But no such thing—it will not do—
At least, not while a Jersey Blue
Is to the cause of freedom true,
Or the bold Pennsylvanian.
A curse on England's frantic schemes!
Both mad and blind—her monarch dreams
Of crowns and kingdoms in these climes
Where kings have had their sentence.
Though Washington has left our coast,
Yet other Washingtons we boast,
Who rise, instructed by his ghost,
To punish all invaders.
Go where they will, where'er they land,
This pilfering, plundering, pirate band,
They liberty will find at hand
To hurl them to perdition:
If in Virginia they appear,
Their fate is fix'd, their doom is near,
Death in their front and hell their rear—
So says the gallant buckskin.
All Carolina is prepared,
And Charleston doubly on her guard;
Where, once, sir Peter badly fared,
So blasted by fort Moultrie.
If farther south they turn their views,
With veteran troops, or veteran crews,
The curse of heaven their march pursues
To send them all a-packing:
The tallest mast that sails the wave,
The longest keel its waters lave,
Will bring them to an early grave
On the shores of Pensacola.
[204] This poem was written early in August, on receipt of the news that a large squadron was on its way across the Atlantic to lay waste the seaboard cities. The squadron finally sailed into Chesapeake Bay and turned its attention first to Washington and Baltimore.