WHEN George the King would punish folk | |
| Who dared resist his angry will— | |
| Resist him with their hearts of oak | |
| That neither King nor Council broke— | |
| He told Lord North to mend his quill, | 5 |
| And sent his Parliament a Bill. | |
| |
| The Boston Port Bill was the thing | |
| He flourished in his royal hand; | |
| A subtle lash with scorpion sting, | |
| Across the seas he made it swing, | 10 |
| And with its cruel thong he planned | |
| To quell the disobedient land. | |
| |
| His minions heard it sing, and bare | |
| The port of Boston felt his wrath; | |
| They let no ship cast anchor there, | 15 |
| They summoned Hunger and Despair,— | |
| And curses in an aftermath | |
| Followed their desolating path. | |
| |
| No coal might enter there, nor wood, | |
| Nor Holland flax, nor silk from France; | 20 |
| No drugs for dying pangs, no food | |
| For any mother’s little brood. | |
| “Now,” said the King, “we have our chance, | |
| We’ll lead the haughty knaves a dance.” | |
| |
| No other flags lit up the bay, | 25 |
| Like full-blown blossoms in the air, | |
| Than where the British war-ships lay; | |
| The wharves were idle; all the day | |
| The idle men, grown gaunt and spare, | |
| Saw trouble, pall-like, everywhere. | 30 |
| |
| Then in across the meadow land, | |
| From lonely farm and hunter’s tent, | |
| From fertile field and fallow strand, | |
| Pouring it out with lavish hand, | |
| The neighboring burghs their bounty sent, | 35 |
| And laughed at King and Parliament. | |
| |
| To bring them succor, Marblehead | |
| Joyous her deep-sea fishing sought. | |
| Her trees, with ringing stroke and tread, | |
| Old many-rivered Newbury sped, | 40 |
| And Groton in her granaries wrought, | |
| And generous flocks old Windham brought. | |
| |
| Rice from the Carolinas came, | |
| Iron from Pennsylvania’s forge, | |
| And, with a spirit all aflame, | 45 |
| Tobacco-leaf and corn and game | |
| The Midlands sent; and in his gorge | |
| The Colonies defied King George! | |
| |
| And Hartford hung, in black array, | |
| Her town-house, and at half-mast there | 50 |
| The flags flowed, and the bells all day | |
| Tolled heavily; and far away | |
| In great Virginia’s solemn air | |
| The House of Burgesses held prayer. | |
| |
| Down long glades of the forest floor | 55 |
| The same thrill ran through every vein, | |
| And down the long Atlantic’s shore; | |
| Its heat the tyrant’s fetters tore | |
| And welded them through stress and strain | |
| Of long years to a mightier chain. | 60 |
| |
| That mighty chain with links of steel | |
| Bound all the Old Thirteen at last, | |
| Through one electric pulse to feel | |
| The common woe, the common weal. | |
| And that great day the Port Bill passed | 65 |
| Made us a nation hard and fast. | |
| |
