The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 33

Long, long may every good be thine, Sweet country, named from Caroline, Once seen in Britain's court to s.h.i.+ne The fairest of the fair: Still may the wanderer find a home Where'er thy varied forests bloom, And peace and pleasure with him come To take their station here.

Here Ashley, with his brother stream, By Charleston gliding, all, may claim, That ever graced a poet's dream Or sooth'd a statesman's cares; She, seated near her forests blue, Which winter's rigor never knew, With half an ocean in her view Her s.h.i.+ning turrets rears.

Here stately oaks of living green Along the extended coast are seen, That rise beneath a heaven serene, Unfading through the year-- In groves the tall Palmetto grows, In shades inviting to repose, The fairest, loveliest, scenes disclose-- All nature charms us here.

Dark wilds are thine, the yellow field, And rivers by no frost congeal'd, And, Ceres, all that you can yield To deck the festive board; The snow white fleece, from pods that grows, And every seed that Flora sows-- The orange and the fig-tree shows A paradise restored.

There rural love to bless the swains In the bright eye of beauty reigns, And brings a heaven upon the plains From some dear Emma's charms; Some Laura fair who haunts the mead, Some Helen, whom the graces lead, Whose charms the charms of her exceed That set the world in arms.

And distant from the sullen roar Of ocean, bursting on the sh.o.r.e, A region rises, valued more Than all the sh.o.r.es possess: There lofty hills their range display, Placed in a climate ever gay, From wars and commerce far away, Sweet nature's wilderness.

There all that art has taught to bloom, The streams that from the mountain foam, And thine, Eutaw, that distant roam, Impart supreme delight: The prospect to the western glade, The ancient forest, undecay'd-- All these the wildest scenes have made That ever awed the sight.

There Congaree his torrent pours, Saluda, through the forest roars, And black Catawba laves his sh.o.r.es With waters from afar, Till mingled with the proud Santee, Their strength, united, finds the sea, Through many a plain, by many a tree, Then rush across the bar.

But, where all nature's fancies join, Were but a single acre mine, Blest with the cypress and the pine, I would request no more; And leaving all that once could please, The northern groves and stormy seas-- I would not change such scenes as these For all that men adore.

[153] This period comprises the time between the poet's abandonment of the _Time-Piece_ in New York in 1798, and his final farewell to the sea, which was, in reality, in 1807. During this time Freneau lived in retirement at Mount Pleasant, making now and then voyages along the southern coast and to the Madeira Islands. The poems of the period dwell largely on the dangers of monarchy. He became more and more philosophical as he grew older. He delighted in his leisure hours to translate from the old Latin writers, and to make moralizing verses of a somewhat tedious nature. I have omitted all of the translations of this period and most of the moralizings.

[154] Freneau sailed as pa.s.senger to Charleston, January 3, 1798, and arrived on February 3, after a rough voyage. He sailed back from Charleston in the s.h.i.+p _Maria_, March 7, arriving in New York one week later. Text from the 1815 edition.

ODE TO THE AMERICANS[155]

That the progress of liberty and reason in the world is slow and gradual; but, considering the present state of things, and the light of science universally spreading, that it cannot be long impeded, or its complete establishment prevented.--1798

They who survey the human stage, In reason's view; through time's past age, Will find, whatever nature plann'd Came, first, imperfect from her hand, Or what ourselves imperfect call; In nature's eye, though perfect all--

To man she gave to improve, adorn; But let him halt--and all things turn To a.s.sume their wild primeval cast, The growth of a neglected waste.

Yond' stately trees, so fresh and fair, That now such golden burthens bear, Were once mean shrubs that, far from view, In desert woods, unthrifty grew.

Man saw the seeds of something good In these rude children of the wood; Apply'd the knife, and pruned with care, Till art has made them what they are.

With curious eye, search history's page, And Man observe, through every age; At first a mere barbarian, he Bore nothing good, (like that wild tree).

At length by thought and reason's aid, Reflection piercing night's dark shade, Improvements gain'd, by slow advance Direction, not the work of chance.

Forsaking, first, the savage den And fellow-beasts less fierce than men, New plans they form'd for war or power, And sunk the ditch and raised the tower.

In course of years the human mind, Advancing slow proved more refined, Less brutal in external show, But native mischief lurk'd below.

Despots and kings begun their part, And millions fell by rules of art; Or malice, rankling all the while, Lay hid beneath the treacherous smile.

Religion brought her potent aid To kings, their subjects to degrade-- Religion!--to profane your name The hag of superst.i.tion came,

And seized your place, the world to ensnare, A bitter harvest doom'd to bear!

And priests, or history much deceives, Turn'd aide-de-camps to sceptred thieves.

At last that Cherub from the skies, (Our nature meant to humanize) And sway, without a king or crown, Philosophy, from heaven came down.

Adorn'd with all her native charms She clasp'd her offspring in her arms, In hope the mists of night to chase And hold them in her fond embrace.

She, only she, for virtue warm Dissolved the spell and broke the charm, That bade mankind their hands imbue In blood, to please the scheming few.

Arm'd with a dart of fire and love She left the seats and courts above, And her celestial power display'd Not to compel, but to persuade.

The moment she had whirl'd her sling Each trembling war-hawk droop'd his wing: They saw that reason's game was won, They saw the trade of tyrants done:

And all was calm--she saw, well pleased, The havoc done, the tumult ceased, She saw her throne was now adored, She saw the reign of peace restored,

And said, 'I leave you--pray, be wise!

'I'm on a visit to the skies, 'Let incense on my altars burn 'And you'll be blest till I return.'

But sad reverse!--when out of sight The fiends of darkness watch'd her flight-- What she had built, they soon displaced, Her temples burn'd, her tracks effaced.

Their force they join'd, to quench her flame, A thousand ghastly legions came To blast the blossom in the bud And retrograde to chains and blood.

The people--to be bought and sold, Were still the prize they wish'd to hold;-- All peasants, soldiers, sailors, slaves, The common sink of rogues and knaves.

Yet, nature must her circle run-- Can they arrest the rising sun?

Prevent his warm reviving ray, Or shade the influence of the day?

If Europe to the yoke returns, Columbia at the idea spurns-- Let Britain wield barbarian rage We meet her here, through every stage.

In vain her navy spreads its sails, The strength of mind at last prevails; And reason! thy prodigious power Has brought it to its closing hour.

Appeal to arms henceforth should cease, And man might learn to live in peace; No kings with iron hearts should reign, To seize old ocean's free domain.

Americans! would you conspire To extinguish this increasing fire?

Would you, so late from fetters freed, Join party in so base a deed?

Would you dear freedom sacrifice, Bid navies on the ocean rise, Be bound by military laws, And all, to aid a tyrant's cause?

Oh, no! but should all shame forsake, And grat.i.tude her exit make, Could you, as thousands say you can, Desert the common cause of man?

A curse would on your efforts wait Old british sway to reinstate; No hireling hosts could force a crown Nor keep the bold republic down:

The rising race, combined once more, Would honor to our cause restore, And in your doom and downfall seal Such woes as wicked kings shall feel.

O liberty! seraphic name, With whom from heaven fair virtue came, For whom, through years of misery toss'd, One hundred thousand lives were lost;

Still shall all grateful hearts to thee Incline the head and bend the knee; For thee this dream of life forego And quit the world when thou dost go.