The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 58

Ah! Give him a tomb, for a tomb is his due, A s.h.i.+lling, great man, is a trifle to You: If you give him a tomb, that his name may survive, May Fortune attend you, and help you to thrive: May you always have something to praise and approve, And the pleasure to dream of the girl that you love.

Prepar'd for the worst, but enjoying the best, With a girl and a bottle he feather'd his nest: Half sick of the world, in the wane of his life, To hasten his exit, he took him a wife, But, finding his fair one a d.a.m.nable elf, He grounded his arms--and took leave of himself.

[371] Ent.i.tled in 1788, "Patrick Mulhoni. A Subscription Prayer. _Date obolum Belisario._" Text from the 1795 edition.

EPISTLE TO THE PATRIOTIC FARMER[372]

Thus, while new laws the stubborn States reclaim, And most for pensions, some for honours aim, You, who first aimed a shaft at George's crown, And marked the way to conquest and renown, While from the vain, the lofty, and the proud, Retiring to your groves, you shun the crowd,-- Can toils, like yours, in cold oblivion end, Columbia's patriot, and her earliest friend?

Blest, doubly blest, from public scenes retired, Where public welfare all your bosom fired; Your life's best days in studious labours past Your deeds of virtue make your bliss at last; When all things fail, the soul must rest on these!-- May heaven restore you to your favourite trees, And calm content, best lot to man a.s.signed, Be heaven's reward to your exalted mind.

When her base projects you beheld, with pain, And early doomed an end to Britain's reign.

When rising n.o.bly in a generous cause (Sworn foe to tyrants and imported laws) Thou d.i.c.kinson! the patriot and the sage, How much we owed to your convincing page:[A]

That page--the check of tyrants and of knaves, Gave birth to heroes who had else been slaves, Who, taught by you, denied a monarch's sway; And if they brought him low--you planned the way.

Though in this glare of pomp you take no part Still must your conduct warm each generous heart: What, though you shun the patriot vain and loud, While hosts neglect, that once to merit bowed, Shun those gay scenes, were recent laurels grow, The mad Procession, and the painted show; In days to come, when pomp and pride resign, Who would not change his proudest wreathes for thine, In fame's fair fields such well-earned honours share, And d.i.c.kinson confess unrivalled there! [1788]

[A] The Farmer's Letters, and others of his truly valuable writings.--_Freneau's note._

[372] John d.i.c.kinson (1732-1808), a lawyer in Philadelphia, and a member of the Colonial Congress of 1765 and of the Continental Congress of 1774, first came into wide prominence in 1767 through the publication of his series of papers ent.i.tled "Letters from a Pennsylvania Farmer to the Inhabitants of the British Colonies." From this time until his death he was a vigorous and voluminous publicist. His influence upon his times was very great. The text of the poem is from the 1809 edition.

PALEMON TO LAVINIA[373]

[Written 1788]

"Torn from your arms by rude relentless hands, No tears recall our lost Alcander home, Who, far removed by fierce piratic bands, Finds in a foreign soil[A] an early tomb:

[A] Algiers, the piratical city on the coast of Barbary.--_Freneau's note._

Well may you grieve!--his race so early done, No years he reached, to urge some task sublime;-- No conquests made, no brilliant action won, No verse to bear him through the gulph of time.

Amidst these shades and heart depressing glooms, What comfort shall we give--what can we say; In her distress shall we discourse on tombs, Or tell Lavinia, 'tis a cloudy day?

The pensive priest accosts her with a sigh: With movement slow, in sable robes he came-- But why so sad, philosopher, ah, why, Since from the tomb alone all bliss we claim?

By pining care and wakeful sorrow worn, While silent griefs her downcast heart engage, She saw me go, and saw me thrice return To pen my musings on some vacant page.

To learning's store, to Galen's science bred, I saw Orestes rove through all the plain: His pensive step no friendly genius led To find one plant that might relieve your pain!

Say, do I wake?--or are your woes a dream!

Depart, dread vision!--waft me far away: Seek me no more by this sky painted stream That glides, unconscious, to the Indian bay.

Alcander!--ah!--what tears for thee must flow-- What doom awaits the wretch that tortured thee!

May never flower in his cursed garden blow, May never fruit enrich his hated tree:

May that fine spark, which Nature lent to man, Reason, be thou extinguished in his brain; Sudden his doom, contracted be his span, Ne'er to exist, or spring from dust again.

May no kind genius save his step from harms: Where'er he sails, may tempests rend the sea; May never maiden yield to him her charms, Nor prattling infant hang upon his knee!

Retire, retire, forget the inhuman sh.o.r.e: Dark is the sun, when woes like these dismay; Resign your groves, and view with joy no more The fragrant orange, and the floweret gay."

[373] First published in the 1795 edition. Text from the edition of 1809.

A NEWSMAN'S ADDRESS[374]

Though past events are hourly read, The various labours of the dead, In vain their story we recall, The rise of empires, or the fall; Our modern men, a busy crew, Must, in their turn, have something new.

By moralists we have been told That "Time himself in time grows old; "The seasons change, the moons decay, "The sun s.h.i.+nes weaker every day, "Justice is from the world withdrawn, "Virtue and friends.h.i.+p almost gone, "Religion fails (the clergy shew) "And man, alas, must vanish too."

Let others such opinions hold, (Since grumbling has been always old;) All Nature must decay, 'tis true, But Nature shall her face renew, Her travels in a circle make, Freeze but to thaw, sleep but to wake.

Die but to live, and live to die, In summer smile, in autumn sigh, Resume the garb that once she wore, Repeat the words she said before, Bow down with age, or, fresh and gay, Change, only to prevent decay.

As up and down, with weary feet, I travel each fatiguing street, Meeting the frowns of party men, Foes to the freedom of the pen, And to your doors our sheets convey-- I sometimes think I hear you say, "Ah, were it not for what he brings, (This messenger of many things) We should be in a sorry plight; The wars of Europe out of sight, No paragraphs of home affairs To tell us how the fabric wears Which Freedom built on Virtue's plan, And Virtue only can maintain."

But something further you pretend,-- From want of money, heaven defend!

Leave that to those who sleep in sheds, Or on the pavement make their beds, Who clean the streets, or carry news, Repair old coats, or cobble shoes-- Of every ill with which we're curs'd This want of money is the worst: This was the curse that fell on Cain, The vengeance for a brother slain: For this he quit his native sod, Retreated to the land of Nod, And, in the torture of despair, Turn'd poet, pimp, or newsman there-- Divines have labour'd in the dark To find the meaning of his mark: How many idle things they wrote-- 'Twas nothing but a ragged coat.

Should money, now, be scarce with you, With me, alas, 'tis nothing new!

We news-men always are in need, (So Beer and Bacchus have decreed) And still your bounty shall implore Till--printing presses are no more!-- Did we not conjure up our strain The year might come and go again, Seasons advance, and moons decay, And life itself make haste away, And news-men only vex their brains To have their labour for their pains-- Such usage I may find, 'tis true, But then it would be--something new!

[374] I have not been able to find the paper which first used these New Year's verses. The 1788 edition gave them the t.i.tle "New Year's Verses for 1788. [Supposed to be written by the Printer's lad, who supplies the customers with his weekly paper.]" Text from the edition of 1795.

ON THE PROSPECT OF A REVOLUTION IN FRANCE[375]

_"Now, at the feast they plan the fall of Troy; "The stern debate ATRIDES hears with joy"._ --_Hom. Odys._

Borne on the wings of time another year Sprung from the past, begins its proud career: From that bright spark which first illumed these lands, See Europe kindling, as the blaze expands, Each gloomy tyrant, sworn to chain the mind, Presumes no more to trample on mankind: Even potent Louis trembles on his throne, The generous prince who made our cause his own, More equal rights his injured subjects claim, No more a country's strength--that country's shame; Fame starts astonished at such prizes won, And rashness wonders how the work was done.

Flushed with new life, and brightening at the view, Genius, triumphant, moulds the world anew; To these far climes in swift succession moves Each art that Reason owns and sense approves.

What though his age is bounded to a span Time sheds a conscious dignity on man, Some happier breath his rising pa.s.sion swells, Some kinder genius his bold arm impels, Dull superst.i.tion from the world retires, Disheartened zealots haste to quench their fires; One equal rule o'er twelve[A] vast States extends, Europe and Asia join to be our friends, Our active flag in every clime displayed Counts stars on colours that shall never fade; A far famed chief o'er this vast whole presides Whose motto Honor is--whom Virtue guides His walks forsaken in Virginia's groves Applauding thousands bow where'er He moves, Who laid the basis of this Empire sure Where public faith should public peace secure.

Still may she rise, exalted in her aims, And boast to every age her patriot names, To distant climes extend her gentle sway, While choice--not force--bids every heart obey: Ne'er may she fail when Liberty implores, Nor want true valour to defend her sh.o.r.es, 'Till Europe, humbled, greets our western wave, And owns an equal--whom she wished a slave.

[A] At this time, Rhode-Island was not a member of the general Confederation of the American States. [1788]--_Freneau's note._

[375] This appeared first in the _Daily Advertiser_ of New York, March 7, 1790. It is the first of Freneau's series of poems on the French Revolution and its message. Text from the edition of 1809.