AN ELEGY OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH of Major General JOSEPH WARREN, who fell fighting in Defense of the Glorious Cause of his Country, at Charlestown, in New England on the memorable 17th day of June, 1775
O! Every mournful Muse inspire my Verse,
Fill my young Breast with more than mortal Fire,
For Notes alone befit great WARREN’s Hearse
Which list’ning Seraphs, raptur’d may admire
Then dares a pen like mine attempt to paint
His matchless character, his virtues show?
And strive t’ espress what makes Description faint,
Unless the Numbers with his Genius Glow
Yet why should humble Grief e’er be deny’d,
The copious flow of Wo-relieving Tears?
Weep, weep mine Eyes, pour forth your swelling Tide,
And let my moans, Re-echo through the Spheres.
To see the expanding bud which science warms
Disclose its rip’ning intellectual powers
In full maturity to see its charms
Bought to perfection by time’s genial flowers
And then to view Inexorable Fate
Relentless, snatched th’ all beautous Hopeful prize
And seize unpitying on the Good and Great
Demands the drops from all our grief-swollen eyes
Ah! What avails th’ unfathom’d Depth of Thought
The Keen Ey’d Fancy, brilliant as the Sun,
Which Nature’s Hand to fair Perfection brought
While Education’s work was scarcely done?
Ah! What avails that Magnitude of Soul,
Which thro’ a greatful and astonished Land
Taught the Big bolts of Eloquence to Roll;
Since death on all has laid his Icy Hand
O! When we look with retrospective Sight
And trace the Progress of this Glorious Star
Whose radient Beams illumin’d our gloomy Night,
And Smoothed the horrid Front of Raging War.
Tumultuous Grief swells ev’ry feeling Breast,
Alternative Passions fill the burden’d Mind
O’erwhelming Pangs forbid the Soul to rest
And stagger’d Reason owns herself quite blind.
Ye worthy Patriots, Ornaments of Earth,
Whose Names shall live till Time itself expire,
Was not this Hero, from his joyful Birth,
Ordain’d his Country’s Patron, Friend and Sire
Well may we mourn, since Fate has snatched away
This high, this just, this celebrated Name;
And wrapt the Joy of ev’ry Eye in Clay
And quench’d the Death his Patriotic Flame.
That God like feeling for a Land distress’d,
Which actuates the self-applauding Mind,
Was in each Period of thy Life exprss’d
Thou Angel Man, thou Friend of human Kind!
How oft the Midnight Taper cas’d the Gloom,
When Contemplation fill’d thy spacious Soul;’
While vast events forseen (which shortly come)
Big with the Fate of Empries over it roll.
Prompted by Virtue, Heaven descended Guest,
Celestial Inmate of the Good and Just,
Thy flowing Bosom, with its Ardour bless’d,
Fulfill’d thy double-deligated Trust
Nor were the Duties of a Friend and Sire
Neglected ‘midst those busy Scenes of Life:
Speak, speak thou Spark of bright immortal Fire,
Who claim’d on Earth the tender Name of Wife?
Say, did not soft Affection in him dwell?
Was he not Faithful, Gentle and Sincere?
Say, Partner of his Joys, for Thou can’st tell –
Count o’er his Virtues and not drop a Tear?
Did not his heaving Bosom melt at Wo,
And sweet Compassion swell his feeling Heart?
Did not his lib’ral Hand, with Joy, bestow
A dued Reward, where’er he found Desert?
“Yes, yes (methinks I hear the Saint reply)
“All Virtues in my WARREN held a Place;
“These make him shine Conspicuous thro’ the Sky,
These make him Glow with a Seraphic Grace.
Ye Orphan Babes, sweet Pledges of their Love,
In lisping Accents speak his tender Care
Your Artless Tale must every Bosom move,
And make each throbbing Heart its Grief declare.
And since he’s gone, whose kind paternal Hand
Supply’d each want, and watch’d your tender Age,
May ev’ry Parent through the’ extensive Land
With grateful Thoughts in your Behalf engage.
O! May no Grief your little Hearts oppress,
But calm Content sit smiling on each Face,
Till bounteous Heav’n your Years shall bless
With all a Sir’s and all a Mother’s Grace.
O WARREN! Could thy Country’s Pray’rs prevail
And call thy spirit from its Kindred Skies,
In vain bright C[h]erubs might the loss bewail,
Contending Mortals would unseal thine Eyes!
But shall weak Ma presume thus to repine
And murmur at th’ Almighty’s high Degree,
Or wish to check the’ unerring Hand Divine
Which snatch’d Thee hence to Immortality?
No. Rather let thy Great Example fire
Each gen’rous Breast to emulate thy Fame
And to thy Vast, Unbounded Height aspire,
To catch a Spark from the Celestial Flame.
FINIS
Source: Printed manuscript, New York: J.P. Morgan Library. Twelve stanzas of 4 lines each, iambic pentameter, ABAB rhyming. Transcribed by Prof. Robert Blecker of New York Law School. I infer that the poem was written and published as a broadside in Boston, coincident with the exhumation, laying in state, and re-burial of Joseph Warren in early April 1776.
The illustration is from Warren’s niece Rebecca Warren Brown, Stories about General Warren in Relation to the Fifth of March Massacre and the Battle of Bunker Hill, Boston: John Loring publisher, 1835. The caption refers to Joseph Warren departing his wife before the fateful Battle of Bunker Hill. Spouse Elizabeth Hooton Warren had died two years before, so this is an error. The “wife” appears to be Warren’s age, more consistent with his fiance Miss Mercy Scollay, though I do not recall that she is mentioned in Brown’s children’s book.
Commentary: The poet’s focus on Warren’ familial roles over his battlefield demise, and the suggestion of personal acquaintance with Warren’s domestic life, render this work exceptional among the tributes to Warren published during the Revolutionary era. I detect a feminine touch.
I contacted literary scholars Professors Vince Carretta and John C. Shields concerning attribution. Both judged this ode not to have been written by Wheatley. Compare Phyllis Wheatley’s ode to George Washington published in early 1776.
Miss Mercy Scollay is a candidate for authorship, though “my young breast” self-description is a stretch for the 34 year old unofficial widow. In contrast most tributes of the era trumpet Joseph Warren’s battlefield martyrdom and exhibit a combative tone.
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