Remembrance shudders at this scene of fears,
Still in my view, some tyrant chief appears,
Some base-born Hessian slave walks threatening by,
Some servile Scot with murder in his eye,
Still haunts my sight, as vainly they bemoan
Rebellions managed so unlike their own.
O may I never feel the poignant pain
To live subjected to such fiends again!
Stewards and mates that hostile Britain bore,
Cut from the gallows on their native shore;
Their ghastly looks and vengeance beaming eyes
Still to my view in dismal visions rise,--
O may I ne'er review these dire abodes,
These piles for slaughter floating on the floods!
And you that o'er the troubled ocean go
Strike not your standards to this venomed foe,
Better the greedy wave should swallow all,
Better to meet the death-conducting ball,
Better to sleep on ocean's oozy bed,
At once destroyed and numbered with the dead,
Than thus to perish in the face of day
Where twice ten thousand deaths one death delay.
When to the ocean sinks the western sun,
And the scorched tories fire their evening gun,
"Down, rebels, down!" the angry Scotchmen cry,
"Base dogs, descend, or by our broadswords die!"
Hail, dark abode! What can with thee compare?
Heat, sickness, famine, death, and stagnant air,--
* * * * *
Swift from the guarded decks we rushed along,
And vainly sought repose, so vast our throng.
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