At Eutaw Springs the valiant died; Their limbs with dust are covered o'er; Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide; How many heroes are no more!
If in this wreck of ruin, they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite thy gentle breast, and say The friends of freedom slumber here!
Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, Sigh for the wasted rural reign; Sigh for the shepherds sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble groves adorn; You too may fall, and ask a tear: 'Tis not the beauty of the morn That proves the evening shall be clear.
They saw their injured country's woe, The flaming town, the wasted field; Then rushed to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear--but left the shield.
Led by thy conquering standards, Greene, The Britons they compelled to fly: None distant viewed the fatal plain, None grieved in such a cause to die--
But, like the Parthian, famed of old, Who, flying, still their arrows threw, These routed Britons, full as bold, Retreated, and retreating slew.
Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A bright Phoebus of their own.
On A Honey Bee
- by Philip Freneau23
Thou born to sip the lake or spring, Or quaff the waters of the stream, Why hither come on vagrant wing?-- Does Bacchus tempting seem-- Did he, for you, the glass prepare?-- Will I admit you to a share?
Did storms harrass or foes perplex, Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay-- Did wars distress, or labours vex, Or did you miss your way?-- A better seat you could not take Than on the margin of this lake.
Welcome!--I hail you to my glass: All welcome, here, you find; Here let the cloud of trouble pass, Here, be all care resigned.-- This fluid never fails to please, And drown the griefs of men or bees.
What forced you here, we cannot know, And you will scarcely tell-- But cheery we would have you go And bid a glad farewell: On lighter wings we bid you fly, Your dart will now all foes defy.
Yet take not oh! too deep a drink, And in the ocean die; Here bigger bees than you might sink, Even bees full six feet high. Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said To perish in a sea of red.
Do as you please, your will is mine; Enjoy it without fear-- And your grave will be this glass of wine, Your epitaph--a tear-- Go, take your seat in Charon's boat, We'll tell the hive, you died afloat.
Poems by Philip Freneau, Philip Freneau's poems collection. Philip Freneau is a classical and famous poet (1752 - 1832). Share all poems of Philip Freneau.