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ANN ELIZA BLEECKER.

The interesting subject of this notice was the daughter of Mr. Brandt Schuyler, and was born in New York, in 1752. She was married to John J.  Bleecker, Esq., of New Rochelle, in 1769, and went to live at Poughkeepsie. From that place she soon removed to a village some distance above Albany, called Tomhanick, and spent several years of quiet domestic enjoyment amidst the wild scenes of this romantic spot. But in 1777, the approach of Burgoyne's army from Canada spread terror and dismay through the back settlements in that quarter, and broke, for a time, the peaceful happiness of her home in the wilderness. Mr. Bleecker hastened to Albany to prepare a shelter for his family, and no sooner had he gone, than the fearful news was brought to Mrs. Bleecker, that the enemy was within two miles of the village, burning and killing all before him. She immediately started up, and, with a daughter clinging to each side, set off on foot, attended only by a young mulatto girl, leaving her house, and everything in it, a prey to the savages.


After travelling, without being able to obtain any assistance, for more than five miles, she at length procured a seat for the children in a wagon, and walked on, herself, to the village of Stony Arabia; where, with much difficulty, she found shelter in a garret. The next morning her husband met her as he was returning from Albany, whither they all proceeded, and quickly set sail down the Hudson, intending to go to Red Hook; at which place they hoped for safety from the enemy. But on the voyage this poor lady was overtaken by a fiercer affliction, from the sword and flame of which there was no escaping. Her youngest daughter was taken so ill that they were forced to go on shore, and, soon after, she died. Mrs. Bleecker never recovered from this blow; and though, after the capture of Burgoyne, she returned to her former home in the country, she could never regain her cheerfulness. She lived in peace, however, until one day in August, 1781; when a party of the enemy seized Mr. Bleecker and two of his men, while they were busy in the harvest-field, and carried them off prisoners. After an absence of six days, during which time his wife endured all the sickening 
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ANN ELIZA BLEECKER.  27

anguish of the most frightful suspense and conjecture, he was retaken by some Americans from Bennington, and returned home.

Mrs. Bleecker visited her native city after the peace was concluded; but the havoc war had made among the scenes, and especially among the friends, of her early days, weighed so heavily on her spirits that she soon sank under it. She returned to her cottage at Tomhanick, and died on the 23d of November, 1783, aged thirty-one.

Her poems were published in 1793. They have no very marked characteristics; they are occasionally sweet, generally mournful. Her biographer truly says, "Mrs. Bleecker's poetry is not of that high order which would sustain itself under any very bold attempt; but the events of her life confer a degree of interest upon the few productions which she has left behind her. A female cultivating the elegant arts of refined society, at the ultima Thule of civilized life, in regions of savage wildness, and among scenes of alarm, desolation, and bloodshed, is a spectacle too striking not to fix our attention."

EXTRACT FROM A POEM

TO MR. BLEECKER, ON HIS PASSAGE TO NEW YORK.

METHINKS I see the broad majestic sheet
Swell to the wind; the flying shores retreat;
I see the banks, with varied foliage gay,
Inhale the misty sun's reluctant ray;
The lofty groves stripped of their verdure, rise
To the inclemence of autumnal skies.
Rough mountains now appear, while pendent woods
Hand o'er the gloomy steep, and shade the floods;
Slow moves the vessel, while each distant sound
The caverned echoes doubly loud rebound;
A placid stream meanders on the steep,
Till tumbling from the cliff, divides the frowning deep.
Oh! tempt not fate on those stupendous rocks,
Where never shepherd lets his timid flocks;
But shagged bears in those wild deserts stray,
And wolves, who howl against the lunar ray;
There builds the ravenous hawk her lofty nest,
And there the soaring eagle takes her rest;

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