The Poems of Philip Freneau - LightNovelsOnl.com
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[111] "'TIS THIS that will throw a new light on the ball."--_Ib._
[112] This stanza not in the _Time-Piece_ version.
[113] "The change of old manners."--_Ib._
[114] "To encircle a world that has long been debas'd."--_Ib._
ON THE WAR[115]
Projected with the Republic of France
The cause that rests on reason's ground, Shall potent through the world be found, Mankind must yield to that decree Which humbles pride and tyranny.
O'er this wide globe what darkness broods, What misery, murder, wars and feuds!-- Does man deserve the solar light While he performs the deeds of night?
When to the gates of modern Rome We see the gallic legions come, Their triumphs should, in honor, be To make them men, and make them free.
In these new wars new views we trace, Not fetters for the human race, And, France, where'er you dart your rays Old superst.i.tion's reign decays.
But look again!--what myriads join The vast reform to undermine!
What labor, bribes, and deep-laid schemes To quench the sun, and reason's beams!
Shall these succeed? and will that sun Continue, still, his race to run O'er scenes that he must blush to see Disorder, chains, and tyranny?
Must systems, still, of monstrous birth, Enslave mankind, deform this earth?
No!--to the question answers fate, These efforts come an age too late.
In such a system to combine, Columbia, can the wish be thine!
Could such a thought a.s.sail your heart, To take that base, ungrateful part.
From Britain's yoke so lately freed Would she her hosts, her legions lead To crush that power, which jointly gain'd And once her sinking cause sustain'd?
From all true hearts be banish'd far The thought of so profane a war-- A curse would on her arms attend And all her well-earn'd honors end.
Fortune no more your toils would crown, Your flag would fall before her frown; No gallant men the foe would dare, No Greenes no Was.h.i.+ngtons appear;
No chiefs, that check'd the pride of kings On Monmouth's plains--at Eutaw springs; But blundering hordes, not brave or warm, With broken heart, and nerveless arm,
Would sail, to attack your gallic foe, Would strive in vain a cause t'o'erthrow Which, sink or not, will live in fame, While Europe can one patriot claim.
[115] From the edition of 1815. It appeared first in the _Time-Piece_, March 29, 1797, under the t.i.tle "To the Americans."
TO MYRTALIS[116]
On her Lightning Wires, or Conductors[A]
[A] See Brydone's Letters from Sicily to Becksford, alderman of London. In one of these he seems, rather seriously, to argue, that any one, by being armed with a conductor, in a thunder squall, may probably be secure from danger of lightning.--It is said the plan has been carried into practice in Scotland.--_Freneau's Note._
How bold this project, to defy The artillery of a summer sky: Round you, unmoved, the lightning plays, While others perish in the blaze.
The fluid fire, in deafening peals, Along the warm conductor steals; And thence directed to the ground, It glances off without a wound!
Thus guarded, while the heavens are bowed, You, fearless, see the pa.s.sing cloud; And Jove's red bolts unheeded fall, Near You, who slight, or scorn them all.
The beaver on your sacred scull, (Secure as Salamander's wool) a.s.sists to keep from your rigg'd head The flash that strikes us, wretches, dead.
But while the sulphur of the skies, Disarmed, from this fair lady flies; Or while the warm electric fire In flashes darts along her spire,
She, not so merciful or kind, (Or we, not guarded to her mind) By Cupid's darts, procures our fall, By Cupid's arrows kills us all.
[116] Published in the _Time-Piece_, April 7, 1797. Text from the 1809 edition.
TO MR. BLANCHARD[117]
The celebrated aeronaut, on his ascent in a Balloon, from the jail-yard in Philadelphia, 1793
By Science taught, on silken wings Beyond our grovelling race you rise, And, soaring from terrestial things, Explore a pa.s.sage to the skies-- O, could I thus exalted sail, And rise, with you, beyond the Jail!
Ah! when you rose, impell'd by fear Each bosom heav'd a thousand sighs; To you each female lent a tear, And held the 'kerchief to her eyes: All hearts still follow'd, as you flew, All eyes admir'd a sight so new.
Whoe'er shall thus presume to fly, While downward with disdain they look Shall own this journey, through the sky, The dearest jaunt they ever took; And choose, next time, without reproach, A humbler seat in Inskeep's coach.
The birds, that cleave the expanse of air, Admiring, view your globe full-blown, And, chattering round the painted car, Complain your flight out-does their own: Beyond their track you proudly swim, Nor fear the loss of life or limb.
How vast the height, how grand the scene That your enraptured eye surveys, When, towering in your gay machine, You leave the astonish'd world to gaze, And, wandering in the aetherial blue, Our eyes, in vain, your course pursue.
The Orb of Day, how dazzling bright!
In paler radiance gleams the Moon, And Terra, whence you took your flight, Appears to you--a meer balloon: Its noisy crew no longer heard, Towns, cities, forests, disappear'd.
Yet, travelling through the azure road, Soar not too high for human ken; Reflect, our humble safe abode Is all that Nature meant for men: Take in your sails before you freeze, And sink again among the trees.
[117] Published in the _Time-Piece and Literary Companion_, May 15, 1797, under the t.i.tle "Stanzas Written Some Years Since on Mr.
Blanchard's Forty-fifth Ascension from the Jail-Yard in Philadelphia, January 9, 1793." Text from the 1795 edition.
