The Poems of Philip Freneau - LightNovelsOnl.com
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[125]
"Then why should I longer my sorrows adjourn?-- You may call me a fool if he ever return."--_Ib._
[126] Not in the earliest version.
[127] "Hearts once united."--_Ed. 1786._
[128]
"Never yet was reason found So distracted with love's wound As to be in sorrow drown'd."--_Ib._
[129] "Planted round with cypress trees."--_Ed. 1786._
[130] Four lines beginning with this not in original version.
[131] "Shrouded all with darkness o'er."--_Ib._
[132]
"'Come away! and speed thy flight, All with me is endless light.'"--_Ib._
[133] "The breast that heaves a sigh."--_Ed. 1786._
[134] "A lover gone away?"--_Ib._
[135]
"Let us, like them, forget our woe, And not be kill'd with sorrow."--_Ed. 1786._
[136] "Censorious Chloe."--_Ib._
[137] "While laughing folly hears."--_Ib._
[138] "Death's arrest."--_Ed. 1786._
[139] "My lovely la.s.s."--_Ib._
[140]
"If you had once a soldier's guise, The splendid coat, the sprightly air, You might seem charming in these eyes, Nor would I quite despair."--_Ed. 1786._
[141]
"His handsome shape, his manly face, His youthful step in you I trace-- All, all I wish for, but the lace."--_Ib._
[142] The following eleven lines not in the original version.
[143] The 1786 version ended as follows:
_Thyrsis_
For you I would forego my ease, And traverse lakes, or ravage seas, And dress in lace, or what you please.
This enchanting month of May, So bright, so bloomy, and so gay, Claims our nuptials on this day.
For her vernal triumphs, we Tune the harp to symphony-- Conquest has attended me.
Brightest season for the mind, Vigorous, free, and unconfin'd, Golden age of human kind.
Still at variance with thy charms Death's eternal empire stands-- _Hymen_, come--while rapture warms, And give Lucinda to my arms.
MAC SWIGGEN[144]
A SATIRE
Written 1775
Long have I sat on this disast'rous sh.o.r.e, And, sighing, sought to gain a pa.s.sage o'er To Europe's towns, where, as our travellers say, Poets may flourish, or, perhaps they may; But such abuse has from your coa.r.s.e pen fell I think I may defer my voyage as well; Why should I far in search of honour roam, And dunces leave to triumph here at home?
Great Jove in wrath a spark of genius gave.
And bade me drink the mad Pierian wave, Hence came these rhimes, with truth ascrib'd to me, That swell thy little soul to jealousy:[145]
If thus, tormented at these flighty lays, You strive to blast what ne'er was meant for praise, How will you bear the more exalted rhime, By labour polish'd, and matur'd by time?
Devoted madman! what inspir'd thy rage, Who bade thy foolish muse with me engage?
Against a wind-mill would'st thou try thy might, Against a giant[146] would a pigmy fight?
What could thy slanderous pen with malice arm To injure him, who never did thee harm?[147]
Have I from thee been urgent to attain The mean ideas of thy barren brain?
Have I been seen in borrowed clothes to s.h.i.+ne, And, when detected, swear by Jove they're mine?
O miscreant, hostile to thine own repose, From thy own envy thy destruction flows!
Bless'd be our western world--its scenes conspire To raise a poet's fancy and his fire, Lo, blue-topt mountains to the skies ascend!
Lo, shady forests to the breezes bend!
See mighty streams meandering to the main!
See lambs and lambkins sport on every plain!
The spotted herds in flowery meadows see!
But what, ungenerous wretch, are these to thee?-- You find no charms in all that nature yields, Then leave to me the grottoes and the fields: I interfere not with your vast design-- Pursue your studies, and I'll follow mine, Pursue, well pleas'd, your theologic schemes, Attend professors, and correct your themes, Still some dull nonsense, low-bred wit invent, Or prove from scripture what it never meant, Or far through law, that land of scoundrels, stray, And truth disguise through all your mazy way; Wealth you may gain, your clients you may squeeze, And by long cheating, learn to live at ease; If but in Wood or Littleton well read, The devil shall help you to your daily bread.
O waft me far, ye muses of the west-- Give me your green bowers and soft seats of rest-- Thrice happy in those dear retreats to find A safe retirement from all human kind.
Though dire misfortunes every step attend, The muse, still social, still remains a friend-- In solitude her converse gives delight, With gay poetic dreams she cheers the night, She aids me, s.h.i.+elds me, bears me on her wings, In spite of growling whelps, to high, exalted things, Beyond the miscreants that my peace molest, Miscreants, with dullness and with rage opprest.
Hail, great Mac Swiggen![148] foe to honest fame,[149]
Patron of dunces, and thyself the same, You dream of conquest--tell me, how, or whence?
Act like a man and combat me with sense-- This evil have I known, and known but once,[150]
Thus to be gall'd and slander'd by a dunce, Saw rage and weakness join their dastard plan To crush the shadow, not attack the man.
What swarms of vermin from the sultry south Like frogs surround thy pestilential mouth-- Clad in the garb of sacred sanct.i.ty, What madness prompts thee to invent a lie?
Thou base defender of a wretched crew, Thy tongue let loose on those you never knew, The human spirit with the brutal join'd, The imps of Orcus in thy breast combin'd, The genius barren, and the wicked heart, Prepar'd to take each trifling scoundrel's part, The turn'd up nose, the monkey's foolish face, The scorn of reason, and your sire's disgrace-- a.s.sist me, G.o.ds, to drive this dog of rhime Back to the torments of his native clime, Where dullness mingles with her native earth,[151]
And rhimes, not worth the pang that gave them birth!
Where did he learn to write or talk with men?-- A senseless blockhead, with a scribbling pen-- In vile acrostics thou may'st please the fair,[152]
Not less than with thy looks and powder'd hair, But strive no more with rhime to daunt thy foes, Or, by the flame that in my bosom glows, The muse on thee shall her worst fury spend, And hemp, or water, thy vile being end.
Aspers'd like me, who would not grieve and rage!
