A VOYAGE TO BOSTON, A POEM

How curs'd the man whom fate's unhappy doom

Confines, unluckly, to his native home,

How doubly curs'd by cross grain'd stars is he,

Whom fate ties down, tho’ struggling to be free!

Heaven gave to man this vast 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:

Then, miser, hoard and heap thy riches still,

View the sun rise above thy well known hill,

Vile as the swine, enjoy thy gloomy den,

Sweat in the compass of a squalid pen,

‘ Till sick of life, on terms with death agree,

And leave thy fortune, not thy heart, to me.

So mus'd the bard who this rough verse indites,

Asserting freedom, and his country's rights:

Nor mus'd in vain; the fruitful musings brought

To practice what in theory he thought;

And gave desire, a keen desire, to roam

A hundred or two hundred leagues from home.

Where should he go? The eastern hills reply,

Come, pensive traveller, with thy tearful eye,

Come, and fair Boston from our summit see,

No city sits so widow-like as she;

Her trading navies spread their sails no more,

Remotest nations cease to seek her shore,

Deep are her weeds — in darkest sable clad,

O come and view the Queen of all that's sad,

Long are her nights, that yield no chearful sound,

Like endless nights in tombs below the ground,

Low burns her lamp before th’ insulting rout;

See, the lamp dies, and every light goes out!

O Britain come, and, if you can, relent

This rage, that better might on Spain be spent.

Touch'd with the mountain's melancholy prayer

( Perhaps a mountain or Dame Fancy there )

Could I refuse, since mutual grief endears,

To seek New Albion's Lady all in tears?

But doubts perplexing hover'd o'er my mind,

Whether to chuse the aid of horse or wind;

That suits the best with bards of place and state,

This must be needy Rhymers compensate,

Since Jove his ancient bounty has deny'd,

And grants no modern Pegasus to ride.

Dark was the night, the winds tempestuous roar'd

From western skies, and warn'd us all aboard;

Spread were the sails, the nimble vessel flies

O'er Neptune's bosom and reflected skies;

Nor halt I here to tell you how she roves

O'er Tython's chambers and his coral groves.

Let some prose wand'rer long-sun journals keep,

I haste me, like the vessel, o'er the deep;

Nor tire you with descriptions of the coast,

New mountains gain'd or hills in aether lost,—

The muse can only hint at scenes like these,

Not stop to spend her poem in their praise:

Three days we cut the brine with steady prore,

The fourth beheld as on New Albion's shore.

Guard me, ye heavens, shield this defenceless head,

While travelling o'er these sanguine plains of dead;

Nor only me, may heaven defend us all

From the harsh rigour of King George's ball.

Far in the depth of an aspiring wood,

Where roll'd its waves a silver winding flood,

Our weary vessel urg'd its darksome way,

And safely anchor'd in a shady bay.

Landing, I left the weather-beaten crew,

And pensive rov'd as home-sick travellers do;

When all at once before my wand'ring eyes,

The Genius of the river seem'd to rise;

Tall and erect, untaught by years to bow,

But not a smile relax'd his clouded brow:

His swarthy features vengeful deeds forebode,

Terror march'd on before him as he trode;

His rattling quiver at his shoulder hung,

His pointed spear and glitt'ring helmet rung;

The tall oaks trembled at the warlike shade,

When thus the Genius of the water said:

“O curious stranger, come from far to see

What grieves us all, but none so much as me!

The free-born Genius of the woods am I,

Who scorn to dwell in lands of slavery;

I, tho’ unseen, command the heart to dare,

And spread the soul of freedom thro’ the air,

That each may taste and value if he can,

This sovereign good that constitutes the man:

Here, in the center of tyrannic sway,

I spread my spirit and forbid dismay,

To every bosom dart may influence round,

Like the sun beams that fructify the ground;

But waft a timorous and ignoble breath

Where conscience, conscience bids them shrink at death.

“O stranger, led by Heaven's supreme decree,

Go, view the dire effects of tyranny,

Strait to the town direct thy fated way,

But heark attentive, listen and obey,

I to thy care commit this magic vest,

To guard thee‘ midst yon’ spires, a viewless guest;

Whene'er its wreathy folds thy limbs embrace,

No mortal eye thy roving step shall trace;

Unseen as ghosts that quit the clay below,

Yet seeing all securely thou shalt go.

There watch the motions of the hostile lines,

Observe their counsels, watch their deep designs;

Trace all their schemes, the lawless strength survey

Of licens'd robbers howling for their prey.”

So spoke the Genius of the shaded wave,

And then the vest of wondrous virtue gave,

Which scarce my limbs enwrapt, when I began

To move as ne'er before did mortal man.

Light as the air, as free as winds I stray'd,

Pierc'd firmest rocks and walls for prisons made,

Soar'd high, nor ask'd the feeble aid of art,

And trac'd all secrets but the human heart.

Then to the town I held my hasty course,

To Boston's town subdu'd by lawless force;

Close by a centinel I took my stride,

The wretch ne'er saw me tho’ I graz'd his side:

But for my vest, what pains had been my lot.

What gibes, what sneers, reproaches, and what not?

Or in their place the robbers had constrained

To turn a Tory, which my heart disdained.

Now stalk'd I on towards the dome of state,

Where Gage resides, our western Potentate,

A second Cortez, sent by heaven's command,

To murder, rage, and ravage o'er our land;

A very Cortez — what's the difference?

He wants his courage and he wants his sense;

E'en Cortez would our tyrant's part disdain.

That murder'd strangers; this his countrymen;

In all the rest resemblance so exact,

No glass Venetian could more true reflect.

In all their rest, congenial souls combin'd,

The scourge, the curse and scandal of our kind.

Cortez was sent by Spain's black brotherhood,

Whose faith is murder, whose religion blood;

Sent unprovok'd, with his Iberian train,

To fat the soil with millions of the slain:

Poor Mexico! arouse thy sanguine head,

Peru, disclose thy hosts of murder'd dead!

Let your vast plains all white with human bones,

That bleeding lie, and ask sepulchral stones,

Force a dumb voice and echo to the sky,

The blasting curse of papal tyranny;

And let your rocks, and let your hills proclaim,

That Gage and Cortez’ errand is the same.

Say then what cause this murd'rous band restrains?

The want of power is made the monster's chains,

The streams of blood his heart foredooms to spill,

Is but a dying serpent's rage to kill:

What power shall drive this serpent from our shore,

This scorpion, swoln with carnage, death, and gore?

Twelve was the hour,— infernal darkness reign'd,

Low hung the clouds, the stars their light restrain'd:

High in the dome a dire assembly sat,

A stupid council on affairs of state;

To their dim lamps I urg'd my fearless way,

And marching‘ twixt their guards without delay,

Step'd boldly in, and safely veil'd from view,

Stood in the center of the black-guard crew.

First, Gage was there — a mimic chair of state,