The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker/A Pastoral Dialogue

by Ann Eliza Bleecker

SCENE---TOMHANICK.

1780.

SUSANNA.
Eliza, rise, the orient glows with day,
Already Phosphor darts his amber ray;
The fainting planets vanish from the skies,
Distinct already all the prospects rise;
Begin our walk, but cheer the lonely way
With music, previous to the swallow's lay.

ELIZA.
My sister, cease, these hostile shades refuse
Admission to the lute or peaceful Muse;
Lo! the broad standard shades the flow'ry plain,
Nor crooks (but musquets) arm the awkward swain;
Death's heavy engines thunder thro' the vale,
And Echo but retorts the savage yell;
From undissembled grief my numbers flow,
And few the graces that attend on woe.

SUSANNA.
Yet sing---e'en woe a pleasure can impart,
When sweetly warbled, or if told with art.

ELIZA.
Columbia rescued from barbaric pow'rs,
Drew all the sons of want unto her shores;
The indigent, th' opprest, a sighing host,
And wretches exil'd from their native coast;
For whom European affluence could not spare
A frugal morsel, pining Want to cheer;
Hither repair'd, and with incessant toil
Fell'd the tall trees from the incumber'd soil:
From the low cottage now recede the oaks,
The forest answers to the woodman's strokes;
Hard was the toil, but amply (soon) repaid
By golden harvests, which the valleys shade;
Vertumnes added to his native stores
Exotic fruits, and Flora planted flow'rs:
Then temples rose, the harbours open'd wide,
And wealthy ships flow'd in with every tide.

Thus rich and happy, virtue made them gay,
And hard got Freedom blest each cheerful day;
By industry those blessings they obtain'd,
And learn'd to value what they dearly gain'd.
---Americans! ye thought your labours o'er,
Ah no! the hydra Envy brings you more.
Now cast thine eyes o'er the Cerulian Main,
See George conspicuous by his bloody reign;
Hard by Oppression's iron chair is seen,
Where menacing she sits with threat'ning mein;
Still as the monarch smiles, and to her turns,
Sad Freedom trembles---all the people mourns.
'Art thou indeed a king,' the fury cries,
'And see'st thy subjects all like rivals rise?
'A land of princes, opulent and proud,
'Scarce thou thyself distinguish'd from the croud:
'Reduce their sumless stores, their pow'r withstand,
'Kings were not made to ask, but to command:
'See the licentious land by riot rent,
'Say, what but fear can keep the slaves content?
'Soon thy rich rival on th' Atlantic shore
'Will scorn to ask thy aid, or own thy pow'r:
'Then bow thy sceptre heavy o'er the waves,
'Thy safety urges, and they must be slaves;
'Restrict their trade, severer laws invent,
'And to inforce them be thy armies sent.
Ah simple prince! learn but the easier arts,
With mildest sway to rule thy people's hearts;
Firm as the centre then thy throne should stand,
Rever'd and guarded by a grateful land.

Columbia weeps, she kneels before the throne,
But plaints, and tears, and sighs, avail her none;
One sad alternative alone remains,
The woes of war, or else the tyrant's chains.

This, Virtue from the western mountains heard,
'Be calm, my sons,' she cried, 'I am your guard;
'But if th' ambitious homocide shall dare
'To pour across the seas the tide of war,
'Arm, arm in haste! 'tis heav'n's and freedom's cause!'
Consenting nations echoed loud applause.

Now Britain's marine thunders shake the ground,
New Albian's structures fall in ruins round;
The mournful fires extend along the strand,
And ocean blushes as the fires expand;
The flames still rise, till quench'd with human blood,
The sanguine stream commixes with the flood;
Then ocean blushes deeper still with gore,
And Desolation shrieks along the shore:
Nor do her coasts alone the fury feel,
Deep in her forests gleams the deadly steel;
Britannia's ally, from his dark recess,
With fell intent invades the shades of Peace.
See the low cot with ivy cover'd o'er,
Where age and youth sit smiling at the door;
The virgin carols on the dusty road,
And sprightly music fills the vocal wood:
Calm are the skies, the dewy poppies blow,
Nor man, nor beast is conscious of a foe:
Swift, like a hurricane destruction flies,
The cottage blazes, and its owner dies.
Look from this point, where op'ning glades reveal
The glassy Hudson shining 'twixt the hills;
There many a structure dress'd the steepy shore,
And all beyond were daily rising more:
The bending trees with annual fruit did smile,
Each harvest sure, for fertile is the soil:
Nor need the peasant immolate his ox,
Nor hunger press him to decrease his flocks;
The stately stag a richer feast supplies,
The river brings him fish of various size;
With water fowl his silver lakes abound,
And honey gushes from the maple's wound.

Autumnal show'rs attemper'd Phoebus' ray,
The blooming meads with deep'ning green were gay,
The birds were cheerful, nor the rustic less,
Joy on his cheek, and in his bosom peace;
Down rush'd the tawny natives from the hill,
And every place with fire and murder fill;
Arm'd with the hatchet and a flaming brand,
They soon reverse the aspect of the land:
Observe, Susanna, not a bird is there,
The tall burnt trees rise mournful in the air,
Nor man nor beast the smoking ruins explores,
And Hudson flows more solemn by those shores.
But ah! I see thee turn away and mourn,
Thy feeling heart with silent anguish torn;
Cheer up, tho' long and dark has been our night,
The deepest shades precede the morning light;
And when I recollect our heavenly aid,
Hope flushes round and dissipates the shade;
He who reveng'd the blood of Abel spilt
Has thunders sure for more extensive guilt;
Nor can we doubt, when horrors round us clos'd
His obvious arm how lately interpos'd,
To render Britain's northern phalanx ^[1] vain,
To blast the traitor, ^[2] and defeat his plan.

For what contest we? is it thirst of gain,
Or thirst of blood that fills the land with slain?
Ah, no! tenacious of the gift of God
We would defend our Freedom with our blood;
She arms our sons, she bids them nobly dare,
And calls on Conquest to decide the war:
What tho' the Goddess still defers the blow,
Her arm shall soon repel th' invading foe;
Her arm unfurl our starry standard wide,
For Conquest loves to be on Freedom's side.
Then let the disappointed navy fly,
Cursing the winds and inauspicious sky,
While acclamations fill the region round,
And from their hollow ships loud shouts rebound.

Notes

1. 
   Burgoyne's army.
2. 
   Arnold.