When Philip's son possess'd his native lands And train'd on grecian fields his grecian bands, In Thebes subdued, or Athens near her fall, He saw no honor, or despised it all.
To be reduced to universal sway The world's vast prospect in perspective lay;— While yet restricted to Larissa's plain He cursed his fortune for a lot so mean,
On all his steps the gloom of sadness hung, And fierce resentment all his bosom stung That fortune's whim restrain'd to such a floor, Had done so little, and might do no more.
Mercantile Tyre his laboring mind oppress'd, The persian throne deprived his soul of rest — The world his stage, he meant to play his part, And unsubjected India gall'd his heart!
Look to the east where Tamerlane display'd His crescent moons and nations prostrate laid, March where he would, the world before him bow'd In conquest mighty, as of conquest proud —
What was the event? let tragic story tell While sad sensations in the bosom swell — What were the effects? in every step we trace The wasteful havoc of a royal race,
Once fertile fields a howling desert made The town in ashes, or the town decay'd, Degraded man to native wildness turn'd, His prospects clouded and his commerce spurn'd —
If such the outset of this mad career What will the last disgusting scene appear, Of all he conquer'd, when no more remains Than vagrant subjects, or unpeopled plains!
Thus, when ambition prompts the ardent mind, The soul, eccentric, frantic, unconfined, To peace a stranger, soars to heights unknown, And, slighting reason, yields the will to none;
Mere passion rules, degrading powers prevail, And cool reflection quits the unbalanced scale. It leaves the haunts of happiness and rest To float on winds, disorder'd and unblest,
Quits all the calm that nature meant for man To find some prize, or form the aspiring plan; That plan ungain'd, the object cheats the view, Or, if attain'd, they other marks pursue;
Till all is closed in disappointment's shade And folly wonders at the flight she made: Ambition's self finds every prospect vain, The visions vanish, and the glooms remain.
And such the vice, with nations as with man, Such the great failing since the world began: To power exalted, as to power they rose By honest toils, and humbling all their foes;
That zenith gain'd, they covet vast domains And all, that pride from vast possession gains, Till glittering visions bring the uneasy sigh And uncontrol'd dominion blasts the eye.
Britain! we cite you to our bar, once more; What but ambition urged you to our shore?— To abridge our native rights, seven years you strove; Seven years were ours your arm of death to prove,
To find, that conquest was your sovereign view; Your aims, to fetter, humble, and subdue, To seize a soil which not your labor till'd When the rude native scarcely we repell'd,
When, with unbounded rage, their nations swore To hurl the out-law'd stranger from their shore, Or swell the torrent with their thousands slain No more to approach them, or molest their reign.—
What did we ask?— what right but reason owns? Yet even the mild petition met your frowns. Submission, only, to a monarch's will Could calm your rage, or bid your storm be still,
Before our eyes the angry shades appear Of those, whose relics we this day inter: They live, they speak, reproach you, and complain Their lives were shorten'd by your galling chain:
They aim their shafts, directed to your breast,— Let rage, and fierce resentment tell the rest. These coffins, tokens of our last regard, These mouldering bones your vengeance might have spared.—
If once, in life, they met you on the main, If to your arms they yielded on the plain,— Man, once a captive, all respect should claim That Britain gave, before her days of shame.
How changed their lot! in floating dungeons thrown, They sigh'd unpitied, and relieved by none: In want of all that nature's wants demand, They met destruction from some traitor's hand,
Who treated all with death or poison here, Or the last groan, with ridicule severe. A sickening languor to the soul returns And kindling passion at the motive spurns:
The murders here, did we at length display Would more than paint an indian tyrant's sway: Then hush the theme, and to the dust restore These, once so wretched near Manhattan's shore,
When tyrants ruled, whose hearts no mercy felt: In blood they wallow'd as in death they dealt. Thou who shalt come, by sad reflection taught, To seek on Nassau's isle this lonely vault;
Think, when surveying this too gloomy scene, Think what, had heaven decreed, you might have been. When, with the rest, you pass'd the weary hour Chain'd or subjected to some ruffian's power,
Think, as you see the sad procession pass'd, Think what these are, and you must be at last.— Learn, as you hope to find your heart's applause, To love your country and respect her laws;
Revere the sages, who your rights explain'd, Revere the patriots, who your cause sustain'd. Your country's Hero, rising to your view, Attend his precepts, and with care pursue,
He first to shield you, rais'd his powerful arm, To honor steady as for freedom warm; When she relumed her half-extinguish'd fire, Then, not till then, did Washington retire,
And left a light, a radiance to display, And mark his efforts, when he led the way. When war's long waste your independence crown'd And Hudson heard th’ invigorating sound!
His was the task; to him the part assign'd To paralize the vultures of mankind. Admit no tyrants, to debase your minds; Some selfish motive to all tyrants binds;
If robed in ermine or in scarlet clad, The worst of idiots is a king run mad: And Rome's worst prince accomplish'd by a word No more, than by his councils, George the third!
How oft has rugged nature charged my pen With gall, to shed it on that worst of men, Who, dumb to all that reason might decide, Mankind, their reason, and their prayers defy'd:
Who, firm to all that phrenzy could pursue, Explored the ancient world, to chain the new; And tired the despot, search'd each dark recess, And ransack'd hell, to find the hireling hesse:—
Could he be here, a witness to this day, With calm delight he would this scene survey, Would see unmoved, with apathy of mind, The gaping vault, this havoc of mankind!
Without a tear, these mouldering bones review, That fell by ruffian hands — employ'd by you. His phrenzy, rampant with the right divine, Inspired a nation with a black design,
To blast with poison, like a wizard's spell, And plant on man the characters of hell!— Thou, who shalt come, of feeling mind possest, And, heaven's first gift, the patriotic breast,
On this bleak coast, to tread the island plain, Think, what revenge disgraced a monarch's reign! Who, not content with wealth and power we gave, Forgot the subject, to enthral the slave:
Such was his hope;— that hope to realize He sent his myriads to demand the prize; What were the splendid trophies he acquired? Were these bleach'd bones the trophies he admired?
While passion fires, or kindred sorrows fall, Ask not, if this sequester'd cell is all, Is all that honors these collected bones?— Enough is done to stigmatize all thrones:
Ask not, while passion with resentment fires, Why to the skies no monument aspires?— Enough is done to rouse the patriot glow And bid the rising race your feelings know.
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