The Poems of Philip Freneau - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Puisse-je au printems de ma vie Te voir les despotes soumis Et que par toi l'univers libre De l'Amazone jusqu'au Tibre N'offre que des peuples amis!
ODE[68]
G.o.d save the Rights of Man!
Give us a heart to scan Blessings so dear: Let them be spread around Wherever man is found, And with the welcome sound Ravish his ear.
Let us with France agree, And bid the world be free, While tyrants fall!
Let the rude savage host Of their vast numbers boast-- Freedom's almighty trust Laughs at them all!
Though hosts of slaves conspire To quench fair Gallia's fire, Still shall they fail: Though traitors round her rise, Leagu'd with her enemies, To war each patriot flies, And will prevail.
No more is valour's flame Devoted to a name, Taught to adore-- Soldiers of Liberty Disdain to bow the knee, But teach Equality To every sh.o.r.e.
The world at last will join To aid thy grand design, Dear Liberty!
To Russia's frozen lands The generous flame expands: On Afric's burning sands Shall man be free!
In this our western world Be Freedom's flag unfurl'd Through all its sh.o.r.es!
May no destructive blast Our heaven of joy o'ercast, May Freedom's fabric last While time endures.
If e'er her cause require!-- Should tyrants e'er aspire To aim their stroke, May no proud despot daunt-- Should he his standard plant, Freedom will never want Her hearts of oak!
[68] This ode was sung at the Civic Feast given to Genet in Philadelphia by the French and Citizens, June 1, 1793. The affair is described in detail in Bache's _Aurora_ of June 4th. After three of the toasts the artillery fired salutes with two twelve pounders, fifteen rounds each.
Freneau's ode was sung after the seventh toast, "with great effect." As to the date of composition of the ode I can find no reliable evidence.
Conway, in his life of Paine, mentions that it was sung in 1791 at the November Festival of the London Revolution Society. It was published in the edition of 1795, but was not reproduced in 1809.
ON THE DEATH[69]
Of a Republican Printer
[By his Partner and Successor]
Like Sybil's leaves, abroad he spread His sheets, to awe the aspiring crew: Stock-jobbers fainted while they read; Each hidden scheme display'd to view-- Who could such doctrines spread abroad So long, and not be clapper-claw'd!
Content with slow uncertain gains, With heart and hand prepar'd he stood To send his works to distant plains, And hills beyond the Ohio-flood-- And, since he had no time to lose, Preach'd whiggish lectures with his news.
Now death, with cold unsparing hand, (At whose decree even Capets fall) From life's poor gla.s.s has shook his sand, And sent him, fainting, to the wall-- Because he gave you some sad wipes, O Mammon! seize not thou his types.
What shall be done, in such a case?-- Shall I, because my partner fails, Call in his bull-dogs from the chace To loll their tongues and drop their tails-- No, faith--the t.i.tle-hunting crew No longer fly than we pursue.
[69] Published in the _National Gazette_, July 6, 1793, under the t.i.tle "Reflections on the Death of a Country Printer." Republished in the edition of 1795, which the text follows, and not inserted in the 1809 edition.
ON THE ANNIVERSARY[70]
Of the Storming of the Bastille, at Paris, July 14th, 1789
The chiefs that bow to Capet's reign, In mourning, now, their weeds display; But we, that scorn a monarch's chain, Combine to celebrate the Day To Freedom's birth that put the seal, And laid in dust the proud Bastille.
To Gallia's rich and splendid crown, This mighty Day gave such a blow As Time's recording hand shall own No former age had power to do: No single gem some Brutus stole, But instant ruin seiz'd the whole.
Now tyrants rise, once more to bind In royal chains a nation freed-- Vain hope! for they, to death consign'd, Shall soon, like perjur'd Louis, bleed: O'er every king, o'er every queen Fate hangs the sword, and guillotine.
"Plung'd in a gulf of deep distress France turns her back--(so traitors say) Kings, priests, and n.o.bles, round her press, Resolv'd to seize their destin'd prey: Thus Europe swears (in arms combin'd) To Poland's doom is France consign'd."
Yet those, who now are thought so low From conquests that were basely gain'd, Shall rise tremendous from the blow And free Two Worlds, that still are chain'd, Restrict the Briton to his isle, And Freedom plant in every soil.
Ye sons of this degenerate clime, Haste, arm the barque, expand the sail; a.s.sist to speed that golden time When Freedom rules, and monarchs fail; All left to France--new powers may join, And help to crush the cause divine.
Ah! while I write, dear France Allied, My ardent wish I scarce restrain, To throw these Sybil leaves aside, And fly to join you on the main: Unfurl the topsail for the chace And help to crush the tyrant race!
[70] Printed in the _National Gazette_, July 17, 1793, and republished in the edition of 1795. Omitted from the edition of 1809.
THOUGHTS ON THE EUROPEAN WAR SYSTEM[71]
By H. Salem
The People in Europe are much to be praised, That in fighting they choose to be pa.s.sing their days; If their wars were abolished, there's room to suppose Our Printers would growl, for the want of New-News.
May our tidings of warfare be ever from thence, Nor that page be supplied at Columbia's expence!
No kings shall rise here, at the nod of a court, Ambition, or Pride, with men's lives for to sport.
In such a display of the taste of the times-- The murder of millions--their quarrels and crimes, A horrible system of ruin we scan, A history, truly descriptive of man:
A Being, that Nature designed to be blest-- With abundance around him--yet rarely at rest, A Being, that lives but a moment in years, Yet wasting his life in contention and wars; A Being, sent hither all good to bestow, Yet filling the world with oppression and woe!
But, consider, ye sages, (and pray be resigned) What ills would attend a reform of mankind-- Were wars at an end, and no nation made thinner, My neighbour, the gun-smith, would go without dinner; The Printers, themselves, for employment would fail, And soldiers, by thousands, be starving in jail.
[71] Published in the 1795 and 1809 editions, the latter of which I have followed.
