CANTO IV.

But anger swell'd the haughty prophet's breast, Rage burn'd within, and robb'd his soul of rest; Such was his pride, he wish'd they all in flame Might rather perish than belie his fame, And God's own bolts the tottering towers assail, And millions perish, than his word should fail. Then to the heavens he sent this peevish prayer-- (Vain, impious man, to send such pinings there): "While yet within my native land, I stay'd, "This would at last reward my toil, I said, "Destruction through the Assyrian streets to cry, "And then the event my mission falsify; "For this I strove to shun thy sight before, "And sought repose upon a foreign shore; "I knew thou wert so gracious and so kind, "Such mercy sways thy all creating mind, "Averse thy bolts of vengeance to employ, "And still relenting when you should'st destroy, "That when I had declar'd thy sacred will, "Thou would'st not what I prophesy'd fulfil, "But leave me thus to scorn, contempt, and shame, "A lying prophet, blasted in my fame-- "And now, I pray thee, grant my last request, "O take my life, so wretched and unblest! "If here I stay, 'tis but to grieve and sigh; "Then take my life--'tis better far to die!" "Is it thy place to swell with rage and pride, "(Thus to his pining prophet, God reply'd) "Say is it just thy heart should burn with ire "Because yon' city is not wrapt in fire? "What if I choose its ruin to delay, "And send destruction on some future day, "Must thou, for that, with wasting anguish sigh, "And, hostile to my pleasure, wish to die?" Then Jonah parted from the mourning town, And near its eastern limits sate him down, A booth he builded with assiduous care, (Form'd of the cypress boughs that flourish'd there) And anxious now beneath their shadow lay, Waiting the issue of the fortieth day-- As yet uncertain if the Power Divine Or would to mercy, or to wrath incline-- Meantime the leaves that roof'd his arbour o'er, Shrunk up and faded, sheltered him no more; But God ordain'd a thrifty gourd to rise, To screen his prophet from the scorching skies; High o'er his head aspired the spreading leaf, Too fondly meant to mitigate his grief. So close a foliage o'er his head was made, That not a beam could pierce the happy shade: The wondering seer perceiv'd the branches grow And bless'd the shadow that reliev'd his woe; But when the next bright morn began to shine (So God ordain'd) a worm attack'd the vine, Beneath his bite its goodly leaves decay, And wasting, withering, die before the day! Then as the lamp of heaven still higher rose From eastern skies a sultry tempest blows, The vertic sun as fiercely pour'd his ray, And beam'd around insufferable day. How beat those beams on Jonah's fainting head! How oft he wish'd a place among the dead! All he could do, was now to grieve and sigh, His life detest, and beg of God to die. Again, Jehovah to his prophet said, "Art thou so angry for thy vanish'd shade-- "For a mere shadow dost thou well to grieve, "For this poor loss would'st thou thy being leave?"-- "My rage is just, (the frantic prophet cry'd), "My last, my only comfort is deny'd-- "The spreading vine that form'd my leafy bower; "Behold it vanish'd in the needful hour! "To beating winds and sultry suns a prey, "My fainting spirit droops and dies away-- "Give me a mansion in my native dust, "For though I die with rage, my rage is just." Once more the Almighty deign'd to make reply-- "Does this lost _gourd_ thy sorrow swell so high, "_Whose_ friendly shade not to thy toil was due, "Alone it sprouted and alone it grew; "A night beheld its branches waving high, "And the next sun beheld those branches die; "And should not pity move the Lord of all "To spare the vast Assyrian capital, "Within whose walls uncounted myriads stray, "Their Father I, my sinful offspring they?-- "Should they not move the creating mind "With six score thousand of the infant kind, "And herds untold that graze the spacious field, "For whom yon' meads their stores of fragrance yield; "Should I this royal city wrap in flame, "And slaughter millions to support thy fame, "When now repentant to their God they turn, "And their past follies, low in ashes, mourn?-- "Vain, thoughtless wretch, recall thy weak request, "Death never came to man a welcome guest;-- "Why wish to die--what madness prompts thy mind? "Too long the days of darkness thou shalt find; "Life was a blessing by thy Maker meant, "Dost thou despise the blessings he has lent-- "Enjoy my gifts while yet the seasons run "True to their months, and social with the sun; "When to the dust my mandate bids thee fall, "All these are lost, for death conceals them all-- "No more the sun illumes the sprightly day, "The seasons vanish, and the stars decay: "The trees, the flowers, no more thy sense delight, "Death shades them all in ever-during night. "Then think not long the little space I lent-- "Of thy own sins, like Nineveh, repent; "Rejoice at last the mighty change to see, "And bear with them as I have borne with thee."

[29] Found only in the 1786, 1795, and 1809 editions of the poet. The 1786 edition has the note: "This is rather to be considered as a paraphrase upon than a mere versification of the story of the Bible. Done in the year 1768."

THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON SWAUGUM, A VILLAGE MERCHANT[30]

Written in 1768.

PRELIMINARY PARTICULARS

Sprung from a race that had long till'd the soil, And first disrobed it of its native trees, He wish'd to heir their lands, but not their toil, And thought the ploughman's life no life of ease;-- "'Tis wrong (said he) these pretty hands to wound "With felling oaks, or delving in the ground: "I, who at least have forty pounds in cash "And in a country store might cut a dash, "Why should I till these barren fields (he said) "I who have learnt to cypher, write and read, "These fields that shrubs, and weeds, and brambles bear, "That pay me not, and only bring me care!" Some thoughts had he, long while, to quit the sod, In sea-port towns to try his luck in trade, But, then, their ways of living seem'd most odd-- For dusty streets to leave his native shade, From grassy plats to pebbled walks removed-- The more he thought of them, the less he loved: The city springs he could not drink, and still Preferr'd the fountain near some bushy hill: And yet no splendid objects there were seen, No distant hills, in gaudy colours clad, Look where you would, the prospect was but mean, Scrub oaks, and scatter'd pines, and willows sad-- Banks of a shallow river, stain'd with mud; A stream, where never swell'd the tide of flood, Nor lofty ship her topsails did unlose, Nor sailor sail'd, except in long canoes. It would have puzzled Faustus, to have told, What did attach him to this paltry spot; Where even the house he heir'd was very old, And all its outworks hardly worth a groat: Yet so it was, the fancy took his brain A country shop might here some custom gain: Whiskey, he knew, would always be in vogue, While there are country squires to take a cogue, Laces and lawns would draw each rural maid, And one must have her shawl, and one her shade.--

THE SHOP DESCRIBED AND THE MERCHANT'S OUTSET

Hard by the road a pigmy building stood, Thatch'd was its roof, and earthen were its floors; So small its size, that, in a jesting mood, It might be call'd a house turn'd out of doors-- Yet here, adjacent to an aged oak, Full fifty years old dad his hams did smoke, Nor ceas'd the trade, 'till worn with years and spent, To Pluto's smoke-house he, himself, was sent. Hither our merchant turn'd his curious eye, And mused awhile upon this sable shell; "Here father smoked his hogs (he said) and why "In truth, may not our garret do as well?" So, down he took his hams and bacon flitches, Resolv'd to fill the place with other riches; From every hole and cranny brush'd the soot, And fixt up shelves throughout the crazy hut; A counter, too, most cunningly was plann'd, Behind whose breast-work none but he might stand, Excepting now and then, by special grace, Some brother merchant from some other place. Now, muster'd up his cash, and said his prayers, In Sunday suit he rigs himself for town, Two raw-boned steeds (design'd for great affairs) Are to the waggon hitch'd, old Bay and Brown; Who ne'er had been before a league from home, But now are doom'd full many a mile to roam, Like merchant-ships, a various freight to bring Of ribbons, lawns, and many a tawdry thing. Molasses too, blest sweet, was not forgot, And island Rum, that every taste delights, And teas, for maid and matron must be bought, Rosin and catgut strings for fiddling wights-- But why should I his invoice here repeat? 'Twould be like counting grains in pecks of wheat. Half Europe's goods were on his invoice found, And all was to be bought with forty pound! Soon as the early dawn proclaim'd the day, He cock'd his hat with pins, and comb'd his hair: Curious it was, and laughable to see The village-merchant, mounted in his chair: Shelves, piled with lawns and linens, in his head, Coatings and stuffs, and cloths, and scarlets red-- All that would suit man, woman, girl, or boy; Muslins and muslinets, jeans, grograms, corduroy. Alack! said I, he little, little dreams That all the cash he guards with studious care-- His cash! the mother of a thousand schemes, Will hardly buy a load of earthen ware! But why should I excite the hidden tear By whispering truths ungrateful to his ear; Still let him travel on, with scheming pate, As disappointment never comes too late.--

HIS JOURNEY TO THE METROPOLIS; AND MERCANTILE TRANSACTIONS

Through woods obscure and rough perplexing ways, Slow and alone, he urged the clumsy wheel; Now stopping short, to let his horses graze, Now treating them with straw and Indian meal: At length a lofty steeple caught his eye, "Higher (thought he) than ever kite did fly:-- But so it is, these churchmen are so proud They ever will be climbing to a cloud; Bound on a sky-blue cruise, they always rig The longest steeple, and the largest wig." Now safe arrived upon the pebbled way, Where well-born steeds the rattling coaches trail, Where shops on shops are seen--and ladies gay Walk with their curtains some, and some their veil; Where sons of art their various labors shew And one cries fish! and one cries muffins ho! Amaz'd, alike, the merchant, and his pair Of scare-crow steeds, did nothing else but stare; So new was all the scene, that, smit with awe, They grinn'd, and gaz'd, and gap'd at all they saw, And often stopp'd, to ask at every door, "Sirs, can you tell us where's the cheapest store!" "The cheapest store (a sly retailer said) "Cheaper than cheap, guid faith, I have to sell; "Here are some colour'd cloths that never fade: "No other shop can serve you half so well; "Wanting some money now, to pay my rent, "I'll sell them at a loss of ten per cent.-- "Hum-hums are here--and muslins--what you please-- "Bandanas, baftas, pullcats, India teas; "Improv'd by age, and now grown very old, "And given away, you may depend--not sold!" Lured by the bait the wily shopman laid, He gave his steeds their mess of straw and meal, Then gazing round the shop, thus, cautious said, "Well, if you sell so cheap, I think we'll deal; "But pray remember, 'tis for goods I'm come, "For, as to polecats, we've enough at home-- "Full forty pounds I have, and that in gold "(Enough to make a trading man look bold) "Unrig your shelves, and let me take a peep; "'Tis odds I leave them bare, you sell so cheap." The city merchant stood, with lengthen'd jaws; And stared awhile, then made this short reply-- "You clear my shelves! (he said)--this trunk of gauze "Is more than all your forty pounds can buy:-- "On yonder board, whose burthen seems so small "That one man's pocket might contain it all, "More value lies, than you and all your race "From Adam down, could purchase or possess." Convinced, he turn'd him to another street, Where humbler shopmen from the crowd retreat; Here caught his eye coarse callicoes and crape, Pipes and tobacco, ticklenburghs and tape. Pitchers and pots, of value not so high But he might sell, and forty pounds would buy. Some jugs, some pots, some fifty ells of tape, A keg of wine, a cask of low proof rum, Bung'd close--for fear the spirit should escape That many a sot was waiting for at home; A gross of pipes, a case of home-made gin, Tea, powder, shot--small parcels he laid in; Molasses, too, for swichell[A]-loving wights, (Swichell, that wings Sangrado's boldest flights, When bursting forth the wild ideas roll, Flash'd from that farthing-candle, call'd his soul:) All these he bought, and would have purchased more, To furnish out his Lilliputian store; But cash fell short--and they who smiled while yet The cash remain'd, now took a serious fit:-- No more the shop-girl could his talk endure, But, like her cat, sat sullen and demure.-- The dull retailer found no more to say, But shook his head, and wish'd to sneak away, Leaving his house-dog, now, to make reply, And watch the counter with a lynx's eye.-- Our merchant took the hint, and off he went, Resolv'd to sell at twenty-five per cent.

[A] Molasses and water: A beverage much used in the eastern states.--_Freneau's note._

THE MERCHANT'S RETURN

Returning far o'er many a hill and stone And much in dread his earthen ware would break, Thoughtful he rode, and uttering many a groan Lest at some worm-hole vent his cask should leak-- His cask, that held the joys of rural squire Which even, 'twas said, the parson did admire, And valued more than all the dusty pages That Calvin penn'd, and fifty other sages-- Once high in fame--beprais'd in verse and prose, But now unthumb'd, enjoy a sweet repose. At dusk of eve he reach'd his old abode, Around him quick his anxious townsmen came, One ask'd what luck had happ'd him on the road, And one ungear'd the mud-bespatter'd team. While on his cask each glanced a loving eye, Patient, to all he gave a brisk reply-- Told all that had befallen him on his way, What wonders in the town detain'd his stay-- "Houses as high as yonder white-oak tree "And boats of monstrous size that go to sea, "Streets throng'd with busy folk, like swarming hive; "The Lord knows how they all contrive to live-- "No ploughs I saw, no hoes, no care, no charge, "In fact, they all are gentlemen at large, "And goods so thick on every window lie, "They all seem born to sell--and none to buy."

THE CATASTROPHE, OR THE BROKEN MERCHANT

Alack-a-day! on life's uncertain road How many plagues, what evils must befal;-- Jove has on none unmingled bliss bestow'd, But disappointment is the lot of all: Thieves rob our stores, in spite of locks and keys, Cats steal our cream, and rats infest our cheese, The gayest coat a grease-spot may assail, Or Susan pin a dish-clout to its tail,-- Our village-merchant (trust me) had his share Of vile mis-haps--for now, the goods unpackt, Discover'd, what might make a deacon swear, Jugs, cream-pots, pipes, and grog-bowls sadly crackt-- A general groan throughout the crowd was heard; Most pitied him, and some his ruin fear'd; Poor wight! 'twas sad to see him fret and chafe, While each enquir'd, "Sir, is the rum-cask safe?" Alas! even that some mischief had endured;-- One rascal hoop had started near the chine!-- Then curiously the bung-hole they explored, With stem of pipe, the leakage to define-- Five gallons must be charged to loss and gain!-- "--Five gallons! (cry'd the merchant, writh'd with pain) "Now may the cooper never see full flask, "But still be driving at an empty cask-- "Five gallons might have mellowed down the 'squire "And made the captain strut a full inch higher; "Five gallons might have prompted many a song, "And made a frolic more than five days long: "Five gallons now are lost, and--sad to think, "That when they leak'd--no soul was there to drink!" Now, slightly treated with a proof-glass dram, Each neighbour took his leave, and went to bed, All but our merchant: he, with grief o'ercome, Revolv'd strange notions in his scheming head-- "For losses such as these, (thought he) 'tis meant, "That goods are sold at twenty-five per cent: "No doubt these trading men know what is just, "'Tis twenty-five times what they cost at first!" So rigging off his shelves by light of candle, The dismal smoke-house walls began to shine: Here, stood his tea-pots--some without a handle-- A broken jar--and there his keg of wine; Pipes, many a dozen, ordered in a row; Jugs, mugs, and grog-bowls--less for sale than show: The leaky cask, replenish'd from the well, Roll'd to its birth--but we no tales will tell.-- Catching the eye in elegant display, All was arranged and snug, by break of day: The blue dram-bottle, on the counter plac'd, Stood, all prepared for him that buys to taste;-- Sure bait! by which the man of cash is taken, As rats are caught by cheese or scraps of bacon. Now from all parts the rural people ran, With ready cash, to buy what might be bought: One went to choose a pot, and one a pan, And they that had no pence their produce brought, A hog, a calf, safe halter'd by the neck; Potatoes (Ireland's glory) many a peck; Bacon and cheese, of real value more Than India's gems, or all Potosi's ore. Some questions ask'd, the folks began to stare-- No soul would purchase, pipe, or pot, or pan: Each shook his head--hung back--"Your goods so dear! "In fact (said they) the devil's in the man! "Rum ne'er shall meet my lips (cry'd honest Sam) "In shape of toddy, punch, grog, sling, or dram; "No cash of mine you'll get (said pouting Kate) "While gauze is valued at so dear a rate." Thus things dragg'd on for many a tedious day; No custom came; and nought but discontent Gloom'd through the shop.--"Well, let them have their way, (The merchant said) I'll sell at cent per cent, "By which, 'tis plain, I scarce myself can save, "For cent per cent is just the price I gave." "Now! (cry'd the squire who still had kept his pence) "Now, Sir, you reason like a man of sense! "Custom will now from every quarter come; "In joyous streams shall flow the inspiring rum, "'Till every soul in pleasing dreams be sunk, "And even our Socrates himself--is drunk!" Soon were the shelves disburthen'd of their load; In three short hours the kegs of wine ran dry-- Swift from its tap even dull molasses flow'd; Each saw the rum cask wasting, with a sigh-- The farce concluded, as it was foreseen-- With empty shelves--long trust--and law suits keen-- The woods resounding with a curse on trade,-- An empty purse--sour looks--and hanging head.--

THE PUNCHEON'S EULOGY

"Here lies a worthy corpse (Sangrado said) "Its debt to Commerce now, no doubt, is paid.-- "Well--'twas a vile disease that kill'd it, sure, "A quick consumption, that no art could cure! "Thus shall we all, when life's vain dream is out, "Be lodg'd in corners dark, or kick'd about! "Time is the tapster of our race below, "That turns the key, and bids the juices flow: "Quitting my books, henceforth be mine the task "To moralize upon this empty cask-- "Thank heaven we've had the taste--so far 'twas well; "And still, thro' mercy, may enjoy the smell!"

EPILOGUE[31]

Well!--strange it is, that men will still apply Things to themselves, that authors never meant: Each country merchant asks me, "Is it I On whom your rhyming ridicule is spent?" Friends, hold your tongues--such myriads of your race Adorn Columbia's fertile, favour'd climes, A man might rove seven years from place to place Ere he would know the subject of my rhymes.-- Perhaps in Jersey is this creature known, Perhaps New-England claims him for her own: And if from Fancy's world this wight I drew, What is the imagin'd character to you?"

[30] From the 1809 edition of Freneau's poems. This piece does not appear in the editions of 1786 and 1788. It ran as a serial for several weeks in the _National Gazette_, beginning May 17, 1792, and it was immediately reprinted by Bache in his _Aurora_. I can find no earlier trace of it. It was printed, together with "The Country Printer," in 1794 by Hoff and Derrick, Philadelphia, as a 16-page pamphlet, under the title, "The Village Merchant," and it was given a place in the 1795 edition, dated "Anno 1768." In the 1809 edition it was first divided into sections with sub-titles.

[31] The epilogue was first added in 1795.

_Debemur morti nos nostraque!_

THE PYRAMIDS OF EGYPT[32]

A Dialogue. Written in 1770.

_Scene._--Egypt. _Persons._--Traveller, Genius, Time.

_Traveller_

Where are those famed piles of human grandeur, Those sphinxes, pyramids, and Pompey's pillar, That bid defiance to the arm of Time-- Tell me, dear Genius: for I long to see them.

_Genius_

At Alexandria rises Pompey's pillar, Whose birth is but of yesterday, compar'd With those prodigious fabricks that you see O'er yonder distant plain--upon whose breast Old Nile hath never roll'd his swelling streams, The only plain so privileg'd in Egypt. These pyramids may well excite your wonder, They are of most remote antiquity, Almost co-eval with those cloud-crown'd hills That westward from them rise--'twas the same age That saw old Babel's tower aspiring high, When first the sage Egyptian architects These ancient turrets to the heavens rais'd;-- But Babel's tower is gone, and these remain!

_Traveller_

Old Rome I thought unrivall'd in her years, At least the remnants that we find of Rome, But these, you tell me, are of older date.

_Genius_

Talk not of Rome!--before they lopt a bush From the seven hills where Rome, earth's empress, stood, These pyramids were old--their birth day is Beyond tradition's reach, or history.

_Traveller_

Then let us haste toward those piles of wonder That scorn to bend beneath this weight of years-- Lo! to my view, the aweful mansions rise The pride of art, the sleeping place of death! Are these the four prodigious monuments That so astonish every generation-- Let us examine this, the first and greatest-- A secret horror chills my breast, dear Genius, To touch these monuments that are so ancient, The fearful property of ghosts and death!-- Yet of such mighty bulk that I presume A race of giants were the architects.-- Since these proud fabricks to the heavens were rais'd How many generations have decay'd, How many monarchies to ruin pass'd! How many empires had their rise and fall! While these remain--and promise to remain As long as yonder sun shall gild their summits, Or moon or stars their wonted circles run.

_Genius_

The time will come When these stupendous piles you deem immortal, Worn out with age, shall moulder on their bases, And down, down, low to endless ruin verging, O'erwhelm'd by dust, be seen and known no more!-- Ages ago, in dark oblivion's lap Had they been shrouded, but the atmosphere In these parch'd climates, hostile to decay, Is pregnant with no rain, that by its moisture Might waste their bulk in such excess of time, And prove them merely mortal. 'Twas on this plain the ancient Memphis stood, Her walls encircled these tall pyramids-- But where is Pharoah's palace, where the domes Of Egypt's haughty lords?--all, all are gone, And like the phantom snows of a May morning Left not a vestige to discover them!

_Traveller_

How shall I reach the vortex of this pile-- How shall I clamber up its shelving sides? I scarce endure to glance toward the summit, It seems among the clouds--When was't thou rais'd, O work of more than mortal majesty-- Was this produc'd by persevering man, Or did the gods erect this pyramid?

_Genius_

Nor gods, nor giants rais'd this pyramid-- It was the toil of mortals like yourself That swell'd it to the skies-- See'st thou yon' little door? Through that they pass'd, Who rais'd so high this aggregate of wonders! What cannot tyrants do, When they have subject nations at their will, And the world's wealth to gratify ambition! Millions of slaves beneath their labours fainted Who here were doom'd to toil incessantly, And years elaps'd while groaning myriads strove To raise this mighty tomb--and but to hide The worthless bones of an Egyptian king.-- O wretch, could not a humbler tomb have done, Could nothing but a pyramid inter thee!

_Traveller_

Perhaps old Jacob's race, when here oppress'd, Rais'd, in their years of bondage this dread pile.

_Genius_

Before the Jewish patriarchs saw the light, While yet the globe was in its infancy These were erected to the pride of man-- Four thousand years have run their tedious round Since these smooth stones were on each other laid, Four thousand more may run as dull a round Ere Egypt sees her pyramids decay'd.

_Traveller_

But suffer me to enter, and behold The interior wonders of this edifice.

_Genius_

'Tis darkness all, with hateful silence join'd-- Here drowsy bats enjoy a dull repose, And marble coffins, vacant of their bones, Show where the royal dead in ruin lay! By every pyramid a temple rose Where oft in concert those of ancient time Sung to their goddess Isis hymns of praise; But these are fallen!--their columns too superb Are levell'd with the dust--nor these alone-- Where is thy vocal statue, Memnon, now, That once, responsive to the morning beams, Harmoniously to father Phoebus sung! Where is the image that in past time stood High on the summit of yon' pyramid?-- Still may you see its polish'd pedestal-- Where art thou ancient Thebes?----all bury'd low, All vanish'd! crumbled into mother dust, And nothing of antiquity remains But these huge pyramids, and yonder hills.

_Time_

Old Babel's tower hath felt my potent arm I ruin'd Ecbatan and Babylon, Thy huge Colossus, Rhodes, I tumbled down, And on these pyramids I smote my scythe; But they resist its edge--then let them stand. But I can boast a greater feat than this, I long ago have shrouded those in death Who made those structures rebels to my power-- But, O return!--These piles are not immortal! This earth, with all its balls of hills and mountains, Shall perish by my hand--then how can these, These hoary headed pyramids of Egypt, That are but dwindled warts upon her body, That on a little, little spot of ground Extinguish the dull radiance of the sun, Be proof to Death and me?----Traveller return-- There's nought but God immortal----He alone Exists secure, when Man, and Death, and Time, (Time not immortal, but a fancied point In the vast circle of eternity) Are swallow'd up, and, like the pyramids, Leave not an atom for their monument!

[32] The text is from the edition of 1786. The 1795 edition has the note "anno 1769."

THE MONUMENT OF PHAON[33]

Written 1770.

Phaon, the admirer of Sappho, both of the isle of Lesbos, privately forsook this first object of his affections, and set out to visit foreign countries. Sappho, after having long mourned his absence (which is the subject of one of Ovid's finest epistles), is here supposed to fall into the company of Ismenius a traveller, who informs her that he saw the tomb of a certain Phaon in Sicily, erected to his memory by a lady of the island, and gives her the inscriptions, hinting to her that, in all probability, it belonged to the same person she bemoans. She thereupon, in a fit of rage and despair, throws herself from the famous Leucadian rock, and perishes in the gulph below.

_Sappho_

No more I sing by yonder shaded stream, Where once intranc'd I fondly pass'd the day, Supremely blest, when Phaon was my theme, But wretched now, when Phaon is away!

Of all the youths that grac'd our Lesbian isle He, only he, my heart propitious found, So soft his language, and so sweet his smile, Heaven was my own when Phaon clasp'd me round!

But soon, too soon, the faithless lover fled To wander on some distant barbarous shore-- Who knows if Phaon is alive or dead, Or wretched Sappho shall behold him more.

_Ismenius_

As late in fair Sicilia's groves I stray'd, Charm'd with the beauties of the vernal scene I sate me down amid the yew tree's shade, Flowers blooming round, with herbage fresh and green.

Not distant far a monument arose Among the trees and form'd of Parian stone, And, as if there some stranger did repose, It stood neglected, and it stood alone.

Along its sides dependent ivy crept, The cypress bough, Plutonian green, was near, A sculptur'd Venus on the summit wept, A pensive Cupid dropt the parting tear.

Strains deep engrav'd on every side I read, How Phaon died upon that foreign shore-- Sappho, I think your Phaon must be dead, Then hear the strains that do his fate deplore:

Thou swain that lov'st the morning air, To those embowering trees repair, Forsake thy sleep at early dawn. And of this landscape to grow fonder, Still, O still persist to wander Up and down the flowery lawn; And as you there enraptur'd rove From hill to hill, from grove to grove, Pensive now and quite alone, Cast thine eye upon this stone, Read its melancholy moan; And if you can refuse a tear To the youth that slumbers here, Whom the Lesbians held so dear, Nature calls thee not her own. Echo, hasten to my aid! Tell the woods and tell the waves, Tell the far off mountain caves (Wrapt in solitary shade); Tell them in high tragic numbers, That beneath this marble tomb, Shrouded in unceasing gloom Phaon, youthful Phaon, slumbers, By Sicilian swains deplor'd-- That a narrow urn restrains Him who charm'd our pleasing plains, Him, whom every nymph ador'd. Tell the woods and tell the waves, Tell the mossy mountain caves, Tell them, if none will hear beside, How our lovely Phaon died. In that season when the sun Bids his glowing charioteer Phoebus, native of the sphere, High the burning zenith run; Then our much lamented swain, O'er the sunny, scorched plain, Hunting with a chosen train, Slew the monsters of the waste From those gloomy caverns chac'd Round stupendous Etna plac'd.-- Conquer'd by the solar beam At last he came to yonder stream; Panting, thirsting there he lay On this fatal summer's day, While his locks of raven jett Were on his temples dripping wet; The gentle stream ran purling by O'er the pebbles, pleasantly, Tempting him to drink and die-- He drank indeed--but never thought Death was in the gelid draught!-- Soon it chill'd his boiling veins, Soon this glory of the plains Left the nymphs and left the swains, And has fled with all his charms Where the Stygian monarch reigns, Where no sun the climate warms!-- Dread Pluto then, as once before, Pass'd Avernus' waters o'er; Left the dark and dismal shore, And strait enamour'd, as he gloomy stood, Seiz'd Phaon by the waters of the wood. Now o'er the silent plain We for our much lov'd Phaon call again, And Phaon! Phaon! ring the woods amain-- From beneath this myrtle tree, Musidora, wretched maid, How shall Phaon answer thee, Deep in vaulted caverns laid!-- Thrice the myrtle tree hath bloom'd Since our Phaon was entomb'd, I, who had his heart, below, I have rais'd this turret high, A monument of love and woe That Phaon's name may never die.-- With deepest grief, O muse divine, Around his tomb thy laurels twine And shed thy sorrow, for to morrow Thou, perhaps, shalt cease to glow-- My hopes are crost, my lover lost, And I must weeping o'er the mountains go!

_Sappho_

Ah, faithless Phaon, thus from me to rove, And bless my rival in a foreign grove! Could Sicily more charming forests show Than those that in thy native Lesbos grow-- Did fairer fruits adorn the bending tree Than those that Lesbos did present to thee! Or didst thou find through all the changing fair One beauty that with Sappho could compare! So soft, so sweet, so charming and so kind, A face so fair, such beauties of the mind-- Not Musidora can be rank'd with me Who sings so well thy funeral song for thee!--[34] I'll go!--and from the high Leucadian steep Take my last farewell in the lover's leap, I charge thee, Phaon, by this deed of woe To meet me in the Elysian shades below, No rival beauty shall pretend a share, Sappho alone shall walk with Phaon there. She spoke, and downward from the mountain's height Plung'd in the plashy wave to everlasting night.

[33] Text from the edition of 1786. For the edition of 1795 Freneau cut out the song of Ismenius, beginning "Thou swain that lov'st the morning air," and extending to the speech of Sappho, "Ah, faithless Phaon."

[34] This and the preceding line omitted from the later versions.

THE POWER OF FANCY[35]

Written 1770.

Wakeful, vagrant, restless thing, Ever wandering on the wing, Who thy wondrous source can find, Fancy, regent of the mind; A spark from Jove's resplendent throne, But thy nature all unknown. This spark of bright, celestial flame, From Jove's seraphic altar came, And hence alone in man we trace, Resemblance to the immortal race. Ah! what is all this mighty whole, These suns and stars that round us roll! What are they all, where'er they shine, But Fancies of the Power Divine! What is this globe, these lands, and seas, And heat, and cold, and flowers, and trees, And life, and death, and beast, and man, And time--that with the sun began-- But thoughts on reason's scale combin'd, Ideas of the Almighty mind! On the surface of the brain Night after night she walks unseen, Noble fabrics doth she raise In the woods or on the seas, On some high, steep, pointed rock, Where the billows loudly knock And the dreary tempests sweep Clouds along the uncivil deep. Lo! she walks upon the moon, Listens to the chimy tune Of the bright, harmonious spheres, And the song of angels hears; Sees this earth a distant star,[A] Pendant, floating in the air; Leads me to some lonely dome, Where Religion loves to come, Where the bride of Jesus dwells, And the deep ton'd organ swells In notes with lofty anthems join'd, Notes that half distract the mind. Now like lightning she descends To the prison of the fiends, Hears the rattling of their chains, Feels their never ceasing pains-- But, O never may she tell Half the frightfulness of hell. Now she views Arcadian rocks, Where the shepherds guard their flocks, And, while yet her wings she spreads, Sees chrystal streams and coral beds, Wanders to some desert deep, Or some dark, enchanted steep, By the full moonlight doth shew Forests of a dusky blue, Where, upon some mossy bed, Innocence reclines her head. Swift, she stretches o'er the seas To the far off Hebrides, Canvas on the lofty mast Could not travel half so fast-- Swifter than the eagle's flight Or instantaneous rays of light! Lo! contemplative she stands On Norwegia's rocky lands-- Fickle Goddess, set me down Where the rugged winters frown Upon Orca's howling steep, Nodding o'er the northern deep, Where the winds tumultuous roar, Vext that Ossian sings no more. Fancy, to that land repair, Sweetest Ossian slumbers there; Waft me far to southern isles Where the soften'd winter smiles, To Bermuda's orange shades, Or Demarara's lovely glades; Bear me o'er the sounding cape, Painting death in every shape, Where daring Anson spread the sail Shatter'd by the stormy gale-- Lo! she leads me wide and far, Sense can never follow her-- Shape thy course o'er land and sea, Help me to keep pace with thee, Lead me to yon' chalky cliff, Over rock and over reef, Into Britain's fertile land, Stretching far her proud command. Look back and view, thro' many a year, Cæsar, Julius Cæsar, there. Now to Tempe's verdant wood, Over the mid-ocean flood Lo! the islands of the sea-- Sappho, Lesbos mourns for thee: Greece, arouse thy humbled head, Where are all thy mighty dead, Who states to endless ruin hurl'd And carried vengeance through the world?-- Troy, thy vanish'd pomp resume, Or, weeping at thy Hector's tomb, Yet those faded scenes renew, Whose memory is to Homer due. Fancy, lead me wandering still Up to Ida's cloud-topt hill; Not a laurel there doth grow But in vision thou shalt show,-- Every sprig on Virgil's tomb Shall in livelier colours bloom, And every triumph Rome has seen Flourish on the years between. Now she bears me far away In the east to meet the day, Leads me over Ganges' streams, Mother of the morning beams-- O'er the ocean hath she ran, Places me on Tinian; Farther, farther in the east, Till it almost meets the west, Let us wandering both be lost On Taitis sea-beat coast, Bear me from that distant strand, Over ocean, over land, To California's golden shore-- Fancy, stop, and rove no more. Now, tho' late, returning home, Lead me to Belinda's tomb; Let me glide as well as you Through the shroud and coffin too, And behold, a moment, there, All that once was good and fair-- Who doth here so soundly sleep? Shall we break this prison deep?-- Thunders cannot wake the maid, Lightnings cannot pierce the shade, And tho' wintry tempests roar, Tempests shall disturb no more. Yet must those eyes in darkness stay, That once were rivals to the day?-- Like heaven's bright lamp beneath the main They are but set to rise again. Fancy, thou the muses' pride, In thy painted realms reside Endless images of things, Fluttering each on golden wings, Ideal objects, such a store, The universe could hold no more: Fancy, to thy power I owe Half my happiness below; By thee Elysian groves were made, Thine were the notes that Orpheus play'd; By thee was Pluto charm'd so well While rapture seiz'd the sons of hell-- Come, O come--perceiv'd by none, You and I will walk alone.

[A] Milton's Paradise Lost, B. II, V. 1052.--_Freneau's note._

[35] From the edition of 1786. The later editions omitted all but the first twenty and the last fourteen lines of the poem, and gave to this fragment the title "Ode to Fancy." The omitted lines, much changed, were then made a separate poem, under the title "Fancy's Ramble."

THE PRAYER OF ORPHEUS

Sad monarch of the world below, Stern guardian of this drowsy shade, Through these unlovely realms I go To seek a captive thou hast made. O'er Stygian waters have I pass'd, Contemning Jove's severe decree, And reached thy sable court at last To find my lost Eurydicè.

Of all the nymphs so deckt and drest Like Venus of the starry train, She was the loveliest and the best, The pride and glory of the plain. O free from thy despotic sway This nymph of heaven-descended charms, Too soon she came this dusky way-- Restore thy captive to my arms!

As by a stream's fair verdant side In myrtle shades she roved along, A serpent stung my blooming bride, This brightest of the female throng-- The venom hastening thro' her veins Forbade the freezing blood to flow. And thus she left the Thracian plains For these dejected groves below.

Even thou may'st pity my sad pain, Since Love, as ancient stories say, Forced thee to leave thy native reign, And in Sicilian meadows stray: Bright Proserpine thy bosom fired, For her you sought unwelcome light, Madness and love in you conspired To seize her to the shades of night.

But if, averse to my request, The banished nymph, for whom I mourn, Must in Plutonian chambers rest, And never to my arms return---- Take Orpheus too--his warm desire Can ne'er be quench'd by your decree: In life or death he must admire, He must adore Eurydicè!

THE DESERTED FARM-HOUSE[36]

This antique dome the insatiate tooth of time Now level with the dust has almost laid;-- Yet ere 'tis gone, I seize my humble theme From these low ruins, that his years have made.

Behold the unsocial hearth!--where once the fires Blazed high, and soothed the storm-stay'd traveller's woes; See! the weak roof, that abler props requires, Admits the winds, and swift descending snows.

Here, to forget the labours of the day, No more the swains at evening hours repair, But wandering flocks assume the well known way To shun the rigours of the midnight air.

In yonder chamber, half to ruin gone, Once stood the ancient housewife's curtained bed-- Timely the prudent matron has withdrawn, And each domestic comfort with her fled.

The trees, the flowers that her own hands had reared, The plants, the vines, that were so verdant seen,-- The trees, the flowers, the vines have disappear'd, And every plant has vanish'd from the green.

So sits in tears on wide Campania's plain Rome, once the mistress of a world enslaved; That triumph'd o'er the land, subdued the main, And Time himself, in her wild transports, braved.

So sits in tears on Palestina's shore The Hebrew town, of splendour once divine-- Her kings, her lords, her triumphs are no more; Slain are her priests, and ruin'd every shrine.

Once, in the bounds of this deserted room, Perhaps some swain nocturnal courtship made, Perhaps some Sherlock mused amidst the gloom; Since Love and Death forever seek the shade.

Perhaps some miser, doom'd to discontent, Here counted o'er the heaps acquired with pain; He to the dust--his gold, on traffick sent, Shall ne'er disgrace these mouldering walls again.

Nor shall the glow-worm fopling, sunshine bred, Seek, at the evening hour this wonted dome-- Time has reduced the fabrick to a shed, Scarce fit to be the wandering beggar's home.

And none but I its dismal case lament-- None, none but I o'er its cold relics mourn, Sent by the muse--(the time perhaps misspent)-- To write dull stanzas on this dome forlorn.

[36] The first trace that I can find of this poem is in the _Freeman's Journal_ of May 18, 1785. I have little doubt that it is the "Stanzas on an Ancient Dutch House on Long Island," mentioned in 1773 in a letter to Madison as forming a part of Freneau's publication, "_The American Village_," now lost. After its appearance in the _Freeman's Journal_, it was widely copied. The _Independent Gazetteer_ printed it in 1787, introduced as follows: "The following is copied from Perryman's _London Morning Herald_ of July 22, 1787: 'The Deserted Farm House,' written in America by Mr. Freneau, whose political productions tended considerably to keep alive the spirit of independence during the late civil war." I have followed the text of 1809. The poet constantly emended this poem; he seldom reprinted it without minor changes, usually for the better.

THE CITIZEN'S RESOLVE[37]

"Far be the dull and heavy day "And toil, and restless care, from me-- "Sorrow attends on loads of gold, "And kings are wretched, I am told. "Soon from the noisy town removed "To such wild scenes as Plato[38] lov'd, "Where, placed the leafless oaks between, "Less haughty grows the wintergreen, "There, Night, will I (lock'd in thy arms, "Sweet goddess of the sable charms) "Enjoy the dear, delightful dreams "That fancy prompts by shallow[39] streams, "Where wood nymphs walk their evening round, "And fairies haunt the moonlight ground. "Beneath some mountain's towering height "In cottage low I hail the night, "Where jovial swains with heart sincere "Welcome the new returning year;-- "Each tells a tale or chaunts a song "Of her, for whom he sigh'd so long, "Of Cynthia[40] fair, or Delia coy, "Neglecting still her love-sick boy-- "While, near, the hoary headed sage "Recalls the feats of youth's gay age, "All that in past time e'er was seen, "And many a frolic on the green, "How champion he with champions met, "And fiercely they did combat it-- "Or how, full oft, with horn and hound "They chaced the deer the forest round-- "The panting deer as swiftly flies, "Yet by the well-aimed musquet dies! "Thus pass the evening hours away, "Unnoticed dies the parting day; "Unmeasured flows that happy juice, "Which mild October did produce, "No surly sage, too frugal found, "No niggard housewife deals it round: "And deep they quaff the inspiring bowl "That kindles gladness in the soul.--[41] "But now the moon, exalted high, "Adds lustre to the earth and sky, "And in the mighty ocean's glass "Admires the beauties of her face-- "About her orb you may behold "The circling stars that freeze with cold-- "But they in brighter seasons please, "Winter can find no charms in these, "While less ambitious, we admire, "And more esteem domestic fire. "O could I there a mansion find "Suited exactly to my mind "Near that industrious, heavenly train "Of rustics honest, neat, and plain; "The days, the weeks, the years to pass "With some good-natured, longing lass, "With her the cooling spring to sip, "And seize, at will, her damask lip; "The groves, the springs, the shades divine, "And all Arcadia should be mine! "Steep me, steep me, some poppies deep "In beechen bowl, to bring on sleep; "Love hath my soul in fetters bound, "Through the dull night no sleep I found;-- "O gentle sleep! bestow thy dreams "Of fields, and woods, and murmuring streams, "Dark, tufted groves, and grottoes rare, "And Flora, charming Flora, there. "Dull Commerce, hence, with all thy train "Of debts, and dues, and loss, and gain; "To hills, and groves, and purling streams, "To nights of ease, and heaven-born dreams, "While wiser Damon hastes away, "Should I in this dull city stay, "Condemn'd to death by slow decays "And care that clouds my brightest days? "No--by Silenus' self I swear, "In rustic shades I'll kill that care." So spoke Lysander, and in haste His clerks discharg'd, his goods re-cased, And to the western forests flew With fifty airy schemes in view; His ships were set to public sale-- But what did all this change avail?-- In three short months, sick of the heavenly train, In three short months--he moved to town again.

[37] From the edition of 1809. The 1786 edition has the note, "Written 1770."

[38] Shenstone.--_Ed. 1786._

[39] Sylvan.--_Ed. 1786._

[40] Dolly.--_Ed. 1786._

[41]

"But swift as changing goblets pass, They bless the virtues of the glass."--_Ed. 1786._

THE DYING ELM[42]

Sweet, lovely Elm, who here dost grow Companion of unsocial care, Lo! thy dejected branches die Amidst this torrid air-- Smit by the sun or blasting moon, Like fainting flowers, their verdure gone.

Thy withering leaves, that drooping hang, Presage thine end approaching nigh; And lo! thy amber tears distill, Attended with that parting sigh-- O charming tree! no more decline, But be thy shades and love-sick whispers mine.

Forbear to die--this weeping eye Shall shed her little drops on you, Shall o'er thy sad disaster grieve, And wash thy wounds with pearly dew, Shall pity you, and pity me, And heal the languor of my tree!

Short is thy life, if thou so soon must fade, Like angry Jonah's gourd at Nineveh, That, in a night, its bloomy branches spread, And perish'd with the day.-- Come, then, revive, sweet lovely Elm, lest I, Thro' vehemence of heat, like Jonah, wish to die.

[42] First published in the June number of the _United States Magazine_, 1779, under the title, "The Dying Elm: An Irregular Ode." This earliest version was much changed in its later editions; the third stanza was added for the edition of 1786. It may be doubted if Freneau much improved the poem from its first draft, save by the additional stanza. Following are some of the lines as they stood originally: "Companion of my musing care;" "Like fainting flowers that die at noon;" "O gentle tree, no more decline;" "And flourish'd for a day;" "Come, then, revive, sweet shady elm, lest I." With two minor exceptions the text was unvaried for the later editions.

COLUMBUS TO FERDINAND[43]

Columbus was a considerable number of years engaged in soliciting the Court of Spain to fit him out, in order to discover a new continent, which he imagined existed somewhere in the western parts of the ocean. During his negotiations, he is here supposed to address king Ferdinand in the following Stanzas.

Illustrious monarch of Iberia's soil, Too long I wait permission to depart; Sick of delays, I beg thy list'ning ear-- Shine forth the patron and the prince of art.

While yet Columbus breathes the vital air, Grant his request to pass the western main: Reserve this glory for thy native soil, And what must please thee more--for thy own reign.

Of this huge globe, how small a part we know-- Does heaven their worlds to western suns deny?-- How disproportion'd to the mighty deep The lands that yet in human prospect lie!

Does Cynthia, when to western skies arriv'd, Spend her sweet beam upon the barren main, And ne'er illume with midnight splendor, she, The natives dancing on the lightsome green?--

Should the vast circuit of the world contain Such wastes of ocean, and such scanty land?-- 'Tis reason's voice that bids me think not so, I think more nobly of the Almighty hand.

Does yon' fair lamp trace half the circle round To light the waves and monsters of the seas?-- No--be there must beyond the billowy waste Islands, and men, and animals, and trees.

An unremitting flame my breast inspires To seek new lands amidst the barren waves, Where falling low, the source of day descends, And the blue sea his evening visage laves.

Hear, in his tragic lay, Cordova's sage:[A] "_The time shall come, when numerous years are past, "The ocean shall dissolve the bands of things, "And an extended region rise at last;_

[A] Seneca the poet, native of Cordova in Spain.--_Freneau's note_ (_1786_). _Venient annis secula seris, quibus oceanus vincula rerum laxet, et ingens pateat tellus, Typhisque novos detegat orbes; nec sit terris Ultima Thule._--Seneca, Med., Act. III, V. 375. (_Ibid. Ed. 1795 et seq._)

"_And Typhis shall disclose the mighty land "Far, far away, where none have rov'd before; "Nor shall the world's remotest region be "Gibraltar's rock, or Thule's[B] savage shore._"[44]

[B] Supposed by many to be the Orkney or Shetland Isles.--_Freneau's note._

Fir'd at the theme, I languish to depart, Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail, He fears no storms upon the untravell'd deep; Reason shall steer, and skill disarm the gale.

Nor does he dread to lose the intended course, Though far from land the reeling galley stray, And skies above, and gulphy seas below Be the sole objects seen for many a day.

Think not that Nature has unveil'd in vain The mystic magnet to the mortal eye: So late have we the guiding needle plann'd Only to sail beneath our native sky?

Ere this was found, the ruling power of all Found for our use an ocean in the land, Its breadth so small we could not wander long, Nor long be absent from the neighbouring strand.

Short was the course, and guided by the stars, But stars no more shall point our daring way; The Bear shall sink, and every guard be drown'd, And great Arcturus scarce escape the sea,

When southward we shall steer--O grant my wish. Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail, He dreads no tempests on the untravell'd deep, Reason shall steer, and shall disarm the gale.

[43] According to the edition of 1786, this poem was "written 1770." The first trace that I find of it is in the June number of the _United States Magazine_, 1779. The 1786 text, which I have followed, was changed but little in the later editions.

[44] This is a translation of the passage from Seneca used on the title page of _The Rising Glory of America_.

THE RISING GLORY OF AMERICA[45]

Being part of a Dialogue pronounced on a public occasion.

ARGUMENT

The subject proposed.--The discovery of America by Columbus.-- A philosophical enquiry into the origin of the savages of America.--The first planters from Europe.--Causes of their migration to America.--The difficulties they encountered from the jealousy of the natives.--Agriculture descanted on.--Commerce and navigation.--Science.--Future prospects of British usurpation, tyranny, and devastation on this side the Atlantic.--The more comfortable one of Independence, Liberty and Peace.--Conclusion.

_Acasto_

Now shall the adventurous muse attempt a theme More new, more noble and more flush of fame Than all that went before-- Now through the veil of ancient days renew The period famed when first Columbus touched 5 These shores so long unknown--through various toils, Famine, and death, the hero forced his way, Through oceans pregnant with perpetual storms, And climates hostile to adventurous man. But why, to prompt your tears, should we resume, 10 The tale of Cortez, furious chief, ordained With Indian blood to dye the sands, and choak, Famed Mexico, thy streams with dead? or why Once more revive the tale so oft rehearsed Of Atabilipa, by thirst of gold, 15 (Too conquering motive in the human breast,) Deprived of life, which not Peru's rich ore Nor Mexico's vast mines could then redeem? Better these northern realms demand our song, Designed by nature for the rural reign, 20 For agriculture's toil.--No blood we shed For metals buried in a rocky waste.-- Cursed be that ore, which brutal makes our race And prompts mankind to shed their kindred blood.

_Eugenio_

But whence arose 25 That vagrant race who love the shady vale, And choose the forest for their dark abode?-- For long has this perplext the sages' skill To investigate.--Tradition lends no aid To unveil this secret to the human eye, 30 When first these various nations, north and south, Possest these shores, or from what countries came; Whether they sprang from some primæval head In their own lands, like Adam in the east,-- Yet this the sacred oracles deny, 35 And reason, too, reclaims against the thought: For when the general deluge drowned the world Where could their tribes have found security, Where find their fate, but in the ghastly deep?-- Unless, as others dream, some chosen few 40 High on the Andes 'scaped the general death, High on the Andes, wrapt in endless snow, Where winter in his wildest fury reigns, And subtile æther scarce our life maintains. But here philosophers oppose the scheme: 45 This earth, say they, nor hills nor mountains knew Ere yet the universal flood prevailed; But when the mighty waters rose aloft, Roused by the winds, they shook their solid base, And, in convulsions, tore the deluged world, 50 'Till by the winds assuaged, again they fell, And all their ragged bed exposed to view. Perhaps far wandering toward the northern pole The streights of Zembla, and the frozen zone, And where the eastern Greenland almost joins 55 America's north point, the hardy tribes Of banished Jews, Siberians, Tartars wild Came over icy mountains, or on floats, First reached these coasts, hid from the world beside.-- And yet another argument more strange, 60 Reserved for men of deeper thought, and late, Presents itself to view:--In Peleg's days, (So says the Hebrew seer's unerring pen) This mighty mass of earth, this solid globe, Was cleft in twain,--"divided" east and west, 65 While then perhaps the deep Atlantic roll'd,-- Through the vast chasm, and laved the solid world; And traces indisputable remain Of this primæval land now sunk and lost.-- The islands rising in our eastern main 70 Are but small fragments of this continent, Whose two extremities were Newfoundland And St. Helena.--One far in the north, Where shivering seamen view with strange surprize The guiding pole-star glittering o'er their heads; 75 The other near the southern tropic rears Its head above the waves--Bermuda's isles, Cape Verd, Canary, Britain, and the Azores, With fam'd Hibernia, are but broken parts Of some prodigious waste, which once sustain'd 80 Nations and tribes, of vanished memory, Forests and towns, and beasts of every class, Where navies now explore their briny way.

_Leander_

Your sophistry, Eugenio, makes me smile; The roving mind of man delights to dwell 85 On hidden things, merely because they're hid: He thinks his knowledge far beyond all limit, And boldly fathoms Nature's darkest haunts;-- But for uncertainties, your broken isles, Your northern Tartars, and your wandering Jews, 90 (The flimsy cobwebs of a sophist's brain) Hear what the voice of history proclaims:-- The Carthagenians, ere the Roman yoke Broke their proud spirits, and enslaved them too, For navigation were renowned as much 95 As haughty Tyre with all her hundred fleets. Full many a league their venturous seamen sailed Through streight Gibraltar, down the western shore Of Africa, to the Canary isles: By them called Fortunate; so Flaccus sings. 100 Because eternal spring there clothes the fields And fruits delicious bloom throughout the year.-- From voyaging here, this inference I draw, Perhaps some barque with all her numerous crew Falling to leeward of her destined port, 105 Caught by the eastern Trade, was hurried on Before the unceasing blast to Indian isles, Brazil, La Plata, or the coasts more south-- There stranded, and unable to return, Forever from their native skies estranged. 110 Doubtless they made these virgin climes their own, And in the course of long revolving years A numerous progeny from these arose, And spread throughout the coasts--those whom we call Brazilians, Mexicans, Peruvians rich, 115 The tribes of Chili, Patagon, and those Who till the shores of Amazon's long stream.-- When first the power of Europe here attained, Vast empires, kingdoms, cities, palaces And polished nations stock'd the fertile land. 120 Who has not heard of Cusco, Lima, and The town of Mexico--huge cities form'd From Indian architecture; ere the arms Of haughty Spain disturb'd the peaceful soil?-- But here, amid this northern dark domain, 125 No towns were seen to rise.--No arts were here; The tribes unskill'd to raise the lofty mast, Or force the daring prow thro' adverse waves, Gazed on the pregnant soil, and craved alone Life from the unaided genius of the ground,-- 130 This indicates they were a different race; From whom descended, 'tis not ours to say-- That power, no doubt, who furnish'd trees, and plants, And animals to this vast continent, Spoke into being man among the rest,-- 135 But what a change is here!--what arts arise! What towns and capitals! how commerce waves Her gaudy flags, where silence reign'd before!

_Acasto_

Speak, learned Eugenio, for I've heard you tell The dismal story, and the cause that brought 140 The first adventurers to these western shores! The glorious cause that urged our fathers first To visit climes unknown, and wilder woods Than e'er Tartarian or Norwegian saw, And with fair culture to adorn a soil 145 That never felt the industrious swain before.

_Eugenio_

All this long story to rehearse, would tire; Besides, the sun towards the west retreats, Nor can the noblest theme retard his speed, Nor loftiest verse--not that which sang the fall 150 Of Troy divine, and fierce Achilles' ire.-- Yet hear a part:--By persecution wronged And sacerdotal rage, our fathers came From Europe's hostile shores to these abodes, Here to enjoy a liberty in faith, 155 Secure from tyranny and base controul. For this they left their country and their friends, And plough'd the Atlantic wave in quest of peace; And found new shores, and sylvan settlements, And men, alike unknowing and unknown. 160 Hence, by the care of each adventurous chief New governments (their wealth unenvied yet) Were form'd on liberty and virtue's plan. These searching out uncultivated tracts Conceived new plans of towns, and capitals, 165 And spacious provinces.--Why should I name Thee, Penn, the Solon of our western lands; Sagacious legislator, whom the world Admires, long dead: an infant colony, Nursed by thy care, now rises o'er the rest 170 Like that tall pyramid in Egypt's waste O'er all the neighbouring piles, they also great. Why should I name those heroes so well known, Who peopled all the rest from Canada To Georgia's farthest coasts, West Florida, 175 Or Apalachian mountains?--Yet what streams Of blood were shed! what Indian hosts were slain, Before the days of peace were quite restored!

_Leander_

Yes, while they overturn'd the rugged soil And swept the forests from the shaded plain 180 'Midst dangers, foes, and death, fierce Indian tribes With vengeful malice arm'd, and black design, Oft murdered, or dispersed, these colonies-- Encouraged, too, by Gallia's hostile sons, A warlike race, who late their arms display'd, 185 At Quebec, Montreal, and farthest coasts Of Labrador, or Cape Breton, where now The British standard awes the subject host. Here, those brave chiefs, who, lavish of their blood, Fought in Britannia's cause, in battle fell!-- 190 What heart but mourns the untimely fate of Wolfe, Who, dying, conquered!--or what breast but beats To share a fate like his, and die like him!

_Acasto_

But why alone commemorate the dead, And pass those glorious heroes by, who yet 195 Breathe the same air, and see the light with us?-- The dead, Leander, are but empty names, And they who fall to-day the same to us As they who fell ten centuries ago!-- Lost are they all that shined on earth before; 200 Rome's boldest champions in the dust are laid, Ajax and great Achilles are no more, And Philip's warlike son, an empty shade!-- A Washington among our sons of fame Will rise conspicuous as the morning star 205 Among the inferior lights:-- To distant wilds Virginia sent him forth-- With her brave sons he gallantly opposed The bold invaders of his country's rights, Where wild Ohio pours the mazy flood, 210 And mighty meadows skirt his subject streams.-- But now delighting in his elm tree's shade, Where deep Potowmac laves the enchanting shore, He prunes the tender vine, or bids the soil Luxuriant harvests to the sun display.-- 215 Behold a different scene--not thus employed Were Cortez, and Pizarro, pride of Spain, Whom blood and murder only satisfied, And all to glut their avarice and ambition!--

_Eugenio_

Such is the curse, Acasto, where the soul 220 Humane is wanting--but we boast no feats Of cruelty like Europe's murdering breed:-- Our milder epithet is merciful, And each American, true hearted, learns To conquer, and to spare; for coward souls 225 Alone seek vengeance on a vanquished foe. Gold, fatal gold, was the alluring bait To Spain's rapacious tribes--hence rose the wars From Chili to the Caribbean sea, And Montezuma's Mexican domains: 230 More blest are we, with whose unenvied soil Nature decreed no mingling gold to shine, No flaming diamond, precious emerald, No blushing sapphire, ruby, chrysolite, Or jasper red--more noble riches flow 235 From agriculture, and the industrious swain, Who tills the fertile vale, or mountain's brow. Content to lead a safe, a humble life, Among his native hills, romantic shades Such as the muse of Greece of old did feign, 240 Allured the Olympian gods from chrystal skies, Envying such lovely scenes to mortal man.

_Leander_

Long has the rural life been justly fam'd, And bards of old their pleasing pictures drew Of flowery meads, and groves, and gliding streams: 245 Hence, old Arcadia--wood-nymphs, satyrs, fauns; And hence Elysium, fancied heaven below!-- Fair agriculture, not unworthy kings, Once exercised the royal hand, or those Whose virtues raised them to the rank of gods. 250 See old Laertes in his shepherd weeds Far from his pompous throne and court august, Digging the grateful soil, where round him rise, Sons of the earth, the tall aspiring oaks, Or orchards, boasting of more fertile boughs, 255 Laden with apples red, sweet scented peach, Pear, cherry, apricot, or spungy plumb; While through the glebe the industrious oxen draw The earth-inverting plough.--Those Romans too, Fabricius and Camillus, loved a life 260 Of neat simplicity and rustic bliss, And from the noisy Forum hastening far, From busy camps, and sycophants, and crowns, 'Midst woods and fields spent the remains of life, Where full enjoyment still awaits the wise. 265 How grateful, to behold the harvests rise, And mighty crops adorn the extended plains!-- Fair plenty smiles throughout, while lowing herds Stalk o'er the shrubby hill or grassy mead, Or at some shallow river slake their thirst.-- 270 The inclosure, now, succeeds the shepherd's care, Yet milk-white flocks adorn the well stock'd farm, And court the attention of the industrious swain.-- Their fleece rewards him well, and when the winds Blow with a keener blast, and from the north 275 Pour mingled tempests through a sunless sky (Ice, sleet, and rattling hail) secure he sits Warm in his cottage, fearless of the storm, Enjoying now the toils of milder moons, Yet hoping for the spring.--Such are the joys, 280 And such the toils of those whom heaven hath bless'd With souls enamoured of a country life.

_Acasto_

Such are the visions of the rustic reign-- But this alone, the fountain of support, Would scarce employ the varying mind of man; 285 Each seeks employ, and each a different way: Strip Commerce of her sail, and men once more Would be converted into savages;-- No nation e'er grew social and refined 'Till Commerce first had wing'd the adventurous prow, 290 Or sent the slow-paced caravan, afar, To waft their produce to some other clime, And bring the wished exchange--thus came, of old, Golconda's golden ore, and thus the wealth Of Ophir, to the wisest of mankind. 295

_Eugenio_

Great is the praise of Commerce, and the men Deserve our praise, who spread the undaunted sail, And traverse every sea--their dangers great, Death still to combat in the unfeeling gale, And every billow but a gaping grave:-- 300 There, skies and waters, wearying on the eye, For weeks and months no other prospect yield But barren wastes, unfathomed depths, where not The blissful haunt of human form is seen To cheer the unsocial horrors of the way.-- 305 Yet all these bold designs to Science owe Their rise and glory.--Hail, fair Science! thou, Transplanted from the eastern skies, dost bloom In these blest regions.--Greece and Rome no more Detain the Muses on Citheron's brow, 310 Or old Olympus, crowned with waving woods, Or Hæmus' top, where once was heard the harp, Sweet Orpheus' harp, that gained his cause below, And pierced the souls of Orcus and his bride; That hush'd to silence by its voice divine 315 Thy melancholy waters, and the gales O Hebrus! that o'er thy sad surface blow.-- No more the maids round Alpheus' waters stray, Where he with Arethusa's stream doth mix, Or where swift Tiber disembogues his waves 320 Into the Italian sea, so long unsung; Hither they wing their way, the last, the best Of countries, where the arts shall rise and grow, And arms shall have their day;--even now we boast A Franklin, prince of all philosophy, 325 A genius piercing as the electric fire, Bright as the lightning's flash, explained so well, By him, the rival of Britannia's sage.-- This is the land of every joyous sound, Of liberty and life, sweet liberty! 330 Without whose aid the noblest genius fails, And Science irretrievably must die.

_Leander_

But come, Eugenio, since we know the past-- What hinders to pervade with searching eye The mystic scenes of dark futurity? 335 Say, shall we ask what empires yet must rise, What kingdoms, powers and states, where now are seen Mere dreary wastes and awful solitude, Where Melancholy sits, with eye forlorn, And time anticipates, when we shall spread 340 Dominion from the north, and south, and west, Far from the Atlantic to Pacific shores, And people half the convex of the main!-- A glorious theme!--but how shall mortals dare To pierce the dark events of future years 345 And scenes unravel, only known to fate? This might we do, if warmed by that bright coal Snatch'd from the altar of cherubic fire Which touched Isaiah's lips--or if the spirit Of Jeremy and Amos, prophets old, 350 Might swell the heaving breast--I see, I see Freedom's established reign; cities, and men, Numerous as sands upon the ocean shore, And empires rising where the sun descends!-- The Ohio soon shall glide by many a town 355 Of note; and where the Mississippi stream, By forests shaded, now runs weeping on, Nations shall grow, and states not less in fame Than Greece and Rome of old!--we too shall boast Our Scipios, Solons, Catos, sages, chiefs 360 That in the lap of time yet dormant lie, Waiting the joyous hour of life and light.-- O snatch me hence, ye muses, to those days When, through the veil of dark antiquity, A race shall hear of us as things remote, 365 That blossomed in the morn of days.--Indeed, How could I weep that we exist so soon, Just in the dawning of these mighty times, Whose scenes are painting for eternity! Dissentions that shall swell the trump of fame, 370 And ruin hovering o'er all monarchy!

_Eugenio_

Nor shall these angry tumults here subside Nor murder cease, through all these provinces, Till foreign crowns have vanished from our view And dazzle here no more--no more presume 375 To awe the spirit of fair Liberty;-- Vengeance must cut the thread,--and Britain, sure Will curse her fatal obstinacy for it! Bent on the ruin of this injured country, She will not listen to our humble prayers. 380 Though offered with submission: Like vagabonds and objects of destruction, Like those whom all mankind are sworn to hate, She casts us off from her protection, And will invite the nations round about, 385 Russians and Germans, slaves and savages, To come and have a share in our perdition.-- O cruel race, O unrelenting Britain, Who bloody beasts will hire to cut our throats, Who war will wage with prattling innocence, 390 And basely murder unoffending women!-- Will stab their prisoners when they cry for quarter, Will burn our towns, and from his lodging turn The poor inhabitant to sleep in tempests!-- These will be wrongs, indeed, and all sufficient 395 To kindle up our souls to deeds of horror, And give to every arm the nerves of Samson-- These are the men that fill the world with ruin, And every region mourns their greedy sway,-- Not only for ambition---- 400 But what are this world's goods, that they for them Should exercise perpetual butchery? What are these mighty riches we possess, That they should send so far to plunder them?-- Already have we felt their potent arm-- 405 And ever since that inauspicious day, When first Sir Francis Bernard His ruffians planted at the council door, And made the assembly room a home for vagrants, And soldiers, rank and file--e'er since that day 410 This wretched land, that drinks its children's gore, Has been a scene of tumult and confusion!-- Are there not evils in the world enough? Are we so happy that they envy us? Have we not toiled to satisfy their harpies, 415 Kings' deputies, that are insatiable; Whose practice is to incense the royal mind And make us despicable in his view?-- Have we not all the evils to contend with That, in this life, mankind are subject to, 420 Pain, sickness, poverty, and natural death-- But into every wound that nature gave They will a dagger plunge, and make them mortal!

_Leander_

Enough, enough!--such dismal scenes you paint, I almost shudder at the recollection.-- 425 What! are they dogs that they would mangle us?-- Are these the men that come with base design To rob the hive, and kill the industrious bee!-- To brighter skies I turn my ravished view, And fairer prospects from the future draw:-- 430 Here independent power shall hold her sway, And public virtue warm the patriot breast: No traces shall remain of tyranny, And laws, a pattern to the world beside, Be here enacted first.---- 435

_Acasto_

And when a train of rolling years are past, (So sung the exiled seer in Patmos isle) A new Jerusalem, sent down from heaven. Shall grace our happy earth,--perhaps this land, Whose ample bosom shall receive, though late, 440 Myriads of saints, with their immortal king, To live and reign on earth a thousand years, Thence called Millennium. Paradise anew Shall flourish, by no second Adam lost, No dangerous tree with deadly fruit shall grow, 445 No tempting serpent to allure the soul From native innocence.--A Canaan here, Another Canaan shall excel the old, And from a fairer Pisgah's top be seen. No thistle here, nor thorn, nor briar shall spring, 450 Earth's curse before: the lion and the lamb In mutual friendship linked, shall browse the shrub. And timorous deer with softened tygers stray O'er mead, or lofty hill, or grassy plain; Another Jordan's stream shall glide along, 455 And Siloah's brook in circling eddies flow: Groves shall adorn their verdant banks, on which The happy people, free from toils and death. Shall find secure repose. No fierce disease, No fevers, slow consumption, ghastly plague, 460 (Fate's ancient ministers) again proclaim Perpetual war with man: fair fruits shall bloom, Fair to the eye, and sweeter to the taste; Nature's loud storms be hushed, and seas no more Rage hostile to mankind--and, worse than all, 465 The fiercer passions of the human breast Shall kindle up to deeds of death no more, But all subside in universal peace.---- Such days the world, And such America at last shall have 470 When ages, yet to come, have run their round, And future years of bliss alone remain.

[45] The text is from the edition of 1809. The poem, given originally as the graduating address of Freneau and Brackenridge at Princeton, Brackenridge delivering it, was first published In 1772 at Philadelphia, by Joseph Crukshank, for R. Aitken, bookseller. This pamphlet edition is the only one extant of the original poem. Freneau reprinted his own part, with many modifications and additions, in the first edition of his poems, 1786, explaining it with the following note: "This poem is a little altered from the original (published in Philadelphia in 1772), such parts being only inserted here as were written by the author of this volume. A few more modern lines towards the conclusion are incorporated with the rest, being a supposed prophetical anticipation of subsequent events." The text of the edition of 1772, which is now exceedingly rare, is as follows:

A POEM ON THE RISING GLORY OF AMERICA

Being an Exercise delivered at the Public Commencement at Nassau-Hall, September 25, 1771.

ARGUMENT

The subject proposed.--The discovery of America by Columbus and others.--A philosophical enquiry into the origin of the savages of America.--Their uncultivated state.--The first planters of America.--The cause of their migration from Europe.--The difficulties they encountered from the resentment of the natives and other circumstances.--The French war in North America.--The most distinguished heroes who fell in it; Wolf, Braddock, &c.--General Johnson,--his character.--North America, why superior to South.--On Agriculture.--On commerce.--On science.--Whitefield,--his character.--The present glory of America.--A prospect of its future glory, in science,--in liberty,--and the gospel.--The conclusion of the whole.

LEANDER

No more of Memphis and her mighty kings. Or Alexandria, where the Ptolomies Taught golden commerce to unfurl her sails, And bid fair science smile: No more of Greece Where learning next her early visit paid, And spread her glories to illume the world; No more of Athens, where she flourished, And saw her sons of mighty genius rise, Smooth flowing Plato, Socrates and him Who with resistless eloquence reviv'd The spirit of Liberty, and shook the thrones Of Macedon and Persia's haughty king. No more of Rome, enlighten'd by her beams, Fresh kindling there the fire of eloquence, And poesy divine; imperial Rome! Whose wide dominion reach'd o'er half the globe; Whose eagle flew o'er Ganges to the East, And in the West far to the British isles. No more of Britain and her kings renown'd, Edward's and Henry's thunderbolts of war; Her chiefs victorious o'er the Gallic foe; Illustrious senators, immortal bards, And wise philosophers, of these no more. A Theme more new, tho' not less noble, claims Our ev'ry thought on this auspicious day; The rising glory of this western world. Where now the dawning light of science spreads Her orient ray, and wakes the muse's song; Where freedom holds her sacred standard high, And commerce rolls her golden tides profuse Of elegance and ev'ry joy of life.

ACASTO

Since then, Leander, you attempt a strain So new, so noble and so full of fame; And since a friendly concourse centers here, America's own sons, begin O muse! Now thro' the veil of ancient days review The period fam'd when first Columbus touch'd The shore so long unknown, thro' various toils, Famine and death, the hero made his way, Thro' oceans bellowing with eternal storms. But why, thus hap'ly found, should we resume The tale of Cortez, furious chief, ordain'd With Indian blood to dye the sands, and choak Fam'd Amazonia's stream with dead! Or why Once more revive the story old in fame, Of Atabilipa, by thirst of gold Depriv'd of life: which not Peru's rich ore, Nor Mexico's vast mines cou'd then redeem. Better these northern realms deserve our song, Discover'd by Britannia for her sons; Undeluged with seas of Indian blood, Which cruel Spain on southern regions spilt; To gain by terrors what the gen'rous breast Wins by fair treaty, conquers without blood.

EUGENIO

High in renown th' intrepid hero stands, From Europe's shores advent'ring first to try New seas, new oceans, unexplor'd by man. Fam'd Cabot too may claim our noblest song, Who from th' Atlantic surge decry'd these shores, As on he coasted from the Mexic bay To Acady and piny Labradore. Nor less than him the muse would celebrate Bold Hudson stemming to the pole, thro' seas Vex'd with continual storms, thro' the cold straits, Where Europe and America oppose Their shores contiguous, and the northern sea Confin'd, indignant, swells and roars between. With these be number'd in the list of fame Illustrious Raleigh, hapless in his fate: Forgive me, Raleigh, if an infant muse Borrows thy name to grace her humble strain; By many nobler are thy virtues sung; Envy no more shall throw them in the shade; They pour new lustre on Britannia's isle. Thou too, advent'rous on th' Atlantic main, Burst thro' its storms and fair Virginia hail'd, The simple natives saw thy canvas flow, And gaz'd aloof upon the shady shore: For in her woods America contain'd, From times remote, a savage race of men. How shall we know their origin, how tell, From whence or where the Indian tribes arose?

ACASTO

And long has this defy'd the sages skill T'investigate: Tradition seems to hide The mighty secret from each mortal eye, How first these various nations South and North Possest these shores, or from what countries came; Whether they sprang from some premoeval head In their own lands, like Adam in the East; Yet this the sacred oracles deny, And reason too reclaims against the thought. For when the gen'ral deluge drown'd the world, Where could their tribes have found security? Where find their fate but in the ghastly deep? Unless, as others dream, some chosen few High on the Andes 'scap'd the gen'ral death, High on the Andes, wrapt in endless snow, Where winter in his wildest fury reigns. But here Philosophers oppose the scheme, The earth, say they, nor hills nor mountains knew E'er yet the universal flood prevail'd: But when the mighty waters rose aloft, Rous'd by the winds, they shook their solid case And in convulsions tore the drowned world! 'Till by the winds assuag'd they quickly fell And all their ragged bed exposed to view. Perhaps far wand'ring towards the northern pole, The straits of Zembla and the Frozen Zone, And where the eastern Greenland almost joins America's north point, the hardy tribes Of banish'd Jews, Siberians, Tartars wild Came over icy mountains, or on floats First reach'd these coasts hid from the world beside. And yet another argument more strange Reserv'd for men of deeper thought and late Presents Itself to view: In Peleg's days, So says the Hebrew seer's inspired pen, This mighty mass of earth, this solid globe Was cleft in twain--cleft east and west apart While strait between the deep Atlantic roll'd. And traces indisputable remain Of this unhappy land now sunk and lost; The islands rising in the eastern main Are but small fragments of this continent, Whose two extremities were Newfoundland And St. Helena.--One far in the north Where British seamen now with strange surprise Behold the pole star glitt'ring o'er their heads; The other in the southern tropic rears Its head above the waves; Bermudas and Canary isles, Britannia and th' Azores, With fam'd Hibernia are but broken parts Of some prodigious waste which once sustain'd Armies by lands, where now but ships can range.

LEANDER

Your sophistry, Acasto, makes me smile; The roving mind of man delights to dwell On hidden things, merely because they're hid; He thinks his knowledge ne'er can reach too high And boldly pierces nature's inmost haunts But for uncertainties; your broken isles, Your northern Tartars, and your wand'ring Jews, Hear what the voice of history proclaims. The Carthaginians, e'er the Roman yoke Broke their proud spirits and enslav'd them too, For navigation were reknown'd as much As haughty Tyre with all her hundred fleets; Full many a league their vent'rous seamen sail'd Thro' strait Gibralter down the western shore Of Africa, and to Canary isles By them call'd fortunate, so Flaccus sings, Because eternal spring there crowns the fields, And fruits delicious bloom throughout the year. From voyaging here this inference I draw, Perhaps some barque with all her num'rous crew Caught by the eastern trade wind hurry'd on Before th' steady blast to Brazil's shore, New Amazonia and the coasts more south. Here standing and unable to return. For ever from their native skies estrang'd, Doubtless they made the unknown land their own. And in the course of many rolling years A num'rous progeny from these arose, And spread throughout the coasts; those whom we call Brazilians, Mexicans, Peruvians rich, Th' tribes of Chili, Patagon and those Who till the shores of Amazon's long stream. When first the pow'rs of Europe here attain'd, Vast empires, kingdoms, cities, palaces And polish'd nations stock'd the fertile land; Who has not heard of Cusco, Lima and The town of Mexico; huge cities form'd From Europe's architecture, e'er the arms Of haughty Spain disturb'd the peaceful soil.

EUGENIO

Such disquisition leads the puzzled mind From maze to maze by queries still perplex'd. But this we know, if from the east they came. Where science first and revelation beam'd, Long since they've lost all memory, all trace Of this their origin: Tradition tells Of some great forefather beyond the lakes Oswego, Huron, Mechigan, Champlaine Or by the stream of Amazon which rolls Thro' many a clime; while others simply dream That from the Andes or the mountains north, Some hoary fabled ancestor came down To people this their world.

LEANDER

How fallen, Oh! How much obscur'd is human nature here! Shut from the light of science and of truth They wander'd blindfold down the steep of time; Dim superstition with her ghastly train Of dæmons, spectres and foreboding signs Still urging them to horrid rites and forms Of human sacrifice, to sooth the pow'rs Malignant, and the dark infernal king. Once on this spot perhaps a wigwam stood With all its rude inhabitants, or round Some mighty fire an hundred savage sons Gambol'd by day, and filled the night with cries; In what superior to the brutal race That fled before them thro' the howling wilds, Were all those num'rous tawny tribes which swarm'd From Baffin's bay to Del Fuego south, From California to the Oronoque? Far from the reach of fame they liv'd unknown In listless slumber and inglorious ease; To them fair science never op'd her stores, Nor sacred truth sublim'd the soul to God; No fix'd abode their wand'ring genius knew; No golden harvest crown'd the fertile glebe; No city then adorn'd the river's bank, Nor rising turret overlook'd the stream.

ACASTO

Now view the prospect chang'd; far off at sea The mariner descry's our spacious towns, He hails the prospect of the land and views A new, a fair, a fertile world arise; Onward from India's isles far east, to us Now fair-ey'd commerce stretches her white sails, Learning exalts her head, the graces smile And peace establish'd after horrid war Improves the splendor of these early times. But come, my friends, and let us trace the steps By which this recent happy world arose, To this fair eminence of high renown This height of wealth, of liberty and fame.

LEANDER

Speak then, Eugenio, for I've heard you tell The pleasing hist'ry, and the cause that brought The first advent'rers to these happy shores; The glorious cause that urg'd our fathers first To visit climes unknown and wilder woods Than e'er Tartarian or Norwegian saw, And with fair culture to adorn that soil Which never knew th' Industrious swain before.

EUGENIO

All this long story to rehearse would tire; Besides, the sun toward the west retreats, Nor can the noblest tale retard his speed, Nor loftiest verse; not that which sung the fall Of Troy divine and smooth Scamander's stream. Yet hear a part.--By persecution wrong'd And popish cruelty, our fathers came From Europe's shores to find this blest abode, Secure from tyranny and hateful man, And plough'd th' Atlantic wave in quest of peace; And found new shores and sylvan settlements Form'd by the care of each advent'rous chief, Who, warm in liberty and freedom's cause, Sought out uncultivated tracts and wilds, And fram'd new plans of cities, governments And spacious provinces: Why should I name Thee, Penn, the Solon of our western lands; Sagacious legislator, whom the world Admires tho' dead: an infant colony, Nurs'd by thy care, now rises o'er the rest Like that tall Pyramid on Memphis' stand O'er all the lesser piles, they also great. Why should I name those heroes so well known Who peopled all the rest from Canada To Georgia's farthest coasts, West Florida Or Apalachian mountains; yet what streams Of blood were shed! What Indian hosts were slain Before the days of peace were quite restor'd.

LEANDER

Yes, while they overturn'd the soil untill'd, And swept the forests from the shaded plain 'Midst dangers, foes and death, fierce Indian tribes With deadly malice arm'd and black design, Oft murder'd half the hapless colonies. Encourag'd too by that inglorious race False Gallia's sons, who once their arms display'd At Quebec, Montreal and farthest coasts Of Labrador and Esquimaux where now The British standard awes the coward host. Here those brave chiefs, who lavish of their blood Fought in Britannia's cause, most nobly fell. What Heart but mourns the untimely fate of Wolf, Who dying conquer'd, or what breast but beats To share a fate like his, and die like him?

ACASTO

And he demands our lay who bravely fell By Monangahela and the Ohio's stream; By wiles o'ercome the hapless hero fell, His soul too gen'rous for that dastard crew Who kill unseen and shun the face of day. Ambush'd in wood, and swamp and thick grown hill, The bellowing tribes brought on the savage war. What could avail, O Braddock, then the flame, The gen'rous flame which fir'd thy martial soul! What could avail Britannia's warlike troops, Choice spirits of her isle? What could avail America's own sons? The skulking foe, Hid in the forest lay and fought secure, What could the brave Virginians do, o'erpower'd By such vast numbers and their leader dead? 'Midst fire and death they bore him from the field, Where in his blood full many a hero lay. 'Twas there, O Halkut! thou so nobly fell, Thrice valiant Halkut, early son of fame! We still deplore a face so immature, Fair Albion mourns thy unsuccessful end, And Caledonia sheds a tear for him Who led the bravest of her sons to war.

EUGENIO

But why alas commemorate the dead? And pass those glorious heroes by, who yet Breathe the same air and see the light with us? The dead, Acasto, are but empty names And he who dy'd to day the same to us As he who dy'd a thousand years ago. A Johnson lives, among the sons of fame Well known, conspicuous as the morning star Among the lesser lights: A patriot skill'd In all the glorious arts of peace or war. He for Britannia gains the savage race, Unstable as the sea, wild as the winds, Cruel as death, and treacherous as hell, Whom none but he by kindness yet could win, None by humanity could gain their souls, Or bring from woods and subteranean dens The skulking crew, before a Johnson rose, Pitying their num'rous tribes: ah how unlike The Cortez' and Acosta's, pride of Spain Whom blood and murder only satisfy'd. Behold their doleful regions overflow'd With gore, and blacken'd with ten thousand deaths From Mexico to Patagonia far, Where howling winds sweep round the southern cape, And other suns and other stars arise!

ACASTO

Such is the curse, Eugenio, where the soul Humane is wanting, but we boast no feats Of cruelty like Spain's unfeeling sons. The British Epithet is merciful: And we the sons of Britain learn like them To conquer and to spare; for coward souls Seek their revenge but on a vanquish'd foe. Gold, fatal gold was the alluring bait To Spain's rapacious mind, hence rose the wars From Chili to the Caribbean sea, O'er Terra-Firma and La Plata wide. Peru then sunk in ruins, great before With pompous cities, monuments superb Whose tops reach'd heav'n. But we more happy boast No golden metals in our peaceful land, No flaming diamond, precious emerald, Or blushing saphire, ruby, chrysolite Or jasper red; more noble riches flow From agriculture and th' industrious swain, Who tills the fertile vale or mountain's brow, Content to lead a safe, a humble life 'Midst his own native hills; romantic scenes, Such as the muse of Greece did feign so well. Envying their lovely bow'rs to mortal race.

LEANDER

Long has the rural life been justly fam'd; And poets old their pleasing pictures drew Of flow'ry meads, and groves and gliding streams. Hence, old Arcadia, woodnymphs, satyrs, fauns And hence Elysium, fancy'd heav'n below. Fair agriculture, not unworthy kings, Once exercis'd the royal hand, or those Whose virtue rais'd them to the rank of gods. See old Laertes in his shepherd weeds, Far from his pompous throne and court august, Digging the grateful soil, where peaceful blows The west wind murm'ring thro' the aged trees Loaded with apples red, sweet scented peach And each luxurious fruit the world affords, While o'er the fields the harmless oxen draw Th' industrious plough. The Roman heroes too, Fabricius and Camillus, lov'd a life Of sweet simplicity and rustic joy; And from the busy Forum hast'ning far, 'Midst woods and fields spent the remains of age. How grateful to behold the harvests rise And mighty crops adorn the golden plains! Fair plenty smiles throughout, while lowing herds Stalk o'er the grassy hill or level mead, Or at some winding river slake their thirst. Thus fares the rustic swain; and when the winds Blow with a keener breath, and from the North Pour all their tempests thro' a sunless sky, Ice, sleet and rattling hail, secure he sits In some thatch'd cottage fearless of the storm; While on the hearth a fire still blazing high Chears ev'ry mind, and nature sits serene On ev'ry countenance, such the joys And such the fate of those whom heav'n hath bless'd With souls enamour'd of a country life.

EUGENIO

Much wealth and pleasure agriculture brings; Far in the woods she raises palaces, Puisant states and crowded realms where late A desart plain or frowning wilderness Deform'd the view; or where with moving tents The scatter'd nations seeking pasturage, Wander'd from clime to clime incultivate; Or where a race more savage yet than these, In search of prey o'er hill and mountain rang'd, Fierce as the tygers and the wolves they slew. Thus lives th' Arabian and the Tartar wild In woody wastes which never felt the plough; But agriculture crowns our happy land, And plants our colonies from north to south, From Cape Breton far as the Mexic bay, From th' Eastern shores to Mississippi's stream. Famine to us unknown, rich plenty reigns And pours her blessings with a lavish hand.

LEANDER

Nor less from golden commerce flow the streams Of richest plenty on our smiling land. Now fierce Bellona must'ring all her rage, To other climes and other seas withdraws, To rouse the Russian on the desp'rate Turk There to conflict by Danube and the straits Which join the Euxine to th' Egean Sea. Britannia holds the empire of the waves, And welcomes ev'ry bold adventurer To view the wonders of old Ocean's reign. Far to the east our fleets on traffic sail, And to the west thro' boundless seas which not Old Rome nor Tyre nor mightier Carthage knew. Daughter of commerce, from the hoary deep New-York emerging rears her lofty domes, And hails from far her num'rous ships of trade, Like shady forests rising on the waves. From Europe's shores or from the Caribbees, Homeward returning annually they bring The richest produce of the various climes. And Philadelphia, mistress of our world, The seat of arts, of science, and of fame, Derives her grandeur from the pow'r of trade. Hail, happy city, where the muses stray, Where deep philosophy convenes her sons And opens all her secrets to their view! Bids them ascend with Newton to the skies, And trace the orbits of the rolling spheres, Survey the glories of the universe. Its suns and moons and ever blazing stars! Hail, city, blest with liberty's fair beams, And with the rays of mild religion blest!

ACASTO

Nor these alone, America, thy sons In the short circle of a hundred years Have rais'd with toil along thy shady shores. On lake and bay and navigable stream, From Cape Breton to Pensacola south, Unnnmber'd towns and villages arise. By commerce nurs'd these embrio marts of trade May yet awake the envy and obscure The noblest cities of the eastern world; For commerce is the mighty reservoir From whence all nations draw the streams of gain. 'Tis commerce joins dissever'd worlds in one, Confines old Ocean to more narrow bounds; Outbraves his storms and peoples half his world.

EUGENIO

And from the earliest times advent'rous man On foreign traffic stretch'd the nimble sail; Or sent the slow pac'd caravan afar O'er barren wastes, eternal sands where not The blissful haunt of human form is seen Nor tree, not ev'n funeral cypress sad Nor bubbling fountain. Thus arriv'd of old Golconda's golden ore, and thus the wealth Of Ophir to the wisest of mankind.

LEANDER

Great is the praise of commerce, and the men Deserve our praise who spread from shore to shore The flowing sail; great are their dangers too; Death ever present to the fearless eye And ev'ry billow but a gaping grave; Yet all these mighty feats to science owe Their rise and glory.--Hail fair science! thou, Transplanted from the eastern climes, dost bloom In these fair regions, Greece and Rome no more Detain the muses on Cithæron's brow, Or old Olympus crown'd with waving woods; Or Hæmus' top where once was heard the harp, Sweet Orpheus' harp that ravish'd hell below And pierc'd the soul of Orcus and his bride, That hush'd to silence by the song divine Thy melancholy waters, and the gales O Hebrus! which o'er thy sad surface blow. No more the maids round Alpheus' waters stray Where he with Arethusa's stream doth mix, Or where swift Tiber disembogues his waves Into th' Italian sea so long unsung. Hither they've wing'd their way, the last, the best Of countries where the arts shall rise and grow Luxuriant, graceful; and ev'n now we boast A Franklin skill'd in deep philosophy, A genius piercing as th' electric fire, Bright as the light'ning's flash, explain'd so well By him, the rival of Britannia's sage. This is a land of ev'ry joyous sound Of liberty and life; sweet liberty! Without whose aid the noblest genius fails, And science irretrievably must die.

ACASTO

This is a land where the more noble light Of holy revelation beams, the star Which rose from Judah lights our skies, we feel Its influence as once did Palestine And Gentile lands, where now the ruthless Turk Wrapt up in darkness sleeps dull life away. Here many holy messengers of peace As burning lamps have given light to men. To thee, O Whitefield; favourite of Heav'n, The muse would pay the tribute of a tear. Laid in the dust thy eloquence no more Shall charm the list'ning soul, no more Thy bold imagination paint the scenes Of woe and horror in the shades below; Of glory radiant in the fields above; No more thy charity relieve the poor; Let Georgia mourn, let all her orphans weep.

LEANDER

Yet tho' we wish'd him longer from the skies, And wept to see the ev'ning of his days, He long'd himself to reach his final hope, The crown of glory for the just prepar'd. From life's high verge he hail'd th' eternal shore And, freed at last from his confinement, rose An infant seraph to the worlds on high.

EUGENIO

For him we found the melancholy lyre, The lyre responsive to each distant sigh: No grief like that which mourns departing souls Of holy, just and venerable men, Whom pitying Heav'n sends from their native skies To light our way and bring us nearer God. But come, Leander, since we know the past And present glory of this empire wide, What hinders to pervade with searching eye The mystic scenes of dark futurity? Say, shall we ask what empires yet must rise, What kingdoms, pow'rs and states where now are seen But dreary wastes and awful solitude, Where melancholy sits with eye forlorn And hopes the day when Britain's sons shall spread Dominion to the north and south and west Far from th' Atlantic to Pacific shores? A glorious theme, but how shall mortals dare To pierce the mysteries of future days, And scenes unravel only known to fate.

ACASTO

This might we do if warm'd by that bright coal Snatch'd from the altar of seraphic fire, Which touch'd Isaiah's lips, or if the spirit Of Jeremy and Amos, prophets old, Should fire the breast; but yet I call the muse And what we can will do. I see, I see A thousand kingdoms rais'd, cities and men Num'rous as sand upon the ocean shore; Th' Ohio then shall glide by many a town Of note: and where the Mississippi stream By forests shaded now runs weeping on, Nations shall grow and states not less in fame Than Greece and Rome of old: we too shall boast Our Alexanders, Pompeys, heroes, kings That in the womb of time yet dormant lye Waiting the joyful hour for life and light. O snatch us hence, ye muses! to those days When, through the veil of dark antiquity, Our sons shall hear of us as things remote, That blossom'd in the morn of days, alas! How could I weep that we were born so soon, In the beginning of more happy times! But yet perhaps our fame shall last unhurt. The sons of science nobly scorn to die; Immortal virtue this denies, the muse Forbids the men to slumber in the grave Who well deserve the praise that virtue gives.

EUGENIO

'Tis true no human eye can penetrate The veil obscure, and in fair light disclos'd Behold the scenes of dark futurity; Yet if we reason from the course of things, And downward trace the vestiges of time, The mind prophetic grows and pierces far Thro' ages yet unborn. We saw the states And mighty empires of the East arise In swift succession from the Assyrian To Macedon and Rome; to Britain thence Dominion drove her car, she stretch'd her reign O'er many isles, wide seas, and peopled lands. Now in the west a continent appears; A newer world now opens to her view, She hastens onward to th' Americ shores And bids a scene of recent wonders rise. New states, new empires and a line of kings, High rais'd in glory, cities, palaces, Fair domes on each long bay, sea, shore or stream, Circling the hills now rear their lofty heads. Far in the Arctic skies a Petersburgh, A Bergen, or Archangel lifts its spires Glitt'ring with Ice, far in the West appears A new Palmyra or an Ecbatan And sees the slow pac'd caravan return O'er many a realm from the Pacific shore, Where fleets shall then convey rich Persia's silks, Arabia's perfumes, and spices rare Of Philippine, Coelebe and Marian isles, Or from the Acapulco coast our India then, Laden with pearl and burning gems and gold. Far in the south I see a Babylon, As once by Tigris or Euphrates stream, With blazing watch tow'rs and observatories Rising to heav'n; from thence astronomers With optic glass take nobler views of God In golden suns and shining worlds display'd Than the poor Chaldean with the naked eye. A Nineveh where Oronoque descends With waves discolour'd from the Andes high, Winding himself around a hundred isles Where golden buildings glitter o'er his tide. To mighty nations shall the people grow Which cultivate the banks of many a flood, In chrystal currents poured from the hills Apalachia nam'd, to lave the sands Of Carolina, Georgia, and the plains Stretch'd out from thence far to the burning Line, St. Johns or Clarendon or Albemarle. And thou Patowmack, navigable stream, Rolling thy waters thro' Virginia's groves, Shall vie with Thames, the Tiber or the Rhine, For on thy banks I see an hundred towns And the tall vessels wafted down thy tide. Hoarse Niagara's stream now roaring on Thro' woods and rocks and broken mountains torn, In days remote far from their antient beds, By some great monarch taught a better course, Or cleared of cataracts shall flow beneath Unnumbr'd boats and merchandise and men; And from the coasts of piny Labradore, A thousand navies crowd before the gale, And spread their commerce to remotest lands, Or bear their thunder round the conquered world.

LEANDER

And here fair freedom shall forever reign. I see a train, a glorious train appear, Of Patriots plac'd in equal fame with those Who nobly fell for Athens or for Rome. The sons of Boston, resolute and brave, The firm supporters of our injur'd rights, Shall lose their splendours in the brighter beams Of patriots fam'd and heroes yet unborn.

ACASTO

'Tis but the morning of the world with us And Science yet but sheds her orient rays. I see the age, the happy age, roll on Bright with the splendours of her mid-day beams, I see a Homer and a Milton rise In all the pomp and majesty of song, Which gives immortal vigour to the deeds Atchiev'd by Heroes in the fields of fame. A second Pope, like that Arabian bird Of which no age can boast but one, may yet Awake the muse by Schuylkill's silent stream, And bid new forests bloom along her tide. And Susquehanna's rocky stream unsung, In bright meanders winding round the hills, Where first the mountain nymph, sweet echo, heard The uncouth musick of my rural lay, Shall yet remurmur to the magic sound Of song heroic, when in future days Some noble Hambden rises into fame.

LEANDER

Or Roanoke's and James's limpid waves The sound of musick murmurs in the gale: Another Denham celebrates their flow, In gliding numbers and harmonious lays.

EUGENIO

Now in the bow'rs of Tuscororah hills, As once on Pindus all the muses stray, New Theban bards high soaring reach the skies And swim along thro' azure deeps of air.

LEANDER

From Alleghany in thick groves imbrown'd, Sweet music breathing thro' the shades of night Steals on my ear, they sing the origin Of those fair lights which gild the firmament; From whence the gale that murmurs in the pines; Why flows the stream down from the mountains brow And rolls the ocean lower than the land. They sing the final destiny of things, The great result of all our labours here, The last day's glory, and the world renew'd. Such are their themes, for in these happier days The bard enraptur'd scorns ignoble strains, Fair science smiling and full truth revealed, The world at peace, and all her tumults o'er, The blissful prelude to Emanuel's reign.

EUGENIO

And when a train of rolling years are past, (So sang the exil'd seer in Patmos isle,) A new Jerusalem sent down from heav'n Shall grace our happy earth, perhaps this land, Whose virgin bosom shall then receive, tho' late, Myriads of saints with their almighty king, To live and reign on earth a thousand years Thence call'd Millennium. Paradise anew Shall flourish, by no second Adam lost. No dang'rous tree or deathful fruit shall grow, No tempting serpent to allure the soul, From native innocence; a Canaan here Another Canaan shall excel the old, And from fairer Pisgah's top be seen. No thistle here or briar or thorn shall spring, Earth's curse before: the lion and the lamb In mutual friendship link'd shall browse the shrub, And tim'rous deer with rabid tygers stray O'er mead or lofty hill or grassy plain. Another Jordan's stream shall glide along And Siloah's brook in circling eddies flow, Groves shall adorn their verdant banks, on which The happy people free from second death Shall find secure repose; no fierce disease No fevers, slow consumption, direful plague Death's ancient ministers, again renew Perpetual war with man: Fair fruits shall bloom Fair to the eye, sweet to the taste, if such Divine inhabitants could need the taste Of elemental food, amid the joys, Fit for a heav'nly nature. Music's charms Shall swell the lofty soul and harmony Triumphant reign; thro' ev'ry grove shall sound The cymbal and the lyre, joys too divine For fallen man to know. Such days the world And such, America, thou first shall have When ages yet to come have run their round And future years of bliss alone remain.

ACASTO

This is thy praise. America, thy pow'r, Thou best of climes, by science visited, By freedom blest and richly stor'd with all The luxuries of life. Hail, happy land, The seat of empire, the abode of kings, The final stage where time shall introduce Renowned characters, and glorious works Of high invention and of wond'rous art Which not the ravages of time shall waste Till he himself has run his long career; Till all those glorious orbs of light on high, The rolling wonders that surround the ball, Drop from their spheres extinguish'd and consum'd; When final ruin with her fiery car Rides o'er creation, and all nature's works Are lost in chaos and the womb of night.

The 1786 edition, which was evolved with such great changes from the original version, furnished the text of the 1795 edition. There were some twenty variations and three added lines, viz., lines 354, 427, 438. Line 265 was changed from "Which full enjoyment only finds for fools," to its final form; line 352 was changed from "A thousand kingdoms rais'd;" line 360, from "Our Alexanders, Pompeys, heroes, kings;" line 371, from "One monarchy;" and 461, from "Death's ancient." The other changes were largely verbal, nearly all being for the better. For the edition of 1809, Freneau used the 1795 text, with some twenty-one variations and one added line, viz., line 67. These variations, which nearly all concern single words, are generally not at all for the better: for instance, "Shackle," in line 343, is changed to "people;" "our sons," in line 365, is changed to "a race;" "were born," in 367, to "we exist;" and "strumpets," in 409, to "vagrants." Freneau's notes in the various editions were as follows:

62. Genesis x, 25. 100. Hor. Epod. 16. 207. 1755. 251. Hom. Odyss. B. 24. 328. Newton. 373. The Massacre at Boston. March 5th, 1770, is here more particularly glanced at.

ON RETIREMENT[46]

(By Hezekiah Salem)

A hermit's house beside a stream, With forests planted round, Whatever it to you may seem More real happiness I deem Than if I were a monarch crown'd.

A cottage I could call my own, Remote from domes of care; A little garden walled with stone, The wall with ivy overgrown, A limpid fountain near,

Would more substantial joys afford, More real bliss impart Than all the wealth that misers hoard, Than vanquish'd worlds, or worlds restored-- Mere cankers of the heart!

Vain, foolish man! how vast thy pride, How little can your wants supply!-- 'Tis surely wrong to grasp so wide-- You act as if you only had To vanquish--not to die!

[46] The title in the edition of 1786 was "Retirement." In 1795 it was changed to "The Wish of Diogenes."

DISCOVERY[47]

Six thousand years in these dull regions pass'd, 'Tis time, you'll say, we knew their bounds at last, Knew to what skies our setting stars retire, And where the wintry suns expend their fire; What land to land protracts the varied scene, And what extended oceans roll between; What worlds exist beneath antarctic skies, And from Pacific waves what verdant islands rise. In vain did Nature shore from shore divide: Art formed a passage and her waves defied: When his bold plan the master pilot drew Dissevered worlds stept forward at the view, And lessening still the intervening space, Disclosed new millions of the human race. Proud even of toil, succeeding ages joined New seas to vanquish, and new worlds to find; Age following age still farther from the shore, Found some new wonder that was hid before, 'Till launched at length, with avarice doubly bold, Their hearts expanding as the world grew old, Some to be rich, and some to be renowned, The earth they rifled, and explored it round. Ambitious Europe! polished in thy pride, Thine was the art that toil to toil allied, Thine was the gift, to trace each heavenly sphere, And seize its beams, to serve ambition here: Hence, fierce Pizarro stock'd a world with graves, Hence Montezuma left a race of slaves.-- Which project suited best with heaven's decree, To force new doctrines, or to leave them free?-- Religion only feigned to claim a share, Their riches, not their souls, employed your care.-- Alas! how few of all that daring train That seek new worlds embosomed in the main, How few have sailed on virtue's nobler plan, How few with motives worthy of a man!-- While through the deep-sea waves we saw them go Where'er they found a man they made a foe; Superior only by superior art, Forgot the social virtues of the heart, Forgetting still, where'er they madly ran, That sacred friendship binds mankind to man, Fond of exerting power untimely shewn, The momentary triumph all their own! Met on the wrecks and ravages of time, They left no native master of his clime, His trees, his towns, with hardened front they claimed, Seized every region that a despot named And forced the oath that bound him to obey Some prince unknown, ten thousand miles away. Slaves to their passions, man's imperious race, Born for contention, find no resting place, And the vain mind, bewildered and perplext, Makes this world wretched to enjoy the next. Tired of the scenes that Nature made their own, They rove to conquer what remains unknown: Avarice, undaunted, claims whate'er she sees, Surmounts earth's circle, and foregoes all ease: Religion, bolder, sends some sacred chief To bend the nations to her own belief. To their vain standard Europe's sons invite, Who hold no other world can think aright. Behold their varied tribes, with self applause, First in religion, liberty, and laws, And while they bow to cruelty and blood, Condemn the Indian with his milder god.-- Ah, race to justice, truth, and honour blind, Are thy convictions to convert mankind!-- Vain pride--convince them that your own are just, Or leave them happy, as you found them first. What charm is seen through Europe's realms of strife That adds new blessings to the savage life?-- On them warm suns with equal splendor shine, Their each domestic pleasure equals thine, Their native groves as soft a bloom display, As self-contented roll their lives away, And the gay soul, in fancy's visions blest, Leaves to the care of chance her heaven of rest. What are the arts that rise on Europe's plan But arts destructive to the bliss of man? What are all wars, where'er the marks you trace, But the sad records of our world's disgrace? Reason degraded from her tottering throne, And precepts, called divine, observed by none. Blest in their distance from that bloody scene, Why spread the sail to pass the gulphs between?-- If winds can waft to ocean's utmost verge, And there new islands and new worlds emerge-- If wealth, or war, or science bid thee roam, Ah, leave religion and thy laws at home, Leave the free native to enjoy his store, Nor teach destructive arts, unknown before-- Woes of their own those new found worlds invade, There, too, fierce passions the weak soul degrade, Invention there has winged the unerring dart, There the swift arrow vibrates to the heart. Revenge and death contending bosoms share, And pining envy claims her subjects there. Are these too few?--then see despotic power Spends on a throne of logs her busy hour. Hard by, and half ambitious to ascend, Priests, interceding with the gods, attend-- Atoning victims at their shrines they lay, Their crimson knives tremendous rites display, Or the proud despot's gore remorseless shed. Through life detested, or adored when dead. Born to be wretched, search this globe around, Dupes to a few the race of man is found! Seek some new world in some new climate plac'd, Some gay Ta-ia[A] on the watery waste, Though Nature clothes in all her bright array, Some proud tormentor steals her charms away: Howe'er she smiles beneath those milder skies, Though men decay the monarch never dies! Howe'er the groves, howe'er the gardens bloom, A monarch and a priest is still their doom!

[A] Commonly called Otaheite, an island in the Southern Pacific Ocean, noted for the natural civilization of its inhabitants.--_Freneau's note._

[47] The edition of 1786 has the date 1772 for this poem. Very little change was made in the text for the later editions.

THE PICTURES OF COLUMBUS,

THE GENOESE[48]

PICTURE I.

Columbus making Maps[A]

[A] History informs us this was his original profession: and from the disproportionate vacancy observable in the drafts of that time between Europe and Asia to the west, it is most probable he first took the idea of another continent, lying in a parallel direction to, and existing between both.--_Freneau's note._

As o'er his charts Columbus ran, Such disproportion he survey'd, He thought he saw in art's mean plan Blunders that Nature never made; The land in one poor corner placed, And all beside, a swelling waste!-- "It can't be so," Columbus said;

"This world on paper idly drawn,[49] "O'er one small tract so often gone "The pencil tires; in this void space "Allow'd to find no resting place.

"But copying Nature's bold design, "If true to her, no fault is mine; "Perhaps in these moist regions dwell "Forms wrought like man, and lov'd as well.

"Yet to the west what lengthen'd seas! "Are no gay islands found in these, "No sylvan worlds that Nature meant "To balance Asia's vast extent?

"As late a mimic globe I made "(Imploring Fancy to my aid) "O'er these wild seas a shade I threw, "And a new world my pencil drew.

"But westward plac'd, and far away "In the deep seas this country lay "Beyond all climes already known, "In Neptune's bosom plac'd alone.

"Who knows but he that hung this ball "In the clear void, and governs all, "On those dread scenes, remote from view, "Has trac'd his great idea too.

"What can these idle charts avail-- "O'er real seas I mean to sail; "If fortune aids the grand design, "Worlds yet unthought of shall be mine.

"But how shall I this country find! "Gay, painted picture of the mind! "Religion[B] holds my project vain, "And owns no worlds beyond the main.

[B] The Inquisition made it criminal to assert the existence of the Antipodes.--_Freneau's note._

"'Midst yonder hills long time has stay'd[50] "In sylvan cells a wondrous maid, "Who things to come can truly tell, "Dread mistress of the magic spell.

"Whate'er the depths of time can shew "All pass before her in review, "And all events her eyes survey, "'Till time and nature both decay.

"I'll to her cave, enquiring there "What mighty things the fates prepare; "Whether my hopes and plans are vain, "Or I must give new worlds to Spain."

PICTURE II.[51]

The Cell of an Inchantress

_Inchantress_

Who dares attempt this gloomy grove Where never shepherd dream'd of love, And birds of night are only found, And poisonous weeds bestrew the ground: Hence, stranger, take some other road, Nor dare prophane my dark abode; The winds are high, the moon is low-- Would you enter?--no, no, no:--

_Columbus_

Sorceress of mighty power![A] Hither at the midnight hour Over hill and dale I've come, Leaving ease and sleep at home: With daring aims my bosom glows; Long a stranger to repose, I have come to learn from you Whether phantoms I pursue, Or if, as reason would persuade, New worlds are on the ocean laid-- Tell me, wonder-working maid, Tell me, dire inchantress, tell, Mistress of the magic spell!

[A] The fifteenth century was, like many of the preceding, an age of superstition, cruelty, and ignorance. When this circumstance, therefore, is brought into view, the mixture of truth and fiction will not appear altogether absurd or unnatural. At any rate, it has ever been tolerated in this species of poetry.--_Freneau's note._

_Inchantress_

The staring owl her note has sung; With gaping snakes my cave is hung; Of maiden hair my bed is made, Two winding sheets above it laid; With bones of men my shelves are pil'd, And toads are for my supper boil'd; Three ghosts attend to fill my cup, And four to serve my pottage up; The crow is waiting to say grace:-- Wouldst thou in such a dismal place The secrets of thy fortune trace?

_Columbus_

Though death and all his dreary crew Were to be open'd on my view, I would not from this threshold fly 'Till you had made a full reply. Open wide this iron gate, I must read the book of fate: Tell me, if beyond the main Islands are reserv'd for Spain; Tell me, if beyond the sea Worlds are to be found by me: Bid your spirits disappear, Phantoms of delusive fear, These are visions I despise, Shadows and uncertainties.

_Inchantress_

Must I, then, yield to your request! Columbus, why disturb my rest!-- For this the ungrateful shall combine, And hard misfortune shall be thine;-- For this the base reward remains Of cold neglect and galling chains![B] In a poor solitude forgot, Reproach and want shall be the lot Of him that gives new worlds to Spain, And westward spreads her golden reign. Before you came to vex my bower I slept away the evening hour, Or watch'd the rising of the moon, With hissing vipers keeping tune, Or galloping along the glade Took pleasure in the lunar shade, And gather'd herbs, or made a prize Of horses' tails and adders' eyes: Now open flies the iron gate, Advance, and read the book of fate! On thy design what woes attend! The nations at the ocean's end, No longer destin'd to be free, Shall owe distress and death to thee! The seats of innocence and love Shall soon the scenes of horror prove: But why disturb these Indian climes, The pictures of more happy times! Has avarice, with unfeeling breast, Has cruelty thy soul possess'd? May ruin on thy boldness wait!-- Advance, and read the book of fate. When vulture, fed but once a week, And ravens three together shriek, And skeleton for vengeance cries, Then shall the fatal curtain rise! Two lamps in yonder vaulted room, Suspended o'er a brazen tomb, Shall lend their glimmerings, as you pass, To find your fortune in that glass Whose wondrous virtue is, to show Whate'er the inquirer wants to know.

[B] In 1498 he was superseded in his command at Hispaniola and sent home in irons. Soon after finishing his fourth voyage, finding himself neglected by the Court of Spain after all his services, he retired to Valladolid, in Old Castile, where he died on the 20th of May. A. D. 1506.--_Freneau's note._

PICTURE III.

The Mirror

_Columbus_

Strange things I see, bright mirror, in thy breast:-- There Perseverance stands, and nobly scorns The gabbling tongue of busy calumny; Proud Erudition in a scholar's garb Derides my plans and grins a jeering smile. Hypocrisy, clad in a doctor's gown, A western continent deems heresy: The princes, kings, and nobles of the land Smile at my projects, and report me mad: One royal woman only stands my friend, Bright Isabell, the lady of our hearts, Whom avarice prompts to aid my purposes, And love of toys--weak female vanity!-- She gains her point!--three slender barques I see (Or else the witch's glass deceives mine eye) Rigg'd trim, and furnish'd out with stores and men, Fitted for tedious journeys o'er the main: Columbus--ha!--their motions he directs; Their captains come, and ask advice from him, Holding him for the soul of resolution. Now, now we launch from Palos! prosperous gales Impel the canvas: now the far fam'd streight Is pass'd, the pillars of the son of Jove, Long held the limits of the paths of men: Ah! what a waste of ocean here begins, And lonely waves, so black and comfortless! Light flies each bounding galley o'er the main; Now Lancerota gathers on our view, And Teneriffe her clouded summit rears: Awhile we linger at these islands fair That seem the utmost boundaries of the world, Then westward aiming on the unfathom'd deep Sorrowing, with heavy hearts we urge our way. Now all is discontent--such oceans pass'd, No land appearing yet, dejects the most; Yet, fertile in expedients, I alone The mask of mild content am forc'd to wear: A thousand signs I see, or feign to see, Of shores at hand, and bottoms underneath, And not a bird that wanders o'er the main, And not a cloud that traverses the sky But brings me something to support their hopes: All fails at last!--so frequently deceiv'd They growl with anger--mad to look at death They gnash their teeth, and will be led no more; On me their vengeance turns: they look at me As their conductor to the realms of ruin: Plot after plot discover'd, not reveng'd, They join against their chief in mutiny: They urge to plunge him in the boiling deep As one, the only one that would pursue Imaginary worlds through boundless seas:-- The scene is chang'd--Fine islands greet mine eye, Cover'd with trees, and beasts, and yellow men; Eternal summer through the vallies smiles And fragrant gales o'er golden meadows play!-- Inchantress, 'tis enough!--now veil your glass-- The curtain falls--and I must homeward pass.

PICTURE IV.

Columbus addresses King Ferdinand

Prince and the pride of Spain! while meaner crowns, Pleas'd with the shadow of monarchial sway, Exact obedience from some paltry tract Scarce worth the pain and toil of governing, Be thine the generous care to send thy fame Beyond the knowledge, or the guess of man. This gulphy deep (that bounds our western reign So long by civil feuds and wars disgrac'd) Must be the passage to some other shore Where nations dwell, children of early time, Basking in the warm sunshine of the south, Who some false deity, no doubt, adore, Owning no virtue in the potent cross: What honour, sire, to plant your standards there,[A] And souls recover to our holy faith That now in paths of dark perdition stray Warp'd to his worship by the evil one! Think not that Europe and the Asian waste, Or Africa, where barren sands abound, Are the sole gems in Neptune's bosom laid: Think not the world a vast extended plain: See yond' bright orbs, that through the ether move, All globular; this earth a globe like them Walks her own rounds, attended by the moon, Bright comrade, but with borrowed lustre bright. If all the surface of this mighty round Be one wide ocean of unfathom'd depth Bounding the little space already known, Nature must have forgot her wonted wit And made a monstrous havock of proportion. If her proud depths were not restrain'd by lands, And broke by continents of vast extent Existing somewhere under western skies, Far other waves would roll before the storms Than ever yet have burst on Europe's shores, Driving before them deluge and confusion. But Nature will preserve what she has plann'd: And the whole suffrage of antiquity, Platonic dreams, and reason's plainer page All point at something that we ought to see Buried behind the waters of the west, Clouded with shadows of uncertainty. The time is come for some sublime event Of mighty fame:--mankind are children yet, And hardly dream what treasures they possess In the dark bosom of the fertile main, Unfathom'd, unattempted, unexplor'd. These, mighty prince, I offer to reveal, And by the magnet's aid, if you supply Ships and some gallant hearts, will hope to bring From distant climes, news worthy of a king.

[A] It is allowed by most historians, that Ferdinand was an implicit believer and one of the must superstitious bigots of his age.--_Freneau's note._

PICTURE V.

Ferdinand and his First Minister

_Ferdinand_

What would this madman have, this odd projector! A wild address I have to-day attended, Mingling its folly with our great affairs, Dreaming of islands and new hemispheres Plac'd on the ocean's verge, we know not where-- What shall I do with this petitioner?

_Minister_

Even send him, sire, to perish in his search: He has so pester'd me these many years With idle projects of discovery-- His name--I almost dread to hear it mention'd: He is a Genoese of vulgar birth And has been round all Europe with his plans Presenting them to every potentate; He lives, 'tis said, by vending maps and charts,[52] And being us'd to sketch imagin'd islands On that blank space that represents the seas, His head at last grows giddy with this folly, And fancied isles are turned to real lands With which he puzzles me perpetually: What pains me too, is, that our royal lady Lends him her ear, and reads his mad addresses, Oppos'd to reason and philosophy.

_Ferdinand_

He acts the devil's part in Eden's garden; Knowing the man was proof to his temptations He whisper'd something in the ear of Eve, And promis'd much, but meant not to perform.

_Minister_

I've treated all his schemes with such contempt That any but a rank, mad-brain'd enthusiast, Pushing his purpose to extremities, Would have forsook your empire, royal sir, Discourag'd, and forgotten long ago.

_Ferdinand_

Has he so long been busy at his projects?-- I scarcely heard of him till yesterday: A plan pursued with so much obstinacy Looks not like madness:--wretches of that stamp Survey a thousand objects in an hour, In love with each, and yet attach'd to none Beyond the moment that it meets the eye-- But him I honour, tho' in beggar's garbs, Who has a soul of so much constancy As to bear up against the hard rebuffs, Sneers of great men, and insolence of power, And through the opposition of them all Pursues his object:--Minister, this man Must have our notice:--Let him be commissioned Viceroy of all the lands he shall discover, Admiral and general in the fleets of Spain; Let three stout ships be instantly selected, The best and strongest ribb'd of all we own, With men to mann them, patient of fatigue: But stay, attend! how stands our treasury?--

_Minister_

Empty--even to the bottom, royal sir! We have not coin for bare necessities, Much less, so pardon me, to spend on madmen.

PICTURE VI.

Columbus addresses Queen Isabella

While Turkish queens, dejected, pine, Compell'd sweet freedom to resign; And taught one virtue, to obey, Lament some eastern tyrant's sway,

Queen of our hearts, bright Isabell! A happier lot to you has fell, Who makes a nation's bliss your own, And share the rich Castilian throne.

Exalted thus, beyond all fame, Assist, fair lady, that proud aim Which would your native reign extend To the wide world's remotest end.

From science, fed by busy thought, New wonders to my view are brought: The vast abyss beyond our shore I deem impassable no more.

Let those that love to dream or sleep Pretend no limits to the deep: I see beyond the rolling main Abounding wealth reserv'd for Spain.

From Nature's earliest days conceal'd, Men of their own these climates yield, And scepter'd dames, no doubt, are there, Queens like yourself, but not so fair.

But what should most provoke desire Are the fine pearls that they admire, And diamonds bright and coral green More fit to grace a Spanish queen.

Their yellow shells, and virgin gold, And silver, for our trinkets sold, Shall well reward this toil and pain, And bid our commerce shine again.

As men were forc'd from Eden's shade By errors that a woman made, Permit me at a woman's cost To find the climates that we lost.

He that with you partakes command, The nation's hope, great Ferdinand, Attends, indeed, to my request, But wants no empires in the west.

Then, queen, supply the swelling sail, For eastward breathes the steady gale That shall the meanest barque convey To regions richer than Cathay.[A]

[A] The ancient name for China.--_Freneau's note._

Arriv'd upon that flowery coast Whole towns of golden temples boast, While these bright objects strike our view Their wealth shall be reserv'd for you.

Each swarthy king shall yield his crown, And smiling lay their sceptres down, When they, not tam'd by force of arms, Shall hear the story of your charms.

Did I an empty dream pursue Great honour still must wait on you, Who sent the lads of Spain to keep Such vigils on the untravell'd deep,

Who fix'd the bounds of land and sea, Trac'd Nature's works through each degree, Imagin'd some unheard of shore But prov'd that there was nothing more.

Yet happier prospects, I maintain, Shall open on your female reign, While ages hence with rapture tell How much they owe to Isabell!

PICTURE VII.

Queen Isabella's Page of Honour writing a reply to Columbus

Your yellow shells, and coral green. And gold, and silver--not yet seen, Have made such mischief in a woman's mind The queen could almost pillage from the crown, And add some costly jewels of her own, Thus sending you that charming coast to find Where all these heavenly things abound, Queens in the west, and chiefs renown'd. But then no great men take you by the hand, Nor are the nobles busied in your aid; The clergy have no relish for your scheme, And deem it madness--one archbishop said You were bewilder'd in a paltry dream That led directly to undoubted ruin, Your own and other men's undoing:-- And our confessor says it is not true, And calls it heresy in you Thus to assert the world is round, And that Antipodes are found Held to the earth, we can't tell how.-- But you shall sail; I heard the queen declare That mere geography is not her care;-- And thus she bids me say, "Columbus, haste away, "Hasten to Palos, and if you can find "Three barques, of structure suited to your mind, "Strait make a purchase in the royal name; "Equip them for the seas without delay, "Since long the journey is (we heard you say) "To that rich country which we wish to claim.-- "Let them be small--for know the crown is poor "Though basking in the sunshine of renown. "Long wars have wasted us: the pride of Spain "Was ne'er before so high, nor purse so mean; "Giving us ten years' war, the humbled Moor "Has left us little else but victory: "Time must restore past splendor to our reign."

PICTURE VIII.

Columbus at the Harbour of Palos, in Andalusia

_Columbus_

In three small barques to cross so vast a sea, Held to be boundless, even in learning's eye, And trusting only to a magic glass, Which may have represented things untrue, Shadows and visions for realities!--[53] It is a bold attempt!--Yet I must go, Travelling the surge to its great boundary; Far, far away beyond the reach of men, Where never galley spread her milk-white sail Or weary pilgrim bore the Christian name! But though I were confirm'd in my design And saw the whole event with certainty, How shall I so exert my eloquence, And hold such arguments with vulgar minds As to convince them I am not an idiot Chasing the visions of a shatter'd brain, Ending in their perdition and my own? The world, and all its wisdom is against me; The dreams of priests; philosophy in chains; False learning swoln with self-sufficiency; Men seated at the helm of royalty Reasoning like school-boys;--what discouragements! Experience holds herself mine enemy, And one weak woman only hears my story!-- I'll make a speech--"Here jovial sailors, here! "Ye that would rise beyond the rags of fortune, "Struggling too long with hopeless poverty, "Coasting your native shores on shallow seas, "Vex'd by the gallies of the Ottoman; "Now meditate with me a bolder plan, "Catching at fortune in her plenitude! "He that shall undertake this voyage with me "Shall be no longer held a vulgar man: "Princes shall wish they had been our companions, "And Science blush she did not go along "To learn a lesson that might humble pride "Now grinning idly from a pedant's cap, "Lurking behind the veil of cowardice. "Far in the west a golden region lies "Unknown, unvisited for many an age, "Teeming with treasures to enrich the brave. "Embark, embark--Columbus leads the way-- "Why, friends, existence is alike to me "Dear and desireable with other men; "What good could I devise in seeking ruin? "Embark, I say; and he that sails with me "Shall reap a harvest of immortal honour: "Wealthier he shall return than they that now "Lounge in the lap of principalities, "Hoarding the gorgeous treasures of the east."-- Alas, alas! they turn their backs upon me, And rather choose to wallow in the mire Of want, and torpid inactivity, Than by one bold and masterly exertion Themselves ennoble, and enrich their country!

PICTURE IX.

A Sailor's Hut, near the Shore

Thomas and Susan

_Thomas_

I wish I was over the water again! 'Tis a pity we cannot agree; When I try to be merry 'tis labour in vain, You always are scolding at me; Then what shall I do With this termagant Sue; Tho' I hug her and squeeze her I never can please her-- Was there ever a devil like you!

_Susan_

If I was a maid as I now am a wife With a sot and a brat to maintain, I think it should be the first care of my life, To shun such a drunkard again: Not one of the crew Is so hated by Sue; Though they always are bawling, And pulling and hauling-- Not one is a puppy like you.[54]

_Thomas_

Dear Susan, I'm sorry that you should complain: There is nothing indeed to be done; If a war should break out, not a sailor in Spain Would sooner be found at his gun: Arriving from sea I would kneel on one knee, And the plunder presenting To Susan relenting-- Who then would be honour'd like me!

_Susan_

To-day as I came by the sign of the ship, A mighty fine captain was there, He was asking for sailors to take a small trip, But I cannot remember well where: He was hearty and free, And if you can agree To leave me, dear honey, To bring me some money!-- How happy--indeed--I shall be!

_Thomas_

The man that you saw not a sailor can get, 'Tis a captain Columbus, they say; To fit out a ship he is running in debt, And our wages he never will pay: Yes, yes, it is he, And, Sue, do ye see, On a wild undertaking His heart he is breaking-- The devil may take him for me!

PICTURE X.

Bernardo, a Spanish Friar, in his canonicals

Did not our holy book most clearly say This earth is built upon a pillar'd base; And did not Reason add convincing proofs That this huge world is one continued plain Extending onward to immensity, Bounding with oceans these abodes of men, I should suppose this dreamer had some hopes, Some prospects built on probability. What says our lord the pope--he cannot err-- He says, our world is not orbicular, And has rewarded some with chains and death Who dar'd defend such wicked heresies. But we are turning heretics indeed!-- A foreigner, an idiot, an impostor, An infidel (since he dares contradict What our most holy order holds for truth) Is pouring poison in the royal ear; Telling him tales of islands in the moon, Leading the nation into dangerous errors, Slighting instruction from our brotherhood!-- O Jesu! Jesu! what an age is this!

PICTURE XI.

Orosio, a Mathematician, with his scales and compasses

This persevering man succeeds at last! The last gazette has publish'd to the world That Ferdinand and Isabella grant Three well rigg'd ships to Christopher Columbus; And have bestow'd the noble titles too Of Admiral and Vice-Roy--great indeed!-- Who will not now project, and scrawl on paper-- Pretenders now shall be advanc'd to honour; And every pedant that can frame a problem, And every lad that can draw parallels Or measure the subtension of an angle, Shall now have ships to make discoveries. This simple man would sail he knows not where; Building on fables, schemes of certainty;-- Visions of Plato, mix'd with idle tales Of later date, intoxicate his brain: Let him advance beyond a certain point In his fantastic voyage, and I foretell He never can return: ay, let him go!-- There is a line towards the setting sun Drawn on an ocean of tremendous depth, (Where nature plac'd the limits of the day) Haunted by dragons, fond of solitude, Red serpents, fiery forms, and yelling hags, Fit company for mad adventurers.-- There, when the sun descends, 'tis horror all; His angry globe through vast abysses gliding Burns in the briny bosom of the deep Making a havoc so detestable, And causing such a wasteful ebullition That never island green, or continent Could find foundation, there to grow upon.

PICTURE XII.

Columbus and a Pilot

_Columbus_

To take on board the sweepings of a jail Is inexpedient in a voyage like mine, That will require most patient fortitude, Strict vigilance and staid sobriety, Contempt of death on cool reflection founded, A sense of honour, motives of ambition, And every sentiment that sways the brave.-- Princes should join me now!--not those I mean Who lurk in courts, or revel in the shade Of painted ceilings:--those I mean, more worthy, Whose daring aims and persevering souls, Soaring beyond the sordid views of fortune, Bespeak the lineage of true royalty.

_Pilot_

A fleet arrived last month at Carthagene From Smyrna, Cyprus, and the neighbouring isles: Their crews, releas'd from long fatigues at sea, Have spent their earnings in festivity, And hunger tells them they must out again. Yet nothing instantly presents itself Except your new and noble expedition: The fleet must undergo immense repairs, And numbers will be unemploy'd awhile: I'll take them in the hour of dissipation (Before reflection has made cowards of them, Suggesting questions of impertinence) When desperate plans are most acceptable, Impossibilities are possible, And all the spring and vigour of the mind Is strain'd to madness and audacity: If you approve my scheme, our ninety men (The number you pronounce to be sufficient) Shall all be enter'd in a week, at most.

_Columbus_

Go, pilot, go--and every motive urge That may put life into this expedition. Early in August we must weigh our anchors. Time wears apace---bring none but willing men, So shall our orders be the better borne, The people less inclin'd to mutiny.

PICTURE XIII.

Discontents at Sea

_Antonio_

Dreadful is death in his most gentle forms! More horrid still on this mad element, So far remote from land--from friends remote! So many thousand leagues already sail'd In quest of visions!--what remains to us But perishing in these moist solitudes; Where many a day our corpses on the sea Shall float unwept, unpitied, unentomb'd! O fate most terrible!--undone Antonio! Why didst thou listen to a madman's dreams, Pregnant with mischief--why not, comrades, rise!-- See, Nature's self prepares to leave us here; The needle, once so faithful to the pole, Now quits his object and bewilders us; Steering at random, just as chance directs-- O fate most terrible!--undone Antonio!--

_Hernando_

Borne to creation's utmost verge, I saw New stars ascending, never view'd before! Low sinks the bear!--O land, my native land, Clear springs and shady groves! why did I change Your aspect fair for these infernal wastes, Peopled by monsters of another kind; Ah me! design'd not for the view of man!

_Columbus_

Cease, dastards, cease; and be inform'd that man Is nature's lord, and wields her to his will; If her most noble works obey our aims, How much more so ought worthless scum, like you, Whose whole existence is a morning dream, Whose life is sunshine on a wintry day, Who shake at shadows, struck with palsied fear: Measuring the limit of your lives by distance.

_Antonio_

Columbus, hear! when with the land we parted You thirty days agreed to plough the main, Directing westward.--Thirty have elaps'd, And thirty more have now begun their round, No land appearing yet, nor trace of land, But distant fogs that mimic lofty isles, Painting gay landscapes on the vapourish air, Inhabited by fiends that mean our ruin-- You persevere, and have no mercy on us-- Then perish by yourself--we must return-- And know, our firm resolve is fix'd for Spain; In this resolve we are unanimous.

Juan de Villa-Real to Columbus

(A Billet)

"I heard them over night a plot contriving "Of fatal purpose--have a care, Columbus!-- "They have resolv'd, as on the deck you stand, "Aiding the vigils of the midnight hour, "To plunge you headlong in the roaring deep, "And slaughter such as favour your design "Still to pursue this western continent."

_Columbus, solus_

Why, nature, hast thou treated those so ill, Whose souls, capacious of immense designs, Leave ease and quiet for a nation's glory, Thus to subject them to these little things, Insects, by heaven's decree in shapes of men! But so it is, and so we must submit, Bending to thee, the heaven's great chancellor! But must I fail!--and by timidity! Must thou to thy green waves receive me, Neptune, Or must I basely with my ships return, Nothing accomplish'd!--not one pearl discover'd, One bit of gold to make our queen a bracelet, One diamond for the crown of Ferdinand! How will their triumph be confirm'd, who said That I was mad!--Must I then change my course, And quit the country that would strait appear, If one week longer we pursued the sun!-- The witch's glass was not delusion, sure!-- All this, and more, she told me to expect!--[55] (_To the crew_) "Assemble, friends; attend to what I say: "Signs unequivocal, at length, declare "That some great continent approaches us: "The sea no longer glooms unmeasur'd depths,[56] "The setting sun discovers clouds that owe "Their origin to fens and woodland wastes, "Not such as breed on ocean's salt domain:-- "Vast flocks of birds attend us on our way, "These all have haunts amidst the watry void. "Sweet scenes of ease, and sylvan solitude, "And springs, and streams that we shall share with them. "Now, hear my most importunate request: "I call you all my friends; you are my equals, "Men of true worth and native dignity, "Whose spirits are too mighty to return "Most meanly home, when nothing is accomplish'd-- "Consent to sail our wonted course with me "But one week longer, and if that be spent, "And nought appear to recompence our toil, "Then change our course and homeward haste away-- "Nay, homeward not!--for that would be too base-- "But to some negro coast,[57] where we may hide, "And never think of Ferdinand again."

_Hernando_

One week!--too much--it shall not be, Columbus! Already are we on the verge of ruin, Warm'd by the sunshine of another sphere, Fann'd by the breezes of the burning zone, Launch'd out upon the world's extremities!-- Who knows where one week more may carry us?

_Antonio_

Nay, talk not to the traitor!--base Columbus, To thee our ruin and our deaths we owe! Away, away!--friends!--men at liberty, Now free to act as best befits our case, Appoint another pilot to the helm, And Andalusia be our port again!

_Columbus_

Friends, is it thus you treat your admiral, Who bears the honours of great Ferdinand, The royal standard, and the arms of Spain! Three days allow me--and I'll show new worlds.

_Hernando_

Three days!--one day will pass too tediously-- But in the name of all our crew, Columbus, Whose speaker and controuler I am own'd; Since thou indeed art a most gallant man, Three days we grant--but ask us not again!

PICTURE XIV.

Columbus at Cat Island

_Columbus, solus_

Hail, beauteous land! the first that greets mine eye Since, bold, we left the cloud capp'd Teneriffe, The world's last limit long suppos'd by men.-- Tir'd with dull prospects of the watry waste And midnight dangers that around us grew, Faint hearts and feeble hands and traitors vile, Thee, Holy Saviour, on this foreign land We still adore, and name this coast from thee![A] In these green groves who would not wish to stay, Where guardian nature holds her quiet reign, Where beardless men speak other languages, Unknown to us, ourselves unknown to them.

[A] He called the island San Salvador (Holy Saviour). It lies about ninety miles S.E. from Providence; is one of the Bahama cluster, and to the eastward of the Grand Bank.--_Freneau's note._

_Antonio_

In tracing o'er the isle no gold I find-- Nought else but barren trees and craggy rocks Where screaming sea-fowl mix their odious loves, And fields of burning marle, where devils play And men with copper skins talk barbarously;-- What merit has our chief in sailing hither, Discovering countries of no real worth! Spain has enough of barren sands, no doubt, And savages in crowds are found at home;-- Why then surmount the world's circumference Merely to stock us with this Indian breed?

_Hernando_

Soft!--or Columbus will detect your murmuring-- This new found isle has re-instated him In all our favours--see you yonder sands?-- Why, if you see them, swear that they are gold, And gold like this shall be our homeward freight, Gladding the heart of Ferdinand the great, Who, when he sees it, shall say smilingly, "Well done, advent'rous fellows, you have brought "The treasure we expected and deserv'd!"-- Hold!--I am wrong--there goes a savage man With gold suspended from his ragged ears: I'll brain the monster for the sake of gold; There, savage, try the power of Spanish steel-- 'Tis of Toledo[B]--true and trusty stuff! He falls! he falls! the gold, the gold is mine! First acquisition in this golden isle!--

[B] The best steel-blades in Spain are manufactured at Toledo and Bilboa.--_Freneau's note._

_Columbus, solus_

Sweet sylvan scenes of innocence and ease, How calm and joyous pass the seasons here! No splendid towns or spiry turrets rise, No lordly palaces--no tyrant kings Enact hard laws to crush fair freedom here; No gloomy jails to shut up wretched men; All, all are free!--here God and nature reign; Their works unsullied by the hands of men.-- Ha! what is this--a murder'd wretch I see,[58] His blood yet warm--O hapless islander, Who could have thus so basely mangled thee, Who never offer'd insult to our shore-- Was it for those poor trinkets in your ears Which by the custom of your tribe you wore,-- Now seiz'd away--and which would not have weigh'd One poor piastre! Is this the fruit of my discovery! If the first scene is murder, what shall follow But havock, slaughter, chains and devastation In every dress and form of cruelty! O injur'd Nature, whelm me in the deep, And let not Europe hope for my return, Or guess at worlds upon whose threshold now So black a deed has just been perpetrated!-- We must away--enjoy your woods in peace, Poor, wretched, injur'd, harmless islanders;-- On Hayti's[C] isle you say vast stores are found Of this destructive gold--which without murder Perhaps, we may possess!--away, away! And southward, pilots, seek another isle, Fertile they say, and of immense extent: There we may fortune find without a crime.

[C] This island is now called Hispaniola, but is of late recovering its ancient name.--_Freneau's note._

PICTURE XV.

Columbus in a Tempest, on his return to Spain

The storm hangs low; the angry lightning glares And menaces destruction to our masts; The Corposant[A] is busy on the decks, The soul, perhaps, of some lost admiral Taking his walks about most leisurely, Foreboding we shall be with him to-night: See, now he mounts the shrouds--as he ascends The gale grows bolder!--all is violence! Seas, mounting from the bottom of their depths, Hang o'er our heads with all their horrid curls Threatening perdition to our feeble barques, Which three hours longer cannot bear their fury, Such heavy strokes already shatter them; Who can endure such dreadful company!-- Then, must we die with our discovery! Must all my labours, all my pains, be lost, And my new world in old oblivion sleep?-- My name forgot, or if it be remember'd, Only to have it said, "He was a madman "Who perish'd as he ought--deservedly-- "In seeking what was never to be found!"-- Let's obviate what we can this horrid sentence, And, lost ourselves, perhaps, preserve our name. 'Tis easy to contrive this painted casket, (Caulk'd, pitch'd, secur'd with canvas round and round) That it may float for months upon the main, Bearing the freight within secure and dry: In this will I an abstract of our voyage, And islands found, in little space enclose: The western winds in time may bear it home To Europe's coasts: or some wide wandering ship By accident may meet it toss'd about, Charg'd with the story of another world.

[A] A vapour common at sea in bad weather, something larger and rather paler than the light of a candle; which, seeming to rise out of the sea, first moves about the decks, and then ascends or descends the rigging in proportion to the increase or decrease of the storm. Superstition formerly imagined them to be the souls of drowned men.--_Freneau's note._

PICTURE XVI.

Columbus visits the Court at Barcelona

_Ferdinand_

Let him be honour'd like a God, who brings Tidings of islands at the ocean's end! In royal robes let him be straight attir'd. And seated next ourselves, the noblest peer.

_Isabella_

The merit of this gallant deed is mine: Had not my jewels furnish'd out the fleet Still had this world been latent in the main.-- Since on this project every man look'd cold, A woman, as his patroness, shall shine; And through the world the story shall be told, A woman gave new continents to Spain.

_Columbus_

A world, great prince, bright queen and royal lady, Discover'd now, has well repaid our toils; We to your bounty owe all that we are; Men of renown and to be fam'd in story. Islands of vast extent we have discover'd With gold abounding: see a sample here Of those most precious metals we admire; And Indian men, natives of other climes, Whom we have brought to do you princely homage, Owning they hold their diadems from you.

_Ferdinand_

To fifteen sail your charge shall be augmented: Hasten to Palos, and prepare again To sail in quest of this fine golden country, The Ophir, never known to Solomon; Which shall be held the brightest gem we have, The richest diamond in the crown of Spain.

PICTURE XVII.

Columbus in Chains[A]

[A] During his third voyage, while in San Domingo, such unjust representations were made of his conduct to the Court of Spain, that a new admiral, Bovadilla, was appointed to supersede him, who sent Columbus home in irons.--_Freneau's note._

Are these the honours they reserve for me, Chains for the man that gave new worlds to Spain! Rest here, my swelling heart!--O kings, O queens, Patrons of monsters, and their progeny, Authors of wrong, and slaves to fortune merely! Why was I seated by my prince's side, Honour'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain? Was it that I might fall most suddenly From honour's summit to the sink of scandal! 'Tis done, 'tis done!--what madness is ambition! What is there in that little breath of men, Which they call Fame, that should induce the brave To forfeit ease and that domestic bliss Which is the lot of happy ignorance, Less glorious aims, and dull humility?-- Whoe'er thou art that shalt aspire to honour, And on the strength and vigour of the mind Vainly depending, court a monarch's favour, Pointing the way to vast extended empire; First count your pay to be ingratitude, Then chains and prisons, and disgrace like mine! Each wretched pilot now shall spread his sails, And treading in my footsteps, hail new worlds, Which, but for me, had still been empty visions.

PICTURE XVIII.

Columbus at Valladolid[A]

[A] After he found himself in disgrace with the Court of Spain, he retired to Vallodolid, a town of Old Castile, where he died, it is said, more of a broken heart than any other disease, on the 20th of May, 1506.--_Freneau's note._

1

How sweet is sleep, when gain'd by length of toil! No dreams disturb the slumbers of the dead-- To snatch existence from this scanty soil, Were these the hopes deceitful fancy bred; And were her painted pageants nothing more Than this life's phantoms by delusion led?

2

The winds blow high: one other world remains; Once more without a guide I find the way; In the dark tomb to slumber with my chains-- Prais'd by no poet on my funeral day, Nor even allow'd one dearly purchas'd claim-- My new found world not honour'd with my name.

3

Yet, in this joyless gloom while I repose, Some comfort will attend my pensive shade, When memory paints, and golden fancy shows My toils rewarded, and my woes repaid; When empires rise where lonely forests grew, Where Freedom shall her generous plans pursue.

4

To shadowy forms, and ghosts and sleepy things, Columbus, now with dauntless heart repair; You liv'd to find new worlds for thankless kings, Write this upon my tomb--yes--tell it there-- Tell of those chains that sullied all my glory-- Not mine, but their's--ah, tell the shameful story.

[48] First published in the edition of 1788, the text of which I have reproduced. Aside from several significant changes in Picture I., and the total omission of Pictures II. and III., the later editions contain but few variations. The edition of 1795 is signed "Anno 1774."

[49] The four stanzas beginning "This world on paper idly drawn," are omitted from later editions, and the stanza beginning "But westward plac'd" is made to read:

"Far to the west what lengthen'd seas! "Are no gay islands found in these, "No sylvan worlds, by Nature meant "To balance Asia's vast extent?"

[50] In later editions the last three stanzas are omitted, and in their place is added the following, taken partly from the words of the Inchantress in the next picture:

"If Neptune on my prowess smiles, And I detect his hidden isles, I hear some warning spirit say: '_No monarch will your toils repay: 'For this the ungrateful shall combine, 'And hard misfortune must be thine; 'For this the base reward remains 'Of cold neglect and galling chains! 'In a poor solitude forgot, 'Reproach and want shall be the lot 'Of him that gives new worlds to Spain 'And westward spreads her golden reign. 'On thy design what woes attend! 'The nations at the ocean's end 'No longer destined to be free 'Shall owe distress and death to thee! 'The seats of innocence and love 'Shall soon the scenes of horror prove; 'But why disturb these Indian climes, 'The pictures of more happy times! 'Has avarice, with unfeeling breast, 'Has cruelty thy soul possess'd? 'May ruin on thy boldness wait!-- 'And sorrow crown thy toils too late!_'"

[51] Pictures II. and III. are omitted from later editions.

[52] The six lines beginning here are omitted in the later versions.

[53] This and the two preceding lines omitted in later versions.

[54] "Not one is so noisy as you."--_Ed. 1795._

[55] This and preceding line omitted in later versions.

[56] Two lines added in later editions:

"Small motes I see, from ebbing rivers borne, And Neptune's waves a greener aspect wear."

[57] "But to the depths below."--_Ed. 1795._

[58] One line added in later versions:

"A Spanish ponyard thro' his entrails driven."

THE EXPEDITION OF TIMOTHY TAURUS, ASTROLOGER

TO THE FALLS OF PASSAICK RIVER, IN NEW JERSEY[59]

Written soon after an excursion to the village at that place in August, 1775, under the character of Timothy Taurus, a student in astrology; and formerly printed in New-York.

CHARACTERS OF THE POEM

Timothy Taurus, Astrologer, in love with Tryphena. Slyboots, a Quaker, and his two Daughters. Dullman, a City Broker. Deacon Samuel. Brigadier-General Nimrod. Lawyer Ludwick. Parson Pedro. Doctor Sangrado. Saunders, a Horse Jockey. Gubbin, a Tavern-keeper. Scalpella Gubbin, his Wife. Mithollan, a Farmer.

My morning of life is beclouded with care! I will go to Passaick, I say and I swear-- To the falls of Passaick, that elegant scene, Where all is so pretty, and all is so green-- That river Passaick!--celestial indeed! That river of rivers, no rivers exceed.-- Now why, I would ask, should I puzzle my brain The nature of stars, or their use to explain-- To trace the effects they may have on our earth, How govern our actions, or rule at our birth? Five years have I been at these studies, and scanned All the books on the subject that sophists have planned! I am sorry to say (yet it ought to be said) The stars have not sent me one rye loaf of bread! Not a shilling to purchase a glass of good beer,-- By my soul, it's enough to make ministers swear. Tryphena may argue, and say what she will, I am sure all my fortune is going down hill: Dear girl! if you wait 'till the planets are for us Your name will scarce alter to Tryphena Taurus. Tryphena! I love you--have courted you long-- But find all my labours will end in a song!-- "Will you play at all-fours?"--she said, very jolly;-- I answered, The play at all-fours is all folly! "Will you play, then, at whist?"--she obligingly said;-- I answered, the game is gone out of my head-- Indeed, I am weary--I feel rather sick, So, I leave you, Tryphena, to win the odd trick.-- There's a music some talk of, that's play'd by the spheres:-- I wish him all luck who this harmony hears; And the people who hear it, I hope they may find It is not a music that fills them with wind.-- There's Saturn, and Venus, and Jove, and the rest: Their music to me is not quite of the best.-- These orbs of the stars, and that globe of the moon To me, I am certain, all play a wrong tune. Not a creature that plods in, or ploughs up the dirt, But from the mean clod gets a better support: Then farewell to Mars, and the rest of the gang, And the comets--I tell them they all may go hang; I mean, if they only with music will treat, It is not to me the best cooked of all meat. They may go where they will, and return when they please,-- And I hope they'll remember to pay up my fees-- So I leave them awhile, to be cheerful below, And away to Passaick most merrily go! The month, it was August, and meltingly warm, Not a cloud in the sky nor the sign of a storm; So I jumped in the stage, with the freight of the fair, And in less than a day at Passaick we were.-- Well, arrived at the Falls, I procured me a bed In a box of a house--you might call it a shed; The best of the taverns were all pre-engaged, So I barely was lodged, or rather encaged; Yet, cage as it was, I enjoyed a regale Of victuals three times every day, without fail: There was poultry, and pyes, and a dozen things more That the damnable college had never in store: I feasted, and lived on such fat of the place That the college would not have remembered my face-- So long had I fed on their trash algebraic, Indeed, it was time I went to Passaick!-- The rocks were amazing, and such was the height, They struck me at once with surprize and delight. The waters rushed down with a terrible roar-- What a pleasure it was to be lounging on shore! They now were as clear as old Helicon's stream, Or as clear as the clearest in poetry's dream.-- These falls were stupendous, the fountains so clear, That another Narcissus might see himself here, Nor only Narcissus--some ill-featured faces From the springs were reflected--not made up of graces. But now I must tell you--what people were met: They were, on my conscience, a wonderful sett; Some came for their health, and some came for their pleasure, And to steal from the city a fortnight of leisure; Some came for a day, and yet more for a week, Some came from the college, tormented with Greek, To continue as long as their means would afford, That is, while the taverns would trust them their board: (Of this last mentioned class, I confess I was one, For why should I fib when the mischief is done?) This age may decay, and another may rise, Before it is fully revealed to our eyes, That Latin, and Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Greek, To the shades of oblivion must certainly sneak; Too much of our time is employed on such trash When we ought to be taught to accumulate cash. Supposing I knew them as pat as my prayers (And to know them completely would cost me twelve years) Supposing, I say, I had Virgil by rote, And could talk with old Homer--'tis not worth a groat; If with Rabbi Bensalem I knew how to chat, Where lies the advantage?--and what of all that? Were this cart load of learning the whole that I knew, I could sooner get forward by mending a shoe: I could sooner grow rich by the axe or the spade, Or thrive by the meanest mechanical trade, The tinker himself would be richer than I, For the tinker has something that people must buy, While such as have little but Latin to vend, On a shadow may truly be said to depend; Old words, and old phrases that nothing bestow, And the owners discarded ten ages ago.-- Here were people on people--I hardly know who-- There was Mammon the merchant, and Japhet the Jew: There was Slyboots the Quaker, whose coat had no flaps, With two of his Lambkins, as plain in their caps. In silks of the richest I saw them array, But nothing was cut in our mode of the day, They hung to old habits as firm as to rocks, And are just what they were in the days of George Fox. They talked in a style that was wholly their own; They shunned the vain world, and were mostly alone, One talked in the Nay, and one talked in the Yea, And of light in their lanthorns that no one could see: They hated the crowd, and they hated the play, And hoped the vain actors would soon run away;-- No follies like that would the preachers allow; And Tabitha said thee, and Rebecca said thou. Here was Dullman, the broker, who looked as demure As if a false key had unlocked the shop door: He seemed to enjoy not a moment of rest, So unhappy to be--far away from his chest. He was all on the fidgets to be with his gold: Both honour and conscience he bartered, or sold-- The devil himself--excuse me, I pray-- Old Satan--oh no--take it some other way-- The God of this world had him fast by a chain, And there let us leave him--and let him remain.-- Here was Samuel, the Deacon, who read a large book, Though few but himself on its pages would look; Would you know what it was?--an abridgement of Flavell,[A] With Bunyan's whole war between soul and the devil;-- It seemed very old, and the worse for the wear, And might last the next century, handled with care; But if fashions and folly should not have a fall, I presume it will hardly be handled at all.-- Here was Nimrod the soldier--he wore a long sword, And, of course, all the ladies his courage adored; Two fringed epaulettes on his shoulders displayed, Discovered the rank of this son of the blade. "O la!" cried Miss Kitty, "how bold he must be! Papa! we must beg him to join us at tea! How much like a hero he looketh--good me! Full many a battle, no doubt, he has stood, And waded shoe deep through a mill pond of mud! What heads have been sliced from the place they possessed By the sword at his side!--all, I hope, for the best!" Then the soldier went out, to refresh at the inn-- Perhaps he did not--if he did it's no sin-- He made his congee, and he bowed to us all, And said he was going to Liberty Hall: 'Tis certain he went, but certainly where I cannot inform, and the devil may care. But now to proceed, in describing in rhyme The folks that came hither to pass away time: There were more that had heads rather shallow than strong, And more than had money to bear them out long. In short, there were many more ladies than gents, And the latter complained of the heavy expense! And some I could see, with their splendour and show, That their credit was bad, and their pockets were low; Many females were gadding, I saw with concern, Who had better been knitting, or weaving their yarn. And many went into Passaick to lave Whose hides were, indeed, a disgrace to the wave; Who should have been home at their houses and farms, Not here to be dabbling, to shew us their charms: It would have been better to wash their own walls Than here--to come here, to be washed in the falls. A judge of the court (in the law a mere goose) Here wasted his time with a lawyer let loose. Their books were thrown by--so I begged of the fates That the falls of Passaick might fall on their pates. This lawyer was Ludwick, who scarce had a suit, And for once in his life was disposed to be mute, But was mostly engaged in some crazy dispute: A cause against Smyth[B] he could never defend, As well might the Old One with Michael contend: The road was before him, the country was spacious, And he knew an old fellow called _fieri facias_:-- I saw him demurr, when they asked him to pay-- With a _noli-pros-equi_ he scampered away.-- Though his head was profusely be-plaistered with meal, One sorrowful secret it could not conceal, That he drew his first breath when a two penny star Presided, and governed this son of the bar. Here was Pedro, the parson, who looked full as grave As it he had lodged in Trophonius's cave. He talked of his wine, and he talked of his beer, And he talked of his texts, that were not very clear; And many suspected he talked very queer.-- He talked with Scalpella, the inn-holder's wife, Then dwelt on her beauties, and called her his life!-- He ogled Scalpella!--and spake of her charms; And oh! how he wished to repose in her arms: He called her his deary, and talked of their loves; And left her at last--a pair of old gloves! I was sorry to see him deranged and perplext That no one would ask him to handle a text:-- All gaped when he spoke, and incessantly gazed, And thought him no witch, but a parson be-crazed. Fine work did he make of Millennium, I trow, Which he told us would come (tho' it comes very slow) When earth with the pious and just will abound And Eden itself at Egg-Harbour be found: No musketoes to bite us, no rats to molest, And lawyers themselves rocked into something like rest. But most of us judged it was rather a whim, Or, at least, that the prospect was distant and dim. So I saw him pack up his polemical gown, To retreat while he could from the noise of the town.[C] He said there was something in Falls he admired, But of constantly hearing the roar--he was tired! With their damp exhalations his fancy was dimmed, He would come the next spring with his surplice new trimmed, Besides there were fogs in the morning (he said) That rose on the river and muddled his head!-- Thus he quitted Passaick!--deserted her shore, And the taverns that knew him shall know him no more! One farmer Milhollan--I saw him come here, Almost at the busiest time in the year; His intent might be good, but I never could learn Who coaxed him away from his crib and his barn: Each morning he tippled three glasses of gin With as many, at least, as three devils therein. He quarrelled with Jack, and he wrangled with Tom, 'Till scarcely a negro but wished him at home; He talked over much of the badness of times, And read us a list of the governor's[D] crimes, From which it was clearly predicted, and plain, That his honour would hardly be chosen again. He fought with Tim Tearcoat, and cudgelled with Ben, And wrestled with Sampson--all quarrelsome men;-- I was sorry to see him thus wasting his force On fellows who kicked with the heels of a horse. Tho' strong in my arms, and of strength to contest With the youths of my age in the wars of the fist, I thought it was better to let them pursue The quarrels they had, than to be one of their crew; I saw it was madness to join in the fray, So I left them to wrangle--each dog his own way. He spoke thrice an hour of his crop that had failed, And losses, he feared, that would get him enjailed; He mentioned his poultry, and mentioned his pigs, And railed at some Tories, converted to Whigs.-- (Excuse me retailing so much in my rhymes Of the chatt of the day and the stuff of the times; 'Tis thus in the acts of a play, we perceive All the parts are not cast to the wise, or the brave; Not all is discoursed by the famed or the fair, The demons of dullness have also their share; Statira in play-house has not all the chance, For hags are permitted to join in the dance: Not Catos, or Platos engross every play, For clowns and clod-hoppers must, too, have their day; Not the nobles of nature say all that is said, And monarchs are frequently left in the shade; There must be some nonsense, to step in between, There must be some fools to enliven the scene.) Here was Doctor Sangrado, with potion and pill, And his price was the same, to recover or kill. He waddled about, and was vext to the soul To see so much health in this horrible hole; He seemed in a fret there was nobody sick, And enquired of the landlord, "What ails your son Dick?" "What ails him? (said Gubbins) why nothing at all!" "By my soul (said the quack) he's as white as the wall; I must give him a potion to keep down his gall! There is bile on his stomach--I clearly see that; This night he will vomit as black as my hat: Here's a puke and a purge--twelve doses of bark; Let him swallow them all--just an hour before dark!" "O dear! (said the mother) the lad is quite well!"-- Said the Doctor, "No, no! he must take calomel: It will put him to rights, as I hope to be saved!" "Or rather (said Gubbins) you hope him engraved!" So, the Doctor walked off in a pitiful plight, And he lodged in a dog-house (they told me) that night. Here were wives, and young widows, and matrons, and maids, Who came for their health, or to stroll in the shades; Here were Nellies, and Nancies, and Hetties, by dozens, With their neighbours, and nephews, and nieces, and cousins-- All these had come hither to see the famed Fall, And you, pretty Sally, the best of them all. Here was Saunders, the jockey, who rode a white horse, His last, it was said, and his only resource; And the landlord was careful to put us in mind That hell and destruction were riding behind: He often had told him, "Do, Saunders, take care, This swilling of gin is a cursed affair: Indeed--and it puts a man off from his legs, And brings us at last to be pelted with eggs-- The wit of your noddle should carry you through,-- Break your bottle of rum--give the devil his due! Keep the reason about you that nature designed, And you have the respect and regard of mankind!" This steed of poor Saunders' was woefully lean, And he looked, as we thought, like the flying machine; And, in short, it appeared, by the looks of his hide, That the stables he came from were poorly supplied: A bundle of bones--and they whispered it round, That he came from the hole where the Mammoth was found.[E] They stuff'd him with hay, and they crammed him with oats While Saunders was gaming and drinking with sots: (For the de'il in the shape of a bottle of rum Deceived him with visions of fortune to come;) His landlady had on the horse a sheep's-eye, So Saunders had plenty of whiskey and pye: He had gin of the best, and he treated all round, 'Till care was dismissed and solicitude drowned, And a reckoning was brought him of more than three pound. As he had not a groat in his lank looking purse, The landlord made seizure of saddle and horse:-- Scalpella, the hostess, cried, "Fly from this room, Or I'll sweep you away with my hickory broom!" Thus Saunders sneaked off in a sorrowful way, And the Falls were his fall--to be beggar next day.-- The lady of ladies that governed the inn Was a sharper indeed, and she kept such a din!-- Scalpella!--and may I remember the name!-- Could scratch like a tyger, or play a tight game. A bludgeon she constantly held in her hand, The sign of respect, and a sign of command: She could scream like a vulture, or wink like an owl; Not a dog in the street like Scalpella could howl.-- She was a Scalpella!--I am yet on her books, But, oh! may I never encounter her looks!-- I owe her five pounds--I am that in her debt, And my dues from the stars have not cleared it off yet. If she knew where I am!--I should fare very ill; Instead of some beer she would drench me with swill; I should curse and reflect on the hour I was born.-- If she thought I had fixed on the pitch of Cape Horn, She would find me!--Scalpella! set down what I owe In the page of bad debts--due to Scalpy and Co!-- Her boarders she hated, and drove with a dash, And nothing about them she liked but their cash; Except they were Tories--ah, then she was kind-- And said to their honours, "You are men to my mind! Sit down, my dear creatures--I hope you've not dined!"-- She talked of the king, and she talked of the queen, And she talked of her floors--that were not very clean:-- She talked of the parson, and spoke of the 'squire, She talked of her child that was singed in the fire-- The Tories, poor beings, were wishing to kiss her--oh-- If they had--all the stars would have fought against--Cicero.[F] She talked, and she talked--now angry, now civil, 'Till the Tories themselves wished her gone to the devil. How I tremble to think of her tongue and her stick,-- Tryphena, Tryphena! I've played the odd trick! Now the soldier re-entered--the ladies were struck: And "she that can win him will have the best luck!" "La! father (said Kitty) observe the bold man! I will peep at his phyz from behind my new fan! What a lace on his beaver!--his buttons all shine! In the cock of a hat there is something divine! Since the days of Goliah, I'll venture to lay There never was one that could stand in his way: What a nose!--what an eye!--what a gallant address! If he's not a hero, then call me Black Bess! What a gaite--what a strut--how noble and free! I'm ravished!--I'm ruined!---good father!--good me!" "Dear Kitty, (he answered) regard not his lace, The devil I see in the mould of his face: Cockades have been famous for crazing your sex Since Helen played truant, and left the poor Greeks; And while her good husband was sleeping, and snored, Eloped with Sir Knight from his bed, and his board.-- Three things are above me, yea, four, I maintain, Have puzzled the cunningest heads to explain! The way of a snake on a rock--very sly-- The way of an eagle, that travels the sky, The way of a ship in the midst of the sea, And the way of a soldier--with maidens like thee."

At length, a dark fortnight of weather came on, And most of us thought it high time to be gone.-- The moon was eclipsed, and she looked like a fright; Indeed--and it was a disconsolate night! Our purses were empty--the landlord looked sour, I gave them leg-bail in a terrible shower:-- Scalpella!--her face was as black as the moon, Her voice, was the screech of a harpy, or loon,-- I quitted Passaick--that elegant place, While a hurricane hindered them giving me chace.

[A] An English divine of considerable note, who died about a century ago.--_Freneau's note._

[B] William Smyth, Esq. Before the Revolution a celebrated lawyer in New York, author of the History of New Jersey, and other works. Afterwards, taking part with the British, he was made Chief Justice of Lower Canada--He is since dead.--_Freneau's note._

[C] Passaick Village is at present called Patterson, noted for its unfortunate manufacturing establishments.--_Freneau's note._

[D] William Franklin, Esq., then Governor of New Jersey.--_Freneau's note._

[E] These two lines were inserted since the first publication of this Poem in Sept., 1775.--_Freneau's note._

[F] They fought from heaven; the stars in their courses fought against Sisera. _Ancient History.--Freneau's note._

[59] Freneau mentions in this poem that it was printed in New York in September, 1775. I can find no trace of it, either as a separate publication or a contribution to a newspaper. As far as I can find, the poem is unique in the edition of 1809.

Mr. William Nelson of Paterson, N. J., Secretary of the New Jersey Historical Society, believes that the local allusions in the poem cannot be verified. He writes:

"There were but two taverns at the Passaic Falls at that time; one kept by Abraham Godwin, the other by James Leslie. Godwin and three of his sons went in the American Army at the beginning of the Revolution, and he died in the service. His widow survived him and carried on the tavern for a number of years. She had an intolerant hatred of all Tories. In 1776 Leslie was keeping a tavern at the present Passaic, a few miles below the Passaic Falls, and he continued there during the greater part of the Revolution, I think.

"The character of the tavern-keeper's wife, 'Scalpella,' is either purely fictitious or based on the character of some other person. Moreover, I do not think Passaic Falls was ever a summer resort of the character depicted in this poem. Travellers merely went there to see the Falls, occasionally staying over night, but I cannot think it possible that there could have been such a party assembled there at one time as indicated in the poem. I do not think the two taverns together could have accommodated so many people. The place was never called 'Passaic Village,' as stated in the note, but was known as Totown Bridge until 1792, when Paterson was founded. Passaic Village was the name given about forty years ago to the present city of Passaic.

"The only allusions in the poem which have some semblance of reality are the references to 'Miss Kitty,' by whom is perhaps meant the daughter of Lord Stirling; and 'Liberty Hall,' the residence of her uncle, Gov. Livingstone, near Elizabethtown. There was no such person as 'Gubbins.' I should think that the scene of the poem, if it has any foundation whatever in fact, was more probably laid somewhere near Philadelphia."

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