FAREWELL, FIFTEEN, farewell forever!
Shall we meet more? Ah! never, never.
Peace to thy shade! the bourne is past,
Our requiems follow'd to the last.
Fair child of time, new born SIXTEEN,
Of earth's huge orb, we hail thee queen;
Our thousand millions bless thy reign,
And glory follows in thy train.
When the past year was usher'd in,
War still afflicted with its din;
Columbia's sons embattled stood,
And Briton's panted still for blood.
Far in the south our foes appear'd,
And high their vengeful ensigns rear'd,
E'en Afric's sooty sons were there,
The glory and the spoil to share;
They gave illusive Hope its sway,
And viewed Orleans as their prey;
-But kindest providence forbade,
And low the invading boasters laid.
A rustic band by glory led,
With vet'ran Jackson at their head,
On Mississippi's bosom flew,
To die, or drive the motley crew.
The foe in tactic pride appear'd
To meet a fate they little fear'd;
Columbia's thunder roar'd their knell,
Here squadrons fled, there columns fell;
Britania's Genius left the field,
And her best sons were seen to yield.
On Ocean's green bosom Old Ironsides rode,
Her ensigns untarnish'd, triumphantly flow'd:
She had met her opponents again and again,
And sealed their ruin in torrents of flame.
Two ill-fated corvettes once more felt her force,
And glory and victory follow'd of course.
Glorious barque! should fortune frown,
Never haul thy pendant down,
Columbia's pride and Europe's wonder,
Rather sink in flame and thunder.
Here ceases the tale of heart-rending distress,
Bright PEACE intervenes, both to soothe and to bless,
To wipe away tears from the aspect of woe,
And make the full streamlet of joy overflow.
Columbia with rapture received the fair,
And loud British greetings arose in the air.
Our habits, religion, our manners, our name,
May our objects in future be ever the same:
To spread o'er the globe the blest tenets of peace,
To heighten the total of sublunar bliss,
To banish forever ambition and strife,
And spread in all regions the volumes of life.
To cloud for a moment this day of repose,
A foe in the insolent Afric arose;
He dar'd to insult the American star
By mentioning tribute, submission or war:
Decatur and Terror an answer convey'd
Best fitting the silly demand that was made,
In a combat unequal, their fleet fell a prey,
And passive submission concluded the fray.
That curse of mankind, and that fiend in disguise,
Like the blue flame of Etna, was seen to arise,
His prison escaped, on Gallia once more,
He was doom'd the full phial of vengeance to pour.
His tri-coloured standard, wet with blood, waved high,
To its shadow portentous his myrmidons fly.
Mild Louis in terror relinquish'd his throne,
Which the out-law remounted and claim'd as his own:
His comrades in arms, and copartners in crime,
Rush'd in crowds to his banner from every clime,
Enjoy'd in carousal the havoc of war,
And replaced Mars in his blood-stained car.
The sons of the north were constrained once more,
To darken those fields they had darken'd before,
Like the torrent from Atlas by thousands they pour,
And Belgia turn'd pale at the dreadful uproar.
On Waterloo's plain the dire conflict began;
Horse trampled on horse, and man grapled with man.
On a mount which o'erlook'd the horrible scene,
Sat that angel of discord, the grim Napoleon,
Enjoying the havoc - There Wellington stood,
And calmly survey'd the arena of blood,
Directing his columns, when to halt or advance,
And like the great Caesar, left nothing to chance.
With varying fortune the batle raged on,
Till low in the west faintly gleamed the sun,
When faint with fatigue and full many a wound,
The squadrons of Gallia began to give ground;
Their foes pressed on, their huzzas rent the sky,
Their sabres shine brighter, more thick the balls fly:
Night closes - the direful confusion increases,
And thro its long gloom the destruction ne'er ceases;
The impious despoiler led the van in the flight,
And owed his life to the shadows of night.
From a twice usurp'd throne now indignantly driv'n,
An outlaw with man and deserted by heav'n,
All rack'd with despair and bewilder'd with fear,
He fled to a dungeon and ceas'd his career.
He who so long a meteor shone,
Is now on Helen's granite thrown,
Watch'd like a felon night and day,
And muzzled as a beast of prey:
Above him, loud volcanoes roar,
Beneath, huge surges lash the shore;
But rougher scenes his mind must bear,
For hell itself is kindled there.
I've told my tale, I'm tired to death
And cease - to take a little breath.
"That you're fatigu'd, no doubt is true,
"And we, good lad, are tired too:
"Such as it is, your new years song
"Is very dull, and very long;
"With careful nursing it may live
"To see th' ensuing day arrive,
"Then down to sink in endless night
"Far from the snarling critic's spite.
"With no regret this mite is thrown,
"Your pure intentions well are known.
"Go, gentle Tyro, go your way,
"And pass with bouyant heart the day."