We are indebted to the Curiosities of American Literature, by R. W. Griswold, printed as an Appendix to a reprint (New York, 1843) of D'Israeli's Curiosities, for two spirited productions on the defeat of Burgoyne.

THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE..

When Jack the king's commander
Was going to his duty,

Through all the crowd he smiled and bow'd
To every blooming beauty.

The city rung with feats he'd done

In Portugal and Flanders,

And all the town thought he'd be crown'd The first of Alexanders.

To Hampton Court he first repairs

To kiss great George's hand, sirs; Then to harangue on state affairs

Before he left the land, sirs.

The "Lower House" sat mute as mouse
To hear his grand oration;

And all the peers," with loudest cheers,
Proclaimed him to the nation.

Then off he went to Canada,

Next to Ticonderoga,
And quitting those away he goes
Straightway to Saratoga.

With great parade his march he made
To gain his wished-for station,
While far and wide his minions hied
To spread his "Proclamation."

To such as staid he offers made

Of" pardon on submission;

But savage bands should waste the lands
Of all in opposition."

But ah, the cruel fates of war!
This boasted son of Britain,
When mounting his triumphal car
With sudden fear was smitten.

The sons of Freedom gathered round,
His hostile bands confounded,

And when they'd fain have turn'd their back
They found themselves surrounded!

In vain they fought, in vain they fled,
Their chief, humane and tender,

To save the rest soon thought it best
His forces to surrender.

Brave St. Clair, when he first retired

Knew what the fates portended;
And Arnold and heroic Gates
His conduct have defended.

Thus may America's brave sons
With honour be rewarded,
And be the fate of all her foes
The same as here recorded.

THE NORTH CAMPAIGN.

Come unto me, ye heroes,
Whose hearts are true and bold,
Who value more your honour
Than others do their gold;
Give ear unto my story,
And I the truth will tell
Concerning many a soldier,
Who for his country fell.

Burgoyne, the king's commander,
From Canada set sail

With full eight thousand reg'lars, He thought he could not fail; VOL. 1.-29

With Indians and Canadians,

And his cursed Tory crew,
On board his fleet of shipping
He up the Champlain flew.
Before Ticonderoga,

The first day of July,
Appear'd his ships and army,
And we did them espy.
Their motions we observed
Full well both night and day,
And our brave boys prepared
To have a bloody fray.

Our garrison they viewed them,

As straight their troops did land,
And when St. Clair, our chieftain,
The fact did understand
That they the Mount Defiance
Were bent to fortify,

He found we must surrender,
Or else prepare to die.

The fifth day of July, then,
He order'd a retreat,
And when next morn we started,
Burgoyne thought we were beat.
And closely he pursued us,

Till when near Hubbardton,
Our rear guards were defeated,
He thought the country won.
And when 't was told in Congress,
That we our forts had left,

To Albany retreated,

Of all the North bereft.
Brave General Gates they sent us,
Our fortunes to retrieve,
And him with shouts of gladness
The army did receive.

Where first the Mohawk's waters
Do in the sunshine play,
For Herkimer's brave soldiers
Sellinger ambush'd lay;
And them he there defeated,
But soon he had his due,
And scared by Brooks and Arnold
He to the North withdrew.

To take the stores and cattle
That we had gather'd then,
Burgoyne sent a detachment
Of fifteen hundred men;
By Baum they were commanded,
To Bennington they went;
To plunder and to murder
Was fully their intent.

But little did they know then,
With whom they had to deal;
It was not quite so easy

Our stores and stock to steal:
Bold Starke would give them only
A portion of his lead;
With half his crew ere sunset
Baum lay among the dead.

The nineteenth of September,

The morning cool and clear,

Brave Gates rode through our army, Each soldier's heart to cheer;

* St. Leger.

A man employed by the British as a spy, was taken by Arnold, and at the suggestion of Colonel Brooks sent back to St. Leger with such deceptive accounts of the strength of the Americans as induced him to retreat towards Montreal.

"Burgoyne," he cried, "advances,

But we will never fly;
No-rather than surrender,
We'll fight him till we die."

The news was quickly brought us,
The enemy was near,
And all along our lines then,
There was no sign of fear;
It was above Stillwater

We met at noon that day,
And every one expected
To see a bloody fray.

Six hours the battle lasted,

Each heart was true as gold,
The British fought like lions,

And we like Yankees bold;

The leaves with blood were crimson,
And then brave Gates did cry-
""Tis diamond now cut diamond!
We'll beat them, boys, or die."
The darkness soon approaching,
It forced us to retreat
Into our lines till morning,

Which made them think us beat;
But ere the sun was risen,

They saw before their eyes
Us ready to engage them,

Which did them much surprise.

Of fighting they seem'd weary,
Therefore to work they go
Their thousand dead to bury,

And breastworks up to throw:
With grape and bombs intending
Our army to destroy,

Or from our works our forces
By stratagem decoy.

The seventh day of October,

The British tried again,-
Shells from their cannon throwing
Which fell on us like rain,-
To drive us from our stations

That they might thus retreat;
For now Burgoyne saw plainly
He never us could beat.

But vain was his endeavour

Our men to terrify;

Though death was all around us,

Not one of us would fly.

But when an hour we'd fought them,
And they began to yield,

Along our lines the cry ran,
"The next blow wins the field!"

Great God, who guides their battles
Whose cause is just and true,
Inspired our bold commander

The course he should pursue.
He order'd Arnold forward,
And Brooks to follow on;
The enemy were routed

Our liberty was won!
Then, burning all their luggage,
They fled with haste and fear,
Burgoyne with all his forces

To Saratogue did steer;
And Gates our brave commander,
Soon after him did hie,
Resolving he would take them
Or in the effort die.

As we came nigh the village,
We overtook the foe;

They'd burn'd each house to ashes,
Like all where'er they go.
The seventeenth of October,
They did capitulate-
Burgoyne and his proud army
Did we our pris'ners make.

Now here's a health to Arnold,
And our commander Gates;
To Lincoln and to Washington,
Whom ev'ry Tory hates;
Likewise unto our Congress,
God grant it long to reign,
Our Country, Right and Justice
For ever to maintain.

Now finish'd is my story,
My song is at an end;
The freedom we're enjoying
We're ready to defend;

For while our cause is righteous,
Heaven nerves the soldier's arm,

And vain is their endeavour

Who strive to do us harm.

To these we may add a third on the same subjeet, from McCarty's National Song Book.

THE PROGRESS OF SIR JACK BRAG.

Said Burgoyne to his men, as they pass'd in review, Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys!

These rebels their course very quickly will rue, And fly as the leaves 'fore the autumn tempest flew, When him, who is your leader, they know, boys!

They with men have now to deal,

And we soon will make them feel-
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys!

That a loyal Briton's arm, and a loyal Briton's steel, Can put to flight a rebel, as quick as other foe, boys!

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-o-o-o, boys!

Burgoyne, like André, amused himself with literature. He was the author of four five-act plays, three of which, The Maid of the Oaks, The Lord of the Manor, and The Heiress, are comedies. The fourth, Richard Coeur de Lion, is an "Historical Romance," from the French of M. Sédaine. The four were published with a few miscellaneous poems, and a Life of the Author, in two volumes, 8vo. London, 1808. The comedies are in prose, interspersed with songs, and were acted by the

British officers in garrison at Boston and New York. They possess little merit. We give the

PROLOGUE TO ZARA.

Spoken by Lord Rawdon, at Boston.

In Britain once (it stains the historic page)
Freedom was vital-struck by party rage:
Cromwell the fever watch'd, the knife supplied,
She madden'd, and by suicide she died.
Amidst the groans sunk every liberal art
That polish'd life, or humanized the heart;
Then fell the stage, quell'd by the bigots' roar,
Truth fell with sense, and Shakspeare charm'd no

more.

To sooth the times too much resembling those,
And lull the care-tir'd thought, this stage arose;
Proud if you hear, rewarded if you're pleased,
We come to minister to minds diseased.
To you, who, guardians of a nation's cause,
Unsheath the sword to vindicate her laws,
The tragic scene holds glory up to view,
And bids heroic virtue live in you:
Unite the patriot's with the warrior's care
And, while you burn to conquer, wish to spare.
The comic scene presides o'er social life,

And forms the husband, father, friend and wife;
To paint from nature, and with colours nice
Shew us ourselves, and laugh us out of vice.
Now say, ye Boston prudes, (if prudes there are)
Is this a task unworthy of the fair?
Will fame, decorum, piety refuse

A call on beauty to conduct the Muse?

Perish the narrow thought, the sland'rous tongue!
When the heart's right, the action can't be wrong.
Behold the test, mark at the curtain's rise
How Malice sinks abashed at Zara's eyes.t

The adventurous capture of General Prescott at Newport furnished ready material for a popular ballad, which was not lost sight of. Prescott was the commanding officer of the British troops in possession of Newport, and had rendered himself very unpopular by acts of petty tyranny. Lieutenant-Colonel Barton, of the American militia at Providence, determined to take him prisoner. Embarking with a small party of picked men in four whale-boats, they crossed on the night of the tenth of July, 1777, Narragansett bay to the house of a Quaker named Overing, Prescott's head-quarters, about five miles from the town. Gagging the sentinel, they entered the house unperceived, roused Prescott from his bed, and carried him off without giving him time to dress, speed being essential to success in the daring exploit, from the presence of three British frigates in the bay close to the house. The party re

"An American Correspondent says, that the officers of the army in New York, concerned in the management of the theatre, there form a body like any other company of Comedians, and share the profits arising from their exhibitions. To people on this side the water, it may seem mean for British officers to perform for hire; but in New York necessaries are so extremely dear, that an inferior officer, who has no other resources than his pay, undergoes more difficulties than the common soldier; and circumstanced as many brave men now are in America, such an exertion of their talents to increase their incomes deserves the greatest encouragement."-1781, Upcott's Newspaper Cuttings.

A parody on this prologue was published in the Freeman's Journal or New Hampshire Gazette, June 22, 1776.

crossed in safety, and conveyed their prisoner to Providence, and thence to Washington's headquarters on the Hudson. Prescott remained a prisoner until the following April, when he was exchanged for General Charles Lee, and returned to his troops in Rhode Island. Barton received a sword, and a grant of land in Vermont, from Congress. He subsequently became involved in legal proceedings in consequence of a transfer of a portion of this tract, and was thrown into prison for debt, where he remained until the visit of Lafayette in 1825, who, hearing of the circumstance, paid the debt and released the old soldier.*

The ballad written on the occasion, it is said, was served up to Prescott himself when he returned to his station. The story is thus told :—

Shortly after his exchange he returned to Rhode Island, and was invited to dine on board the admiral's ship, with many other officers of the highest grade. General Prescott was naturally a haughty, imperious man, and as a commander was very unpopular with his officers and soldiers, and with the citizens of Newport, but a brave and skilful officer.

It was often that boys as well as men were sent from the town on board the admiral's ship for any offence, and confined there for some time, by the arbitrary authority of those in power. Martial law was the law of the place. A small lad, about thirteen years of age, was placed in this situation previous to General Prescott's return, and was on board, with many others, at the time the general dined there. He did not know General Prescott.

After dinner the wine circulated freely, and a toast and song were repeatedly called for. In the course of the evening the first lieutenant observed to the admiral, who was a real jolly son of Neptune, that "there was a Yankee lad on board who would shame all the singing." Bring him up here," says Prescott. The boy was accordingly brought into the cabin. The admiral called on him to give them a song. The little fellow, being somewhat intimidated by gold-laced coats, epaulettes, &c., replied, “I can't sing any songs but Yankee songs." The admiral, perceiving that he was embarrassed, ordered the steward to give him a glass of wine, saying, "Come, my little fellow, don't be frightened; give us one of your Yankee songs." General Prescott spoke in his usual haughty, imperious manner, "You d-d young rebel, give us a song or I'll give you a dozen.' The admiral interfered, and assured the lad that he should be set at liberty the next day, "if he would give them a song-any one he could

recollect."

The following doggerel, written by a sailor of Newport, was then given, to the great amusement of the company.

'Twas on a dark and stormy night,
The wind and waves did roar,
Bold Barton then, with twenty men,
Went down upon the shore.

And in a whale-boat they set off
To Rhode Island fair,
To catch a red-coat general

Who then resided there.

Through British fleets and guard-boats strong.
They held their dangerous way,
Till they arrived unto their port,
And then did not delay.

Lossing's Field-Book, ii. 75.

A tawny son of Afric's race

Them through the ravine led,

And entering then the Overing House,
They found him in his bed.

But to get in they had no means

Except poor Cuffee's head,

Who beat the door down, then rush'd in,
And seized him in his bed.

"Stop! let me put my breeches on,"
The general then did pray:
"Your breeches, massa, I will take,
For dress we cannot stay."

Then through rye-stubble him they led,
With shoes and breeches none,
And placed him in their boat quite snug,
And from the shore were gone.
Soon the alarm was sounded loud,
"The Yankees they have come,
And stolen Prescott from his bed,

And him they've carried hum."

The drums were beat, skyrockets flew,
The soldiers shoulder'd arms,

And march'd around the ground they knew,
Fill'd with most dire alarms.

But through the fleet with muffled oars
They held their devious way,

And landed him on 'Ganset shore
Where Britain held no sway.

When unto land they came,

Where rescue there was none,

"A d-d bold push," the general cried, "Of prisoners I am one.'

There was a general shout of all the company during the whole sorg, and at the close, one who was a prisoner on board at the time, observed, he "thought the deck would come through with the stamping and cheering."

General Prescott joined most heartily in the merriment. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he handed the boy a guinea, saying, "Here, you young dog, is a guinea for you." The boy was set at liberty the next morning.

This anecdote is often related by an aged gentleman living at Newport.*

There is another version thus given in Mrs. Williams's Life of Barton.

The day was spent, the evening fair,
When Barton marched his men with caret
Down to the river's side;
And unto them most nobly said-
"Let none embark who are afraid
To cross the swelling tide."

But they, like hardy sons of Mars,
Inured to hardships and to wars,
Most nobly did reply;
"With manly rage our souls on fire,
We scorn the thought for to retire;
We conquer will or die."

Thus did they cross and march away,
Where Prescott's host encamped lay,

On hostile measures bent;

McCarty's Songs, ii. 367-869, quoted from Plymouth Me morial, 1835.

+ This song is still in traditional circulation. A friend had it from an old soldier, who commenced his recitation vigor. ously:

The moon shone bright, the night was clear,
Bold Barton march'd his men with keer.

Young David took this bloody Saul,
And sentry, aid-de-camp, and all,
Back to the boat they went.
You watchful host who round him kept,
To guard your General while he slept,
Now you have lost your head;
Since they from freedom's happy shore,
Return'd and brought their booty o'er,
The hero from his bed.

Go to your king, and to him say,
"Call home your troops, call them away,
Or Prescott's fate they'll share.”
For Barton, with his sling and stone,
Will bring the great Goliah down,

And catch him in a snare.*

We are indebted to North Carolina "Wood Notes" for the following

TRIBUTE TO GENERAL FRANCIS NASH.

Genius of Freedom! whither art thou fled?
While fields of death thy sons undaunted tread,
Lo, where for thee thy brightest heroes fall,
And not thy shield to ward the winged ball.

On Bunker's height great Warren is no more; The brave Montgomery's fate we next deplore; Princeton's fam'd fields to trembling Britain tell, How, scored with wounds, the conquering Mercer fell;

New England's boast, the generous Wooster, slain,
Demands our tears; while Britons fly the plain.
Last flow our sorrows for a favourite son,
Whom, weeping, Carolina claims her own,

The gallant Nash, who, with the fatal wound,

Though tortured, welt'ring on the hostile ground, Fight on, my troops," with smiling ardor said, ""Tis but the fate of war, be not dismay'd."

High Heaven ordain'd for great designs this woe, Which, till the destined period, none must know. Heroes of old thus for their country stood, Raised mighty empires, founded with their blood; In this new world like great events must come; Thus Athens rose, and thus imperial Rome.

Inscribed to Col. Thomas Clark, of the First North Carolina Battalion, by his friend and most obedient humble servant,

Camp, near Germantown. Oct. 80, 1777.

ALEX. MARTIN.

General Nash was wounded on the fourth, and died on the seventh of October, 1777. Lieut.-Col. Alexander Martin, the author of the lines, at the close of the war became governor of his native state of North Carolina, and afterwards a senator of the United States. Col. Clark succeeded to Nash's command.‡

The unsuccessful attempt, in connexion with the French fleet, to dislodge the British from Newport, in July, 1778, gave occasion to a lively Tory effusion.

YANKEE DOODLE'S EXPEDITION TO RHODE ISLAND.
Written at Philadelphia.

They bow'd to him, and he to them,
And then they all sat down, Sir.
Chorus. Yankee Doodle, &c.

II.

Begar, said Monsieur, one grand coup
You shall bientot behold, Sir,
This was believ'd as Gospel true,

And Jonathan felt bold, Sir.

III.

So Yankee Doodle did forget

The sound of British drum, Sir, How oft it made him quake and sweat In spite of Yankee rum, Sir.

IV.

He took his wallet on his back,

His rifle on his shoulder, And vow'd Rhode Island to attack Before he was much older.

V.

In dread array their tatter'd crew, Advanced with colours spread, Sir; Their fifes play'd Yankee Doodle doo, King Hancock at their head, Sir.

VI.

What numbers bravely cross'd the seas,
I cannot well determine,

A swarm of rebels and of fleas,
And every other vermin.

VII.

Their mighty hearts might shrink they tho't,
For all flesh only grass is,

A plenteous store they therefore brougt
Of whiskey and molasses.

VIII.

They swore they'd make bold Pigot squeak, So did their good Ally, Sir,

And take him prisoner in a week;

But that was all my eye, Sir.

IX.

As Jonathan so much desir'd, To shine in martial story, D'Estaing with politesse retir'd To leave him all the glory.

X.

He left him what was better yet, At least it was more use, Sir, He left him for a quick retreat, A very good excuse, Sir.

XL.

To stay, unless he ruled the sea,
He thought would not be right, Sir,
And Continental troops, said he,

On islands should not fight, Sir.

XII.

Another cause with these combin'd,
To throw him in the dumps, Sir,
For Clinton's name alarmed his mind
And made him stir his stumps, Sir,
Sing Yankee doodle doodle doo.
Rivington's Royal Gazette, Oct. 8, 1778.

The next event of the war of which we offer poetical commemoration, is the Massacre at Wyoming. The ballad which follows is printed, apparently for the first time, in the Appendix to

the History of Wyoming by Charles Miner,* where it is stated to have been written soon after the tragedy by "Mr. Uriah Terry, of Kingston."

WYOMING MASSACRE.

Kind Heaven, assist the trembling muse,
While she attempts to tell

Of poor Wyoming's overthrow,
By savage sons of hell.

One hundred whites, in painted hue,
Whom Butler there did lead,
Supported by a barb'rous crew
Of the fierce savage breed.

The last of June the siege began,
And several days it held,
While many a brave and valiant man
Lay slaughtered on the field.

Our troops marched out from Forty Fort,
The third day of July,

Three hundred strong, they marched along,
The fate of war to try.

But oh! alas! three hundred men,
Is much too small a band,

To meet eight hundred men complete,
And make a glorious stand.

Four miles they marched from the Fort
Their enemy to meet,

Too far indeed did Butler lead,

To keep a safe retreat.

And now the fatal hour is come

They bravely charge the foe,
And they with ire, returned the fire,
Which prov'd our overthrow.

Some minutes they sustained the fire,
But ere they were aware
They were encompassed all around
Which prov'd a fatal snare.

And then they did attempt to fly,
But all was now in vain,
Their little host-by far the most-
Was by those Indians slain.
And as they fly, for quarters cry;

Oh hear indulgent Heav'n!
Hard to relate—their dreadful fate,
No quarters must be given.

With bitter cries and mournful sighs

They seek some safe retreat,

Run here and there, they know not where, Till awful death they meet.

Their piercing cries salute the skies

Mercy is all their cry:

Our souls prepare God's grace to share,
We instantly must die."

Some men yet found are flying round
Sagacious to get clear;

In vain to fly, their foes too nigh!

They front the flank and rear.

And now the foe hath won the day,
Methinks their words are these:

"Ye cursed, rebel, Yankee race,

Will this your Congress please?" "Your pardons crave, you them shall have, Behold them in our hands;

We'll all agree to set you free,
By dashing out your brains.

History of Wyoming in a Series of Letters, from Charles Miner, to his son, William Penn Miner, Esq. Phila.: J. Cressy, 1845.