"Ask ye for hamlets' peopled bound,
With cone-roof'd cabins circled round?
For chieftans proud- for hoary sire-
Or warrior, terrible in ire!
Ye've seen the shadows quit the vale-
The foam upon the water fail-
The fleeting vapour leave no trace,
Such was their path, that faded race!"
-Philip Morin Freneau
When struggling long, at last with pain
You break a cruel tyrant’s chain,
That never shall be joined again,
When half your foes are homeward fled,
And hosts on hosts in triumph led,
And hundreds maimed and thousands dead,
A sordid race will then succeed,
To slight the virtues of the firmer race,
That brought your tyrant to disgrace,
Shall give your honours to an odious train,
Who shunned all conflicts on the main
And dared no battles on the bloody plain,
Whose little souls sunk in the gloomy day
When virtue only could support the fray
And sunshine friends kept off—or ran away.