Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
On the British Blockade, and Expected Attack on New York1814 (abridged)Philip Freneau
O
The present times may surely rue
When told what England means to do.
The din of war salutes his ears,
That teased him not for thirty years.
The soldier to the summit led,
And cannon planted on his head:
The country has a martial look,
And Quakers’ skulk in every nook.—
We ask again with woeful face,
To save the trade and guard the place?
The cannon at the embrasure,
Will British fleets attempt to moor?
For what they got at Baltimore,
When, with disgrace, they left the shore,
On town and country, maid and man—
And all they fear is Fulton’s plan;
Whose blast may put them all to sleep,
Or ghostify them at a sweep.
Is hammering on his anvil too,
That frightens Christian, Turk, and Jew.
How can she else but torture them,
Be proof to all their fire and flame.
Of scalded heads and broken bones
Discharged from iron-hearted guns.
Such suppers never did provide:—
Such dinners roasted, boil’d, and fry’d.
If to attack they change blockade
Their godships will be well repaid
With melted lead and flaming shot,
With vollies of—I know not what,
Their wooden walls will be so heated,
Their ruin will be soon completed.
The Neversink repel their thunder
And Cockburn miss a handsome plunder.