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