The principal poems in the following collection were written during an
absence of fourteen months from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not
the motive of my voyage to America, yet it happened that the gratification
of curiosity was the only advantage which I derived from it. Finding
myself in the country of a new people, whose infancy had promised so much,
and whose progress to maturity has been an object of such interesting
speculation, I determined to employ the short period of time, which my
plan of return to Europe afforded me, in travelling through a few of the
States, and acquiring some knowledge of the inhabitants.
The impression which my mind received from the character and manners of
these republicans, suggested the Epistles which are written from the city
of Washington and Lake Erie.[2] How far I was right in thus assuming the
tone of a satirist against a people whom I viewed but as a stranger and a
visitor, is a doubt which my feelings did not allow me time to
investigate. All I presume to answer for is the fidelity of the picture
which I have given; and though prudence might have dictated gentler
language, truth, I think, would have justified severer.
I went to America with prepossessions by no means unfavorable, and indeed
rather indulged in many of those illusive ideas, with respect to the
purity of the government and the primitive happiness of the people, which
I had early imbibed In my native country, where, unfortunately, discontent
at home enhances every distant temptation, and the western world has long
been looked to as a retreat from real or imaginary oppression; as, in
short, the elysian Atlantis, where persecuted patriots might find their
visions realized, and be welcomed by kindred spirits to liberty and
repose. In all these flattering expectations I found myself completely
disappointed, and felt inclined to say to America, as Horace says to his
mistress, "_intentata nites_." Brissot, in the preface to his travels,
observes, that "freedom in that country is carried to so high a degree as
to border upon a state of nature;" and there certainly is a close
approximation to savage life not only in the liberty which they enjoy, but
in the violence of party spirit and of private animosity which results
from it. This illiberal zeal imbitters all social intercourse; and, though
I scarcely could hesitate in selecting the party, whose views appeared to
me the more pure and rational, yet I was sorry to observe that, in
asserting their opinions, they both assume an equal share of intolerance;
the Democrats consistently with their principles, exhibiting a vulgarity
of rancor, which the Federalists too often are so forgetful of their cause
as to imitate.
The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and indeed the unpolished state
of society in general, would neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed
to flow from that simplicity of character, that honest ignorance of the
gloss of refinement which may be looked for in a new and inexperienced
people. But, when we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices,
and all the pride of civilization, while they are still so far removed
from its higher and better characteristics, it is impossible not to feel
that this youthful decay, this crude anticipation of the natural period of
corruption, must repress every sanguine hope of the future energy and
greatness of America.
I am conscious that, in venturing these few remarks, I have said just
enough to offend, and by no means sufficient to convince; for the limits
of a preface prevent me from entering into a justification of my opinions,
and I am committed on the subject as effectually as if I had written
volumes in their defence. My reader, however, is apprised of the very
cursory observation upon which these opinions are founded, and can easily
decide for himself upon the degree of attention or confidence which they
merit.
With respect to the poems in general, which occupy the following pages, I
know not in what manner to apologize to the public for intruding upon
their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, such a world of epicurean
atoms as I have here brought in conflict together. To say that I have been
tempted by the liberal offers of my bookseller, is an excuse which can
hope for but little indulgence from the critic; yet I own that, without
this seasonable inducement, these poems very possibly would never have
been submitted to the world. The glare of publication is too strong for
such imperfect productions: they should be shown but to the eye of
friendship, in that dim light of privacy which is as favorable to poetical
as to female beauty, and serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances
every charm which it displays. Besides, this is not a period for the idle
occupations of poetry, and times like the present require talents more
active and more useful. Few have now the leisure to read such trifles, and
I most sincerely regret that I have had the leisure to write them.
[1] This Preface, as well as the Dedication which precedes it, were
prefixed originally to the miscellaneous volume entitled "Odes and
Epistles," of which, hitherto, the poems relating to my American tour have
formed a part.
[2] Epistles VI., VII., and VIII.