| Citation |
NHG-P.777.025
1 Aug 1777:11,12 (2/8)
A Letter from Dr. Watts to Lord Boreas.
My Lord,
Thus the fierce north wind
With his airy forces,
Kindles the fuel
And blows up the blame,
To a raging fury;
And the flashing powder
With a storm of shot,
Comes ruishing amain on.
See the poor Columbians
Stand amaz'd and tremble,
While the hoarse cannon
Like bellowing thunder,
Roar a loud onset
To the rattling musquets,
With bloody trumpets,
Quick to consign them
To the greedy grave,
Gaping to devour them:
. . . [14 lines, 29 lines, 14 lines of prose explaining the
analogy of the poem, signed] I.W.
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