The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 47

What now is left of all that won The eye of mirth while summer stay'd-- The birds that sported in the sun, The sport is past, the song is done; And nature's naked forms declare, The rifled groves, the vallies bare, Persuasively, tho' silent, tell, That at the best they were but drest Sad mourners for the funeral bell!

Now while I spread the venturous sail To catch the breeze from yonder hill, Say, what does all this folly mean?

Why grieve to pa.s.s the wat'ry scene?

Is fort.i.tude to heaven confin'd?-- No--planted also in the mind, She smooths the ocean when she will.

But life is pain--what ills must try, What malice dark and calumny, Indifference, with her careless eye, And slander, with her tale begun; Bold ignorance, with forward air, And cowardice, that has no share In honours gain'd, or trophies won.

To these succeed, (and these are few Of nature's dark, unseemly crew) Unsocial pride, and cold disgust, Servility, that licks the dust; Those harpies that disgrace the mind; Unknown to haunt the human breast When pleasure her first garden dress'd-- But vanish'd is the shade so gay, And lost in gloom the summer day That charm'd the soul to rest.

What season shall restore that scene When all was calm and all serene, And happiness no empty sound, The golden age, that pleas'd so well?-- The Mind that made it shall not tell To those on life's uncertain road; Where lost in folly's idle round, And seeking what shall ne'er be found We press to one abode.

[315] This poem was first published in the _Freeman's Journal_, April 18, 1787, with a note "Written at leaving Sandy Hook on a voyage to the West Indies." It is dated Nov. 26, 1785; it was, therefore, written at sea. It was published in the 1788 edition, which the text follows, and omitted from the 1809 edition.

A NEWSMAN'S ADDRESS[316]

Old Eighty-Five discharg'd and gone, Another year comes hastening on To quit us in its turn: With outspread wings and running gla.s.s Thus Time's deluding seasons pa.s.s, And leave mankind to mourn.

But strains like this add grief to grief;-- We are the lads that give relief With sprightly wit and merry lay: Our various page to all imparts Amus.e.m.e.nt fit for social hearts, And drives the monster, spleen, away.

Abroad our leaves of knowledge fly, And twice a week they live and die; Short seasons of repose!

Fair to your view our toils display The monarch's aim, what patriots say, Or sons of art disclose:

Whate'er the barque of commerce brings From sister States, or foreign kings, No atom we conceal: All Europe's prints we hourly drain, All Asia's news our leaves contain, And round our world we deal.

If falsehoods sometimes prompt your fears, And horrid news from proud Algiers, That gives our tars such pain; Remember all must have their share, And all the world was made for care, The monarch and the swain.

If British isles (that once were free, In Indian seas, to you and me) All entrance still restrain, Why let them starve with all their host When British pride gives up the ghost, And courts our aid in vain.

We fondly hope some future year Will all our clouded prospects clear, And commerce stretch her wings; New tracks of trade new wealth disclose, While round the globe our standard goes In spite of growling kings.

Materials thus together drawn To tell you how the world goes on May surely claim regard; One simple word we mean to say, This is our jovial New Year's day, And now, our toils reward.

[316] Freneau arrived in Charleston Dec. 8, and remained there until Jan. 23, when he cleared for Sunbury. On Jan. 1st, he wrote the above verses for the carriers of the Charleston _Columbian Herald_. They were republished in the editions of 1788 and 1795, which later edition the text follows.

LITERARY IMPORTATION[317]

However we wrangled with Britain awhile We think of her now in a different stile, And many fine things we receive from her isle; Among all the rest, Some demon possessed Our dealers in knowledge and sellers of sense To have a good bishop imported from thence.

The words of Sam Chandler[A] were thought to be vain, When he argued so often and proved it so plain "That Satan must flourish till bishops should reign:"

Though he went to the wall With his project and all, Another bold Sammy[B], in bishop's array, Has got something more than his pains for his pay.

[A] "Who laboured for the establishment of an American Episcopacy, previously to the revolutionary war."--_Freneau's note._

[B] Bishop Samuel Seabury, of Connecticut.--_Ib._

It seems we had spirit to humble a throne, Have genius for science inferior to none, But hardly encourage a plant of our own: If a college be planned, 'Tis all at a stand 'Till to Europe we send at a shameful expense, To send us a book-worm to teach us some sense.

Can we never be thought to have learning or grace Unless it be brought from that horrible[318] place Where tyranny reigns with her impudent face; And popes and pretenders, And sly faith-defenders Have ever been hostile to reason and wit, Enslaving a world that shall conquer them yet.

'Tis a folly to fret at the picture I draw: And I say what was said by a Doctor Magraw;[C]

"If they give us their Bishops, they'll give us their law."

How that will agree With such people as we, Let us leave to the learned to reflect on awhile, And say what they think in a handsomer stile.

[C] A noted pract.i.tioner in physic, formerly of N. York.--_Freneau's note, Ed. 1788._

[317] First published, as far as can be learned, in the 1788 edition, and dated Charleston, S. C., 1786. The text is taken from the edition of 1809.

[318] "d.a.m.nable."--_Ed. 1788._

THE ENGLISHMAN'S COMPLAINT[319]

In Carolina

Arriving from Britain with cargo so nice Once more have I touched at these regions of rice!

Dear Ashley, with pleasure thy stream I review: But how changed are these plains that we wished to subdue.

If through the wild woods he extended his reign, And death and the hangman were both in his train, Cornwallis no longer disturbs your repose, His lords.h.i.+p is dead or at least in a doze.

By Sullivan's island how quiet we pa.s.s; Fort Johnson no longer salutes us, alas!-- The season has been you did nothing but mourn, But now you will laugh at a Briton's return!

Instead of gay soldiers that walked the parade, Here is nothing but draymen and people in trade; Instead of our navy that thundered around, Here is nothing but s.h.i.+ps without guns to be found.

Instead of Lord Rawdon and Nesbit Balfour, Whose names and whose notions you cannot endure, But whom in their glory you could not forget When puffed by the froth of the Royal Gazette:

Instead of those tyrants, who homewards have flown, This country is ruled by a race of its own, Whom once we could laugh at--but now we must say Seem rising to be in a handsomer way.

To us and our island eternally foes, How tedious you are in forgetting your woes, Your plundered plantations you still will remember, Although we have left you--three years last December!

[319] This first appeared in the 1788 edition. The date of composition is indicated by the last line. The British evacuated the city in 1782.

The edition of 1809 has been followed.