The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 43

Ill fated town!--what works of pride In one short hour were swept away!

Huge piles that time had long defy'd, In ruthless ruin scatter'd lay: Some buried in the opening deep-- With crowds dismiss'd to endless sleep,

From her fond arms the daughter torn, The mother saw destruction near; Both on the whirling surge were borne, Forgetful of the farewell tear: At distance torn, with feeble cries, Far from her arms the infant dies.

Her dear delight, her darling boy In morn of days and dawning bloom, This opening bud of promised joy Too early found a watery tomb, Or floated on the briny waste; No more beloved, no more embraced.

From heights immense, with force unknown, Enormous rocks and mangled trees Were headlong hurl'd and hurrying down, Fix'd their foundation in the seas!

Or, rus.h.i.+ng with a mountain's weight, Hurl'd to the deeps their domes of state.

On heaven intent the affrighted priest Where church was left, to churches ran, With suppliant voice the skies addrest, And wail'd the wickedness of man: For which he thought, this scourge was meant, And, weeping, said, repent, repent!

But Santa Clara's lofty walls, Where pines through life the pious nun, Whose prison to the mind recalls What superst.i.tion's power has done: No conquest there the floods essay'd, Religion guarded man and maid.

What seem'd beyond the cannon's power, The walls of rock, were torn away; To ruin sunk the church and tower, And no respect the flood would pay To silver saints, or saints of wood, The bishop's cap, the friar's hood.

Hard was their fate! more happy thou The lady of the mountain tall;[C]

When desolation raged below She stood secure, and scorn'd it all, Where Gordon,[D] for retirement, chose His groves, his gardens, and the muse.

[C] Nossa Senyora da Montana, a fine church on a high eminence in the mountains.--_Freneau's note._

[D] A respectable gentleman of the island.--_Ibid._

Who on this valley's drowning bed Would plan a street, or build again, Unthinking as the Brazen head[E]

For wretches builds a source of pain, A church, a street, that soon or late May share the same, or a worse fate.

[E] A rocky promontory a few miles eastward of the capital.--_Ibid._

Let some vast bridge a.s.sume their place Like those the romans raised of old, With arches, firm as nature's base, Of architecture grand and bold; So will the existing race engage The thanks of a succeeding age.

Pontinia[F] long must wear the marks Of this wide-wasting scene of wo, Where near the Loo, the tar embarks When prosperous winds, to waft him, blow: These ravages may time repair, But he and I will not be there.

[F] The western quarter, near the Loo fort, where is the only eligible place of landing.--_Ibid._

[182] From the edition of 1815. Freneau sailed from Charleston January 25, 1804, and on March 7 he arrived at Madeira. On April 15 he was at Santa Cruz, and on May 11 he sailed for home.

GENERAL NOTE.

From the best accounts that could be procured at Madeira, there perished in and near the city of Funchal, five hundred and fifty persons. The ravages were chiefly confined to the eastern parts of the town where the loss was immense in bridges, houses, streets and other property, public as well as private--there was one magnificent church totally destroyed, standing near the sea, and called in the portuguese tongue, Nossa Senyora da Caillou (lady of the beach) besides this, there were five handsome chapels carried away. Five very considerable streets with their immense stone buildings have entirely disappeared, or but some insignificant parts remaining. The water rose in a short s.p.a.ce of time from 14 to 16 feet in the adjacent parts of the city, and bursting into the buildings, where it did not much injure the latter, it greatly damaged the merchantile property lodged therein. There were about two hundred persons supposed to be lost in other parts of the island, particularly in the villages, and small towns. The following circ.u.mstance it was a.s.serted, added not a little to the devastations occasioned by the acc.u.mulation of water in the vallies. The governor, with several other considerable landholders in the mountains, had, for several years back, been in the practice of erecting stone dams across the vast and s.p.a.cious valley above the city, at different intervals of distance for the purpose of watering the adjacent grounds, or leading off streams in a variety of directions--when the immense body of rain fell in October last, all this gave way, and carried death and destruction therewith.--_Freneau's note._

ON THE PEAK OF TENERIFFE

1804[183]

No mean, no human artist laid The base of this prodigious pile, The towering peak--but nature said Let this adorn Tenaria's isle; And be my work for ages found The polar star to islands round.

The conic-point that meets the skies Indebted to volcanic fire, First from the ocean bid to rise, To heaven was suffer'd to aspire; But man, ambitious, did not dare To plant one habitation there:

For torrents from the mountain came; What molten floods were seen to glow!

Expanded sheets of vivid flame, To inundate the world below!

These, older than the historian's page Once bellow'd forth vext nature's rage.

In ages past, as may again, Such lavas from those ridges run.

And hastening to the astonish'd main Exposed earth's entrails to the sun; These, barren, once, neglected, dead, Are now with groves and pastures spread.

Upon the verdant, scented lawn The flowers a thousand sweets disperse, And pictures, there, by nature drawn, Inspire some island poet's verse, While streams through every valley rove To bless the garden, grace the grove.

To blast a scene above all praise Should fate, at last, be so severe, May this not hap' in Julia's[A] days,-- While Barrey[A] dwells all honor'd, here: While Little[A] lives, of generous mind, Or Armstrong,[A] social as refined.--

[A] A lady, and gentlemen of the first respectability, then residing at Santa Cruz, san Christoval de Laguna, and Port Oratava in the island of Teneriffe.--_Freneau's note._

[183] From the edition of 1815.

ANSWER TO A CARD OF INVITATION

To visit a nunnery at Garrichica, on the north side of Teneriffe[184]

It came to hand, your friendly card, No doubt, a token of regard; But time is short, and I must leave Your pensive town of Oratave, And, soon departing, well you know, Have many a weary mile to go.

Then stay and sip Canary wines, While I return to oaks and pines, To rail at kings, or court the muse, To smoke a pipe, or turn recluse, To think upon adventures past-- To think of what must come at last-- To drive the quill--and--to be brief, To think no more of Teneriffe.--

How happy you who once a week, Can storm a fort at Garrichique, Or talk, familiar with the nuns Secluded there with Levi's sons; To see them smile, or hear them prate, Or chant, and chat behind the grate!

All this is heaven, I half suspect, And who would such a heaven neglect?

All I can say is what I mean, May you embrace each Iphigene, And hug and kiss them all the while, These fair Calypsoes of the isle: Then if what Sappho said, be true, Blest as the immortal G.o.ds are you.

For me, not favor'd so by fate, I venture not behind the grate: There dragons guard the golden fleece, And nymphs immured find no release: Forbidden fruit you weekly see, Forbidden fruit on every tree, When he who tastes, may look for strife, Where he who touches ventures life.

The jealous priests, with threatening eye Look hard at all approaching nigh: The monks have charge of brittle ware, The friar bids you have a care; That they alone the fruit may eat That fills religion's last retreat: The mother abbess looks as sour'd As if you had the fruit devour'd, And bids the stranger haste away,-- Not rich enough for fruit to pay.

How much unlike, our western fair, Who breathe the sweets of freedom's air; Go where they please, do what they will, Themselves are their own guardians still:-- Then come, and on our distant sh.o.r.e Some blooming rural nymph adore; And do not make the day remote, For time advances, quick as thought, When thus some grave rebuke will say When you approach the maiden gay: 'You should have courted in your prime, 'Our Anastasia's, at that time 'When blood ran quick, and Hymen said, 'Colin! my laws must be obey'd.'

Your card to slight, I'm much distrest, Your card has robb'd me of my rest: Should I attempt the nuns to accost The priests might growl, and all be lost: My cash might fail me when to pay; No chance, perhaps, to run away;-- So, I decline the needless task Return to Charleston, with the cask Of wine, you send from Teneriffe, To glad some hearts, and dry up grief:

I add, some dangerous neighbors here May disappoint my hopes I fear; The breakers near the vessel roll; The lee-ward sh.o.r.e, the rocky shoal!

The whitening seas that constant lave The craggy strand of Oratave; The expected gale, the adjacent rock Each moment threatens all our stock, And Neptune, in his giant cup Stands lurking near, to gulp it up.

But here's a health to Neptune's sons Who man the yard--nor dream of nuns.

[184] From the edition of 1815.