deep,
Each nerve relaxed -- and even his guts asleep.



EPILOGUE.

WHAT are these strangers from a foreign isle,
That we should fear their hate, or court their smile --
Pride sent them here, pride blasted in the bud,
Who if she can, will build her throne in blood,
With slaughtered millions glut her tearless eyes,
And bid even virtue fall, that she may rise.

What deep offence has fired a monarch's rage?
What moon-struck madness seized the brain of GAGE?
Laughs not the soul when an imprisoned crew
Affect to pardon those they can't subdue,
Tho' thrice repulsed, and hemmed up to their stations,
Yet issue pardons, oaths, and proclamations! --
Too long our patient country wears their chains,
Too long our wealth all-grasping Britain drains.

Why still a handmaid to that distant land?
Why still subservient to their proud command?
Britain the bold, the generous, and the brave
Still treats our country like the meanest slave,
Her haughty lords already share the prey,
Live on our labours, and with scorn repay --
Rise, sleeper, rise, while yet the power remains,
And bind their nobles and their chiefs in chains:
Bent on destructive plans, they scorn our plea,
'Tis our own efforts that must make us free --
Born to contend, our lives we place at stake,
And rise to conquerors by the stand we make. --

The time may come when strangers rule no more,
Nor cruel mandates vex from Britain's shore,
When commerce may extend her shortened wing,
And her rich freights from every climate bring.
When mighty towns shall flourish free and great,
Vast their dominion, opulent their state,
When one vast cultivated region teems
From ocean's side to Missisippi streams,
While each enjoys his vine tree's peaceful shade,
And even the meanest has no foe to dread.

And you, who far from Liberty detained,
Wear out existence in some slavish land --
Forsake those shores, a self-ejected throng,
And armed for vengeance, here resent the wrong:
Come to our climes, where unchained rivers flow,
And loftiest groves, and boundless forests grow,
Here the blest soil your future care demands;
Come, sweep the forests from these shaded lands,
And the kind earth shall every toil repay,
And harvests flourish as the groves decay.

O heav'n-born Peace, renew thy wonted charms
Far be this rancour, and this din of arms --
To warring lands return, an honoured guest,
And bless our crimson shore among the rest --
Long may Britannia rule our hearts again,
Rule as she ruled in George the second's reign,
May ages hence her growing grandeur see,
And she be glorious -- but ourselves as free!






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