Facta Majorum, veluti in Speculum ostendit Historia—Judex œquus
bonorum et malorum.
It is not without reason, that history has always been considered as
the light of ages, the depository of events, the faithful evidence of
truth, the source of prudence and good counsel, and the rule of
conduct and manners—confined without it to the bounds of the age and
country wherein we live, and shut up within the narrow circle of such
branches of knowledge as are peculiar to us, and the limits of our own
private reflections, we continue in a kind of infancy which leaves us
strangers to the rest of the world, and profoundly ignorant of all
that has preceded, or even now surrounds us. What is the small number
of years which make up the longest life, or what the extent of country
which we are able to possess or travel over, but an imperceptible
point in comparison of the vast regions of the universe, and the long
series of ages which have succeeded one another since the creation of
the world? And yet all we are capable of knowing must be limited to
this point, unless we call in the study of history to our aid, which
opens to us every age and every country, keeps up a correspondence
between us and the great men of antiquity, sets all their actions, all
their achievements, virtues and faults, before our eyes, and by the
prudent reflections it either presents or gives us an opportunity of
making, soon teaches us to be wise in a manner far superior to the
lessons of the greatest masters.
History may properly be called the common school of mankind, equally
open and useful both to great and small; those necessary and important
services can be obtained only by its assistance, as having the power
of speaking freely, and the right of passing an absolute judgment on
actions of every denomination. Though the abilities of the great may
be extolled, their wit and valor admired, and their exploits and
conquest boasted, yet if all these have no foundation in truth and
justice, history will tacitly pass sentence upon them, under borrowed
names. The greatest part of the most famous conquerors, we shall find
treated as public calamities, the enemies of mankind, and the robbers
of nations; who, hurried on by a restless and blind ambition, carry
desolation from country to country, and like an inundation or a fire,
ravage all they meet in their way. We shall see a Caligula, a Nero and
a Domitian, who, praised to excess during their lives, become the
horror and execration of mankind after their deaths; whereas a Titus,
a Trajan and a Marcus Aurelius, are still looked upon as the delights
of the world. It is history which fixes the seal of immortality on
actions truly great, and sets a mark of infancy on vices, which no
after-age can ever obliterate. It is by history that mistaken merit
and oppressed virtue appeal to the uncorrupted tribunal of posterity,
which renders them that justice, which their own age has sometimes
refused them, and, without respect of persons, and the fear of a power
which subsists no more, condemns the unjust abuse of authority with
inexorable rigor.
There is no age or condition, which may not derive the same advantages
from History; and what has been said of princes and conquerors,
comprehends also in some measure, persons in power, ministers of
state, generals of armies, officers, magistrates, and in a word all
those who have authority over others, for such persons have sometimes
more haughtiness, pride and petulance, in a very limited station, and
carry their despotic disposition and arbitrary power to the greatest
lengths.
Thus history we see, when it is well taught, becomes a school of
morality for all mankind; it condemns vice, throws off the mask from
false virtues, lays open popular errors and prejudices, dispels the
delusive charms of riches, and all the vain pomp which dazzles the
imagination, and shows by a thousand examples that are more availing
than all reasonings whatever, that nothing is great and commendable
but honor and probity. From the esteem and admiration which the most
corrupt cannot refuse to the great and good actions which history lays
before them, it confirms the great and important truth, that virtue is
man’s real good, and alone can render him truly great and valuable.
This virtue we are taught by history to revere, and to discern its
beauty and brightness through the veils of poverty, adversity and
obscurity, and sometimes even of disgrace and infamy; and on the other
hand, it inspires us with contempt and horror of vice, though clothed
in purple and surrounded with splendor.
_Literary Society, February 11th, 1780_.
THE EXILE’S
ADIEU TO HIS NATIVE LAND.
[Written several years ago.]
The hour is come, and I must part,
My native land, with thee;
The scenes, the ties that hold my heart,
Are thine, fair Land of Liberty! {773}
But _these_, and all beside I leave,
To venture on the ocean wave;
Compell’d, alas! compell’d to be
An exile from my _home_ and _thee_!
The hill, the lawn, the blushing vine,
That deck my place of birth,
My much lov’d native land, are thine,
And sacred is thy earth;
For thou contain’st a father’s grave,
Who died, thy soil and rights to save—
Yet, I am thus compell’d to be
An exile from them all and thee.
Beside, the ties by nature given,
To bind us to our kind—
All, _but_ the fadeless _hope_ of heaven,
I leave with thee behind:
Then while the vessel lingers here,
Accept, my native land, _a tear_;
Alas! I am compell’d to be
An exile from my home and thee.
Away! away! how swiftly we
Are swept across the brine;
_Yon_ far blue spot is all I see,
But oh! that spot is thine.
A weeping exile bids adieu
To friends he never more shall view;
Alas! he is compell’d to be
A wanderer, fair land, from thee!
But _hope_, and recollections bright,
With him will always be,
And like the brilliant star of night,
Dispel his misery.
For thinking on thy sons, I’ll deem
Myself among them; though a dream,
’Twill consolation sometimes give,
To know for _thee_ they _only_ live.
Pure as thy native air and sky,
Thy daughters, slaves can never nurse;
Too noble, they had rather die,
Than give or bear the fatal curse.
Around thy banner, at the call,
Oh, may thy offspring stand or fall;
And though to friendless climes I flee,
My warmest prayers shall be for thee.
The sun that sets will rise again,
But I can never see
His rays upon my native plain,
Nor _friends_ to welcome me.
Adieu, forever! who can tell
The sorrow of this last farewell?
But fate ordains, and I _must_ be
An exile from my home and _thee_.