Part 2

The Mountains smoak, the Hills are shook, the Earth is rent and torn, As if she should be clear dissolv'd, or from the Center born. The Sea doth roar, forsakes the shore, and shrinks away for fear; The wild beasts flee into the Sea, so soon as he draws near.

Before his Throne a Trump is blown, Proclaiming the day of Doom: Forthwith he cries, Ye dead arise, and unto Judgment come. No sooner said, but 'tis obey'd; Sepulchres opened are: Dead bodies all rise at his call, and 's mighty power declare.

His winged Hosts flie through all Coasts, together gathering Both good and bad, both quick and dead, and all to Judgment bring. Out of their holes those creeping Moles, that hid themselves for fear, By force they take, and quickly make before the Judge appear.

Thus every one before the Throne of Christ the Judge is brought, Both righteous and impious that good or ill hath wrought. A separation, and diff'ring station by Christ appointed is (To sinners sad) 'twixt good and bad, 'twixt Heirs of woe and bliss.

PHILIP FRENEAU

THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy homed blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet: No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the guardian shade, And sent soft waters murmuring by; Thus quietly thy summer goes, Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay, I grieve to see your future doom; They died--nor were those flowers more gay, The flowers that did in Eden bloom; Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power, Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews At first thy little being came; If nothing once, you nothing lose, For when you die you are the same; The space between is but an hour, The frail duration of a flower.

TO A HONEY BEE

Thou, born to sip the lake or spring, Or quaff the waters of the stream, Why hither come on vagrant wing? Does Bacchus tempting seem,-- Did he for you this glass prepare? Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harass or foes perplex, Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay-- Did wars distress, or labors vex, Or did you miss your way? A better seat you could not take Than on the margin of this lake.

Welcome!--I hail you to my glass All welcome, here, you find; Here, let the cloud of trouble pass, Here, be all care resigned. This fluid never fails to please, And drown the griefs of men or bees.

What forced you here we cannot know, And you will scarcely tell, But cheery we would have you go And bid a glad farewell: On lighter wings we bid you fly, Your dart will now all foes defy.

Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink, And in this ocean die; Here bigger bees than you might sink, Even bees full six feet high. Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said To perish in a sea of red.

Do as you please, your will is mine; Enjoy it without fear, And your grave will be this glass of wine, Your epitaph--a tear-- Go, take your seat in Charon's boat; We'll tell the hive, you died afloat.

THE INDIAN BURYING-GROUND

In spite of all the learned have said, I still my old opinion keep; The posture that we give the dead Points out the soul's eternal sleep.

Not so the ancients of these lands;-- The Indian, when from life released, Again is seated with his friends, And shares again the joyous feast.

His imaged birds, and painted bowl, And venison, for a journey dressed, Bespeak the nature of the soul, Activity, that wants no rest.

His bow for action ready bent, And arrows, with a head of stone, Can only mean that life is spent, And not the old ideas gone.

Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way, No fraud upon the dead commit,-- Observe the swelling turf, and say, They do not die, but here they sit.

Here still a lofty rock remains, On which the curious eye may trace (Now wasted half by wearing rains) The fancies of a ruder race.

Here still an aged elm aspires, Beneath whose far projecting shade (And which the shepherd still admires) children of the forest played.

There oft a restless Indian queen (Pale Shebah with her braided hair), And many a barbarous form is seen To chide the man that lingers there.

By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews, In habit for the chase arrayed, The hunter still the deer pursues, The hunter and the deer--a shade!

And long shall timorous Fancy see The painted chief, and pointed spear, And Reason's self shall bow the knee To shadows and delusions here.

EUTAW SPRINGS

At Eutaw Springs the valiant died; Their limbs with dust are covered o'er; Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide; How many heroes are no more!

If in this wreck of ruin, they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite thy gentle breast, and say The friends of freedom slumber here!

Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, Sigh for the wasted rural reign; Sigh for the shepherds sunk to rest!

Stranger, their humble groves adorn; You too may fall, and ask a tear: 'Tis not the beauty of the morn That proves the evening shall be clear.

They saw their injured country's woe, The flaming town, the wasted field; Then rushed to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear--but left the shield.

Led by thy conquering standards, Greene, The Britons they compelled to fly: None distant viewed the fatal plain, None grieved in such a cause to die--

But, like the Parthian, famed of old, Who, flying, still their arrows threw, These routed Britons, full as bold, Retreated, and retreating slew.

Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land, A bright Phoebus of their own.

FRANCIS HOPKINSON

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS

Gallants attend and hear a friend Trill forth harmonious ditty, Strange things I'll tell which late befell In Philadelphia city.

'Twas early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on a log of wood, And saw a thing surprising.

As in amaze he stood to gaze, The truth can't be denied, sir, He spied a score of kegs or more Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor too in jerkin blue, This strange appearance viewing, First damned his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, "Some mischief's brewing.

"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold, Packed up like pickled herring; And they're come down to attack the town, In this new way of ferrying."

The soldier flew, the sailor too, And scared almost to death, sir, Wore out their shoes, to spread the news, And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town, Most frantic scenes were acted; And some ran here, and others there, Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cried, which some denied, But said the earth had quaked; And girls and boys, with hideous noise, Ran through the streets half naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea, Lay all this time a snoring, Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm, In bed with Mrs. Loring.

Now in a fright, he starts upright, Awaked by such a clatter; He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries, "For God's sake, what's the matter?"

At his bedside he then espied, Sir Erskine at command, sir, Upon one foot he had one boot, And th' other in his hand, sir.

"Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries, "The rebels--more's the pity, Without a boat are all afloat, And ranged before the city.

"The motley crew, in vessels new, With Satan for their guide, sir, Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs, Come driving down the tide, sir.

"Therefore prepare for bloody war; These kegs must all be routed, Or surely we despised shall be, And British courage doubted."

The royal band now ready stand All ranged in dread array, sir, With stomach' stout to see it out, And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore. The small arms make a rattle; Since wars began I'm sure no man E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales, With rebel trees surrounded, The distant woods, the hills and floods, With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro, Attacked from every quarter; Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay, 'Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made, Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, Could not oppose their powerful foes, The conquering British troops, sir.

From morn to night these men of might Displayed amazing courage; And when the sun was fairly down, Retired to sup their porridge.

A hundred men with each a pen, Or more upon my word, sir, It is most true would be too few, Their valor to record, sir.

Such feats did they perform that day, Against these wicked kegs, sir, That years to come: if they get home, They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.

JOSEPH HOPKINSON

HAIL COLUMBIA

Hail, Columbia! happy land! Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won. Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost; Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies.

Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots! rise once more: Defend your rights, defend your shore: Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. While offering peace sincere and just, In Heaven we place a manly trust, That truth and justice will prevail, And every scheme of bondage fail.

Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.

Sound, sound, the trump of Fame! Let WASHINGTON'S great name Ring through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause; Let every clime to Freedom dear, Listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill, and godlike power, He governed in the fearful hour Of horrid war; or guides, with ease, The happier times of honest peace.

Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.

Behold the chief who now commands, Once more to serve his country, stands-- The rock on which the storm will beat, The rock on which the storm will beat; But, armed in virtue firm and true, His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, And glooms obscured Columbia's day, His steady mind, from changes free. Resolved on death or liberty.

Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.

ANONYMOUS

THE BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE

The breezes went steadily through the tall pines, A-saying "oh! hu-ush!" a-saying "oh! hu-ush!" As stilly stole by a bold legion of horse, For Hale in the bush, for Hale in the bush.

"Keep still!" said the thrush as she nestled her young, In a nest by the road; in a nest by the road. "For the tyrants are near, and with them appear What bodes us no good, what bodes us no good."

The brave captain heard it, and thought of his home In a cot by the brook; in a cot by the brook. With mother and sister and memories dear, He so gayly forsook; he so gayly forsook.

Cooling shades of the night were coming apace, The tattoo had beat; the tattoo had beat. The noble one sprang from his dark lurking-place, To make his retreat; to make his retreat.

He warily trod on the dry rustling leaves. As he passed through the wood; as he passed through the wood; And silently gained his rude launch on the shore, As she played with the flood; as she played with the flood.

The guards of the camp, on that dark, dreary night, Had a murderous will; had a murderous will. They took him and bore him afar from the shore, To a hut on the hill; to a hut on the hill.

No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer, In that little stone cell; in that little stone cell. But he trusted in love, from his Father above. In his heart, all was well; in his heart, all was well.

An ominous owl, with his solemn bass voice, Sat moaning hard by; sat moaning hard by: "The tyrant's proud minions most gladly rejoice, For he must soon die; for he must soon die."

The brave fellow told them, no thing he restrained,-- The cruel general! the cruel general!-- His errand from camp, of the ends to be gained, And said that was all; and said that was all.

They took him and bound him and bore him away, Down the hill's grassy side; down the hill's grassy side. 'Twas there the base hirelings, in royal array, His cause did deride; his cause did deride.

Five minutes were given, short moments, no more, For him to repent; for him to repent. He prayed for his mother, he asked not another, To Heaven he went; to Heaven he went.

The faith of a martyr the tragedy showed, As he trod the last stage; as he trod the last stage. And Britons will shudder at gallant Hales blood, As his words do presage, as his words do presage.

"Thou pale king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go frighten the slave; go frighten the slave; Tell tyrants, to you their allegiance they owe. No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave."

A FABLE

Rejoice, Americans, rejoice! Praise ye the Lord with heart and voice! The treaty's signed with faithful France, And now, like Frenchmen, sing and dance!

But when your joy gives way to reason, And friendly hints are not deemed treason, Let me, as well as I am able, Present your Congress with a fable.

Tired out with happiness, the frogs Sedition croaked through all their bogs; And thus to Jove the restless race, Made out their melancholy case.

"Famed, as we are, for faith and prayer, We merit sure peculiar care; But can we think great good was meant us, When logs for Governors were sent us?

"Which numbers crushed they fell upon, And caused great fear,--till one by one, As courage came, we boldly faced 'em, Then leaped upon 'em, and disgraced 'em!

"Great Jove," they croaked, "no longer fool us, None but ourselves are fit to rule us; We are too large, too free a nation, To be encumbered with taxation!

"We pray for peace, but wish confusion, Then right or wrong, a--revolution! Our hearts can never bend to obey; Therefore no king--and more we'll pray."

Jove smiled, and to their fate resigned The restless, thankless, rebel kind; Left to themselves, they went to work, First signed a treaty with king Stork.

He swore that they, with his alliance, To all the world might bid defiance; Of lawful rule there was an end on't, And frogs were henceforth--independent.

At which the croakers, one and all! Proclaimed a feast, and festival! But joy to-day brings grief to-morrow; Their feasting o'er, now enter sorrow!

The Stork grew hungry, longed for fish; The monarch could not have his wish; In rage he to the marshes flies, And makes a meal of his allies.

Then grew so fond of well-fed frogs, He made a larder of the bogs! Say, Yankees, don't you feel compunction, At your unnatural rash conjunction?

Can love for you in him take root, Who's Catholic, and absolute? I'll tell these croakers how he'll treat 'em; Frenchmen, like storks, love frogs--to eat 'em.

TIMOTHY DWIGHT

LOVE TO THE CHURCH

I love thy kingdom, Lord, The house of thine abode, The church our blest Redeemer saved With his own precious blood.

I love thy church, O God! Her walls before thee stand, Dear as the apple of thine eye, And graven on thy hand.

If e'er to bless thy sons My voice or hands deny, These hands let useful skill forsake, This voice in silence die.

For her my tears shall fall, For her my prayers ascend; To her my cares and toils be given Till toils and cares shall end.

Beyond my highest joy I prize her heavenly ways, Her sweet communion, solemn vows, Her hymns of love and praise.

Jesus, thou friend divine, Our Saviour and our King, Thy hand from every snare and foe Shall great deliverance bring.

Sure as thy truth shall last, To Zion shall be given The brightest glories earth can yield, And brighter bliss of heaven.

SAMUEL WOODWORTH

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure, For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habitation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well!

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

THANATOPSIS

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;-- Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around-- Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-- Comes a still voice:--