Now some, to prove she was a goddess!
Said this enchanting fair
Had late retired from the Bodies,*

In all the pomp of war.

That drums and merry fifes had play'd
To honour her retreat,

And Cunningham+ himself convey'd
The lady thro' the street.

Great Wayne, by soft compassion sway'd,
To no inquiry stoops,

But takes the fair afflicted maid
Right into Yan Van Poop's.
So Roman Anthony, they say,
Disgraced th' imperial banner,
And for a gipsy lost a day,
Like Anthony the tanner.
The hamadryad had but half

Received redress from Wayne,

When drums and colours, cow and calf,
Came down the road amain.

All in a cloud of dust were seen
The sheep, the horse, the goat,
The gentle heifer, ass obscene,
The yearling and the shoat

And pack-horses with fowls came by,
Befeathered on each side,
Like Pegasus, the horse that I
And other poets ride.

Sublime upon his stirrups rose
The mighty Lee behind,

And drove the terrour-smitten cows,
Like chaff before the wind.

But sudden see the woods above

Pour down another corps,

All helter skelter in a drove,
Like that I sung before.

Irving and terrour in the van,

Came flying all abroad,

And cannon, colours, horse, and man,

Ran tumbling to the road.

Still as he fled, 'twas Irving's cry,
And his example too,

"Run on, my merry men all-for why?"

The shot will not go thro'.

As when two kennels in the street,
Swell'd with a recent rain,

In gushing streams together meet,
And seek the neighbouring drain.

So met these dung-born tribes in one,
As swift in their career,

And so to Newbridge they ran on-
But all the cows got clear.

Poor Parson Caldwell, all in wonder,

Saw the returning train,

And mourn'd to Wayne the lack of plunder,
For them to steal again.

For 'twas his right to seize the spoil, and
To share with each commander,
As he had done at Staten Island

With frost-bit Alexander.§

A cant appellation given among the soldiery to the corps that have the honour to guard his majesty's person.

+ Provost-Marshal of New York, who attended the drum

ming of her out of the regiment and city.

Five Refugees ('tis true) were found

Stiff on the block-house floor,

But then 'tis thought the shot went round,

And in at the back-door.

§ Earl of Stirling.

In his dismay the frantic priest*
Began to grow prophetic,

You'd swore, to see his lab'ring breast,
He'd taken an emetic.

I view a future day, said he,
Brighter than this day dark is,
And you shall see what you shall see
Ha ha! one pretty Marquis ;†
And he shall come to Paulus-Hook,

And great achievements think on,
And make a bow and take a look,
Like Satan over Lincoln.
And all the land around shall glory
To see the Frenchmen caper,
And pretty Susan tell the story
In the next Chatham paper.

This solemn prophecy, of course,
Gave all much consolation,
Except to Wayne, who lost his horse
Upon the great occasion.

His horse that carried all his prog,
His military speeches,

His corn-stalk whiskey for his grog,

Blue stockings and brown breeches.
And now I've closed my epic strain,
I tremble as I show it,

Lest this same warrior-drover, Wayne,
Should ever catch the poet.

The gallant act of André's captors could not fail of calling forth a ballad:

BRAVE PAULDING AND THE SPY.

Come, all you brave Americans, and unto me give

ear,

And I'll sing you a ditty that will make your hearts cheer,

Concerning a young gentleman whose age was twenty-two;

He fought for North America; his heart was just and true.

They took him from his dwelling-place, and they "did him confine,

They cast him into prison, and kept him for a time: But he with resolution resolved not long to stay; He set himself at liberty, and soon he ran away.

He with a scouting-party ran down to Tarrytown, Where he met a British officer, a man of high re

He begged for his liberty, he plead for his discharge, And oftentimes he told them, if they'd set him at large,

"Here's all the gold and silver I have laid up in store,

But when I get down to New York I'll give you ten times more."

"I scorn your gold and silver, I've enough laid up in store,

And when that is all spent and gone, I'll freely fight for more;

So you may take your sword in hand and gain your liberty,

And if that you do conquer me, O, then you shall go free.""

"The time it is improper our valour for to try,

For if we take our swords in hand, then one of us must die;

I am a man of honour, with courage brave and bold, I fear not the face of clay, although it's clothed in gold."

He saw that his conspiracy would soon be brought to light;

He begg'd for pen and paper, and asked leave to write

A line to General Arnold, to let him know his fate, And begg'd for his assistance; but alas, it was too late.

When the news it came to Arnold, it put him in a fret;

He walk'd the room in trouble, till tears his cheeks did wet;

The news it went throughout the camp, likewise throughout the fort;

He called for the Vulture, and sailed for New York. Now Arnold to New York has gone, a fighting for his king,

And left poor Major André, on the gallows for to swing;

When he was executed, he look'd both meek and mild,

He look'd on his spectators, and pleasantly did smile.

It moved each eye with pity, caused every heart to bleed;

And every one wish'd him released, and had Arnold in his stead.

He was a man of honour, in Britain he was born; To die upon the gallows most highly he did scorn. Here's health unto John Paulding! so let your voices sound,

Fill up your flowing glasses, and drink his health around;

Also to those young gentlemen who bore him company;

Success to North America, ye sons of liberty!

The territory of the present state of Vermont was for some time a contested possession between New York and New Hampshire, the former colony claiming sixty townships, grants of which had been given by the latter. The occupants of the soil were inclined to set up for themselves, and, in 1777, declared their independence. New York would not give up her claim, New Hampshire insisted on her demands, while the third neighbor, Massachusetts, asserted a right to two thirds of the territory in dispute. It was during the height of the discussion, in 1779, when words were expected to speedily lead to blows, that the following spirited verses appeared.

THE SONG OF THE VERMONTERS, 1779. Ho-all to the borders! Vermonters, come down, With your breeches of deer-skin, and jackets of brown;

With your red woolen caps, and your moccasins,

come,

To the gathering summons of trumpet and drum.
Come down with your rifles!—let grey wolf and fox
Howl on in the shade of their primitive rocks;
Let the bear feed securely from pig-pen and stall;
Here's a two-legged game for your powder and ball.
On our South come the Dutchmen, enveloped in
grease;

And, arming for battle, while canting of peace;
On our East, crafty Meshech has gathered his band
To hang up our leaders, and eat out our land.
Ho-all to the rescue! For Satan shall work
No gain for his legions of Hampshire and York !
They claim our possessions,-the pitiful knaves,—
The tribute we pay, shall be prisons and graves!
Let Clinton and Ten Broek,t with bribes in their
hands,

Still seek to divide us, and parcel our lands;-
We've coats for our traitors, whoever they are;
The
warp is of feathers the filling of tar!
Does the "old bay State" threaten? Does Congress
complain?

Swarms Hampshire in arms on our borders again? Bark the war-dogs of Britain aloud on the lake? Let 'em come;-what they can, they are welcome to take.

What seek they among us? The pride of our

wealth

Is comfort, contentment, and labour and health,
And lands which, as Freemen, we only have trod,
Independent of all, save the mercies of God.
Yet we owe no allegiance; we bow to no throne;
Our ruler is law, and the law is our own;

Our leaders themselves are our own fellow-men, Who can handle the sword, or the scythe, or the pen.

Our wives are all true, and our daughters are fair, With their blue eyes of smiles, and their light flowing hair;

All brisk at their wheels till the dark even-fall, Then blithe at the sleigh-ride, the husking, and ball!

We've sheep on the hill sides; we've cows on the plain;

And gay-tasseled corn-fields, and rank-growing grain;

There are deer on the mountains; and wood-pigeons fly

From the crack of our muskets, like clouds on the sky.

And there's fish in our streamlets and rivers, which take

Their course from the hills to our broad-bosomed lake;

Through rock-arched Winooski the salmon leaps free,

And the portly shad follows all fresh from the sea. Like a sun-beam the pickerel glides through his pool;

And the spotted trout sleeps where the water is cool;

Hon. Meshech Weare, Governor of New Hampshire.

+ Governor Clinton of New York, and Hon. A. Ten Broek, President of the New York Convention.

Or darts from his shelter of rock and of root At the beaver's quick plunge, or the angler's pursuit.

And ours are the mountains, which awfully rise
'Till they rest their green heads on the blue of the
skies;

And ours are the forests unwasted, unshorn,
Save where the wild path of the tempest is torn.

And though savage and wild be this climate of ours,
And brief be our season of fruits and of flowers,
Far dearer the blast round our mountains which
raves,

Than the sweet summer zephyr, which breathes over slaves.

Hurra for VERMONT! for the land which we till

Must have sons to defend her from valley and hill; Leave the harvest to rot on the field where it grows,

And the reaping of wheat for the reaping of foes.

From far Michiscoui's wild valley, to where Poosoomsuck steals down from his wood-circled lair,

From Shoeticook river to Lutterlock town,-
Ho-all to the rescue! Vermonters, come down.
Come York or come Hampshire,—come traitors and
knaves

If ye rule o'er our land, ye shall rule o'er our

In Rivington's Royal Gazette of March 24, 1781, we find the following advertisement:—

This day are published, price six shillings, neatly printel, Cow CHACE. Complete in three cantos. Published on occasion of the Rebel General Wayne's attack on the Refugees' Block House, on Friday, July 21, 1780. With the AMERICAN TIMES. In which are delineated the Characters of the Leaders of the American Rebellion. Amongst the principal are, Franklin, Laurens, Adams, Hancock, Jay, Duer, Duane, Wilson, Pulaski, Witherspoon, Reed, McKean, Washington, Roberdeau, Chace, &c. &c. &c. Also, Yankee Doodle's Expedition to Rhode Island; and a Lampoon, or the Bloodless Encounter between the Generals Howe and James Gadsden.

We are enabled to furnish our readers with a specimen of the leading poem in this collection, from the copy in the valuable American Library of Col. Peter Force of Washington. It appears, from the following earlier and fuller announcement of the title, to have been published in England, and may have been written in that country.

*

"On Saturday morning next will be published, price 2s., The American Times, a Satire in three parts. In which are delineated the characters of the leaders of the American Rebellion. Amongst the principal are, Franklin, &c. (as already given). By Camillo Querno, Poet Laureate to the Congress. Facit indignatio versum-JUVENAL. Printed for the author, and sold by William Richardson, opposite Salisbury street, in the Strand, 1780."

We extract the "characters" of Robert and Gouverneur Morris.

The advertisement forms part of the Upcott Cuttings. No indication is given of the title of the paper from which it is taken.

What spectre's that with eyes on earth intent,
Whose God is gold, whose glory's cent. per cent.,
Whose soul, devoted to the love of gain,
Revolts from feelings noble and humane?
Let friends, let family, let country groan,
Despairing widows shriek, or orphans moan;
Turned to the centre where his riches grow,
His
eye regards not spectacles of woe.
Morris, look up, for so thy name we spell-
On earth Bob Morris, Mammon 'tis in hell,
Wretch, thou hast meanly sold thy native land;
Tremble, thou wretch, for vengeance is at hand.
Soon shall thy treasure fly on eagle's wings,

And conscience goad thee with her thousand stings.
Of head erect and self-sufficient mien,
Another Morris presses to be seen.
Demons of vanity, you know him sure,
This is your pupil-this is Gouverneur !
Some little knowledge, with some little sense,
More affectation far, and more pretence;-
Such is the man; his tongue he never baulks ;
On all things talkable he boldly talks;
A specious orator, of law he prates,

A pompous nothing, mingles in debates;
Consummate impudence, sheer brass of soul,
Crowns every sentence, and completes the whole.
In other times unnoticed he might drop,
These times can make a statesman of a fop.

The spirited resumé of many of the events of the war, entitled American Taxation, was written by Samuel St. John, who was born and died in New Canaan, Conn. He was on one occasion, in 1781, carried off with others from Middlesex (now Darien) across the Sound to Oyster Bay, and thence to the Provost, New York. They were imprisoned eighteen days and then exchanged. St. John wrote an account of the affair in verse, from which we extract a passage.

In boats the ferry soon we passed,
And at New York arrived at last.
As through the streets we passed along,
Ten thousand curses round us rung;
But some would laugh, and some would sneer,
And some would grin, and some would leer;
A mixed mob, a medley crew,

I guess, as e'er the devil knew.
To the Provost we then were hauled,
Though we, of war, were prisoners called;
Our irons now were ordered off,
The standers-by would swear and scoff.
But O! what company we found;
With great surprise we looked around!
I must conclude that in this place,
We found the worst of Adam's race:
Thieves, murderers, and pickpockets too.
And everything that's bad they'd do,
One of our men found to his cost,
Three pounds, York money, he had lost.
His pocket picked, I guess, before
We had been there one single hour.

AMERICAN TAXATION.

While I relate my story, Americans give ear;
Of Britain's fading glory, you presently shall hear,
I'll give you a true relation, attend to what I say,
Concerning the taxation of North America.

The cruel lords of Britain, who glory in their shame, The project they have lit on they joyfully proclaim; 'Tis what they're striving after, our rights to take

away,

And rob us of our charter in North America.

There are two mighty speakers, who rule in Parlia

ment,

Who always have been seeking some mischief to invent,

"Twas North, and Bute, his father, this horrid plan did lay,

A mighty tax to gather in North America.

He search'd the gloomy regions of the infernal pit, To find among those legions one who excell'd in wit, To ask of him assistance, or tell them how they may Subdue without resistance this North America.

Old Satan, the arch traitor, resolved a voyage to take,

Who rules sole navigator on the burning lake;
For the Britannic ocean he launches far away,
To land he had no notion in North America.

He takes his seat in Britain, it was his soul's intent, Great George's throne to sit on, and rule the Parliament,

His comrades were pursuing a diabolic way,
For to complete the ruin of North America.

He tried the art of magic to bring his schemes about,

At length the gloomy project he artfully found out; The plan was long indulged in a clandestine way, But lately was divulged in North America.

These subtle arch-combiners address'd the British court,

All three were undersigners of this obscene report

There is a pleasant landscape that lieth far away, Beyond the wide Atlantic in North America.

There is a wealthy people, who sojourn in that land;

Their churches all with steeples, most delicately stand;

Their houses, like the gilly, are painted red and

gay;

They flourish like the lily in North America.

Their land with milk and honey continually doth flow,

The want of food or money they seldom ever know: They heap up golden treasure, they have no debts

to pay,

They spend their time in pleasure in North America. On turkeys, fowls, and fishes most frequently they dine,

With gold and silver dishes, their tables always shine,

They crown their feasts with butter, they eat and rise to play,

In silks their ladies flutter in North America.

With gold and silver laces, they do themselves adorn,

The rubies deck their faces, refulgent as the morn! Wine sparkles in their glasses, they spend each happy day

In merriment and dances, in North America.

Let not our suit affront you, when we address your throne,

O king, this wealthy country and subjects are your

Invested with a warrant, my publicans shall go, The tenth of all their current they surely shall bestow,

If they indulge rebellion, or from my precepts stray, I'll send my war battalion to North America.

I'll rally all my forces by water and by land, My light dragoons and horses shall go at my command,

I'll burn both town and city, with smoke becloud the day,

I'll show no human pity for North America.

Go on, my hearty soldiers, you need not fear of illThere's Hutchinson and Rogers, their functions will fulfil

They tell such ample stories, believe them sure we

may,

That one half of them are tories in North America. My gallant ships are ready to hoist you o'er the flood,

And in my cause be steady, which is supremely good;

Go ravage, steal, and plunder, and you shall have the prey;

They quickly will knock under in North America.
The laws I have enacted, I never will revoke,
Although they are neglected, my fury to provoke,
I will forbear to flatter, I'll rule with mighty sway;
I'll take away the charter from North America.

O George! you are distracted, by sad experience find

The laws you have enacted are of the blackest kind.

I'll make a short digression, and tell you by the

noon,

At Plymouth shore they landed, the twenty-first of June;

The savages were nettled, with fear they fled away, And peaceably they settled in North America,

We are their bold descendants, for liberty we'll fight,

The claim to independence we challenge as our right,

"Tis what kind heaven gave us, who can take away! Kind heaven, too, will save us in North America. We never will knock under, O George, we do not fear

The rattling of your thunder, nor lightning of your

We'll take our swords and muskets, and march in bright array,

And drive the British rustics from North America. We have a bold commander who fears not sword nor gun,

The second Alexander, his name is Washington,
His men are all collected, and ready for the fray,
To fight they are directed for North America.
We've Green, Gates, and Putnam, to manage in the
field,

A gallant train of footmen, who'd rather die than yield;

A stately troop of horses train'd in a martial way,
For to augment our forces in North America.

Proud George, you are engaged all in a dirty cause,
A cruel war hath raged repugnant to all laws,
Go tell the savage nations you're crueller than they,
To fight your own relations in North America.

Ten millions you've expended, and twice ten millions more,

Our riches you intended should pay the mighty

score,

Who now will stand your sponsor, your charges to defray,

For sure you cannot conquer this North America? I'll tell you, George, in metre, if you attend awhile, We forced your Sir Peter from Sullivan's fair isle; At Monmouth too we gained the honours of the day

The victory we obtained for North America.

Surely we were your betters, hard by the Brandywine;

We laid him fast in fetters, whose name was John Burgoyne,

We made your Howe to tremble with terror and dismay,

True heroes we resemble in North America.

Confusion to the tories, that black infernal name,
In which Great Britain glories, for ever to her
shame;

We'll send each foul revolter to smutty Africa,
Or noose him in a halter in North America.

A health to our brave footmen, who handle sword

and gun,

To Greene, Gates, and Putnam, and conquering

Washington;

Their names be wrote in letters which never shall decay

While sun and moon doth glitter in North America. Success unto our allies in Holland, France, and Spain,

Who man their ships and gallies, our freedom to maintain,

May they subdue the rangers of proud Britannia, And drive them from their anchor in North America.

Success unto the Congress of these United States, Who glory in the conquest of Washington and Gates;

To all, both land and seamen, who glory in the day,

When we shall all be freemen in North America. Success to the legislation that rules with gentle hand,

To trade and navigation, by water and by land; May all with one opinion our wholesome laws obey, Throughout this vast dominion of North America.

YANKEE DOODLE.

The tune of Yankee Doodle is said to have been composed by a Dr. Shackburg, attached to the

British Army, in 1755, when the troops of the northern colonies marched into Albany, preparatory to the attack on the French posts of Niagara and Frontenac. The habiliments of these recruits presented a strange contrast to the orderly appointments of the English soldiery, and the music to which they marched was as antiquated and outré as their uniforms. Shackburg, who possessed some musical knowledge, composed a tune for the new-comers, which he told them was one of the most celebrated of those in use by the army. To the great amusement of the British, the provincials accepted the gift, and "Yankee Doodle " became very popular among them.

The tune was not original with Shackburg, as it has been traced back to the time of Charles I., in England. In the reign of his son we find it an accompaniment to a little song on a famous lady of easy virtue of that date, which has been perpetuated as a nursery rhyme

Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Nothing in it, nothing in it,

But the binding round it.

A little later we have the first appearance of that redoubtable personage Yankee Doodle. He seems even at that early stage of his career to have shown his characteristic trait of making the most of himself

Yankee Doodle came to town,
Upon a Kentish pony;
He stuck a feather in his hat,
And called him Macaroni.

It is not impossible, however, that Yankee Doodle may be from Holland. A song in use among the laborers, who in the time of harvest migrate from Germany to the Low Countries, where they receive for their work as much buttermilk as they can drink and a tenth of the grain secured by their exertions, has this burden

Yanker didel, doodel down
Didel, dudel lanter,
Yanke viver, voover vown,
Botermilk und Tanther.

That is, buttermilk and a tenth.

This song our informant has heard repeated by a native of that country, who had often listened to it at harvest time in his youth. The precise date when

Father and I went down to camp

cannot, we fear, be fixed with accuracy; but as the tune was sung at Bunker Hill, may be assumed to have been in 1775.

Our copy of the words is from a broadside in a collection of "Songs, Ballads, &c., purchased from a ballad printer and seller in Boston in 1813," made by Isaiah Thomas. The variations and additional stanzas in the notes are from a version given in Farmer and Moore's Historical Collections of New Hampshire, iii. 157.

THE YANKEE'S RETURN FROM CAMP.

Father and I went down to camp,

Along with Captain Gooding, And there we see the men and boys, As thick as hasty pudding.