π1r

The
Ghost
of
John Young

The Homicide

Who was Executed the 1796-08-1717th of August last,
For the Murder of
Robert Barwick, a Sherif’s Officer.

The following Monody is written with a
View of rescuing his Memory from Obloquy,
and shewing how inconsistent sanguinary Laws
are, in a Country which boasts of her Freedom
and Happines.

By Mrs. Faugeres.

[Price Six Pence.]

π1v

The Ghost of John Young, &c.

The glooms of Night had veil’d days gaudy
beam,

The slumbering winds in whispers breath’d no
more,

An old Haspedoc The East River. pour’d his ample stream,

In sullen murmurs by sad Nassau’s Long-Island was formerly known by that
Name.
shore.

When as I roam’d in Melancholy mood,

Where new broke earth compos’d a little mound,

Lo! bending o’er a weeping Spectre stood,

And from his bosom pour’d a plaining sound.

“Alas,” he cried, “within this narrow place,

How sleeps obscure the remnant of my frame;

How marr’d how mangled ere it fill’d this space

Ah, how pursued by Obloquy and Blame:

Thou whom the sons of Men call Justice here, Wherefore should Cruelty thus sway thy Laws, Why should’st thou ope to Perjury Vide Mr. Young’s Narrative. thine ear, And shut thine eyes upon a Strangers cause π2r 3 I, yes I, made a Fellow Mortal bleed, With all his powers and faculties awake; But in a Frantic hour I did the deed, And took the Life which God alone should take Yes, I a Murderer was by rage propell’d. And I have heard the last the harsh decree, But, if the Maniac is a Murderer held, Say cool deliberate actors, what are ye? What title best will with your temper
chime,
Who can pass sentence with a tearless eye, Who break the ancient sacred laws of Time, And bid the Young the vigorous mortal, ‘die.’
Whose steady hands weigh out the set reward The Fees of the High-Sheriff or Hangman. For him who shall extinguish Life so dear, Who send the soul perhaps all unprepar’d, The Judgement of the eternal Bar to hear. But time we gave to make thy peace with
God,
How did ye know the texture of my mind? How know how soon my soul would kiss the
Rod?
Or to Fates awful Mandate be resigned.
π2v 4 And Oh, it is a Callous Heart indeed, That to the fainting criminal denies, One small restorative It is said, that the Prisoner after Standing
four Hours at his trial, was refused one Glass
of Wine.
when pale fatigue,
Stops his weak breath and dims his heavy eyes
But Pity whither hadst thou fled to mourn, When the firm Tongue my sad decree which
gave,
Bade me (though once dismist) again return, To tell me that I was denied a Grave. The Judge after having pronounced sentence
of Death upon Mr. Young and dismissed
him, recalled him to inform him that his Body
was to be delivered over to the Surgeons for
dissection,.
Ah, hadst thou lingered still within those
Walls,
My Bosom had not known the anguish rise, Caus’d by the sounds ‘On thee, the sentence
falls
To be dismembered by the Greedy Knife.’
No greiving Friend it (sternly seemed to say,) Shall mark thy Tomb and whisper ‘here he lies,’ π3r 5 No tear It was reported the Free-Masons were to
have had his Body decently inter’d.
fraternal shall bedew the clay,
That hides thy mangled Corse from human
eyes,
But in some Pit obscure thy Flesh annoy’d Shapeless and bare shall mingle with the ground And when corruption hath that Flesh destroy’d Where will a Vestige Perhaps in some Surgeon’s Possession. of thy Frame be found. Shame on the Country where such laws prevail,
Savage as those of rude and barbarous lands, Where Power from Justice wrests the trembling scale, And cooly dips in human gore his hands.
Say why does Law condemn the wretch to
death,
Who urg’d by Fury hath his fellow slain? Could taking mine restore anothers breath? Or cause his clay cold breast to glow again?
Was I thus punish’d to avenge the Dead? Or was it that the living might be taught To look upon the Murderer’s doom with
dread?
And shun the path with such affliction fraught.
π3v 6 If so, why might not the Offender be Within some Prison’s lonely walls immur’d, Shut from the blessings of Society, And to the bonds of useful toil innur’d, Cut off from every earthly hope, the Soul, No worldly wish would dare to stretch abroad But as its mournfnul years in silence roll, Would seek a reconcilement with its God. Thus would thy Hands, O Law be free
from stain,
And thus would the Inhabitant of Time, When he who gave should call the Soul again, Return it back unsullied with a Crime.”

Finis.