The Poems of Philip Freneau - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
Who would not burn, Mac Swiggen to engage?
Him and his friends, a mean, designing race, I, singly I, must combat face to face-- Alone I stand to meet the foul-mouth'd train,[153]
a.s.sisted by no poets of the plain, Whose timerous Muses cannot swell their theme Beyond a meadow or a purling stream.-- Were not my breast impervious to despair, And did not Clio reign unrivall'd there, I must expire beneath the ungenerous host, And dullness triumph o'er a poet lost.
Rage gives me wings, and fearless prompts me on To conquer brutes the world should blush to own; No peace, no quarter to such imps I lend, Death and perdition on each line I send; Bring all the wittlings that your host supplies, A cloud of nonsense and a storm of lies-- Your kitchen wit--Mac Swiggen's loud applause, That wretched rhymer with his lanthorn jaws-- His deep-set eyes forever on the wink, His soul extracted from the public sink-- All such as he, to my confusion call-- And tho' ten myriads--I despise them all.
Come on, Mac Swiggen, come--your muse is willing, Your prose is merry, but your verse is killing-- Come on, attack me with that whining prose, Your beard is red, and swine-like is your nose, Like burning brush your bristly head of hair, The ugliest image of a Greenland bear-- Come on--attack me with your choicest rhimes, Sound void of sense betrays the unmeaning chimes-- Come, league your forces; all your wit combine, Your wit not equal to the bold design-- The heaviest arms the Muse can give, I wield, To stretch Mac Swiggen floundering on the field, 'Swiggen, who, aided by some spurious Muse, But bellows nonsense, and but writes abuse, 'Swiggen, immortal and unfading grown,[154]
But by no deeds or merits of his own.-- So, when some hateful monster sees the day, In spirits we preserve it from decay, But for what end, it is not hard to guess-- Not for its value, but its ugliness.
Now, by the winds which shake thy rubric mop, (That nest of witches, or that barber's shop) Mac Swiggen, hear--Be wise in times to come, A dunce by nature, bid thy muse be dumb, Lest you, devoted to the infernal skies, Descend, like Lucifer, no more to rise.-- Sick of all feuds, to Reason I appeal[155]
From wars of paper, and from wars of steel, Let others here their hopes and wishes end, I to the sea with weary steps descend, Quit the mean conquest that such swine might yield, And leave Mac Swiggen to enjoy the field-- In distant isles some happier scene I'll choose, And court in softer shades the unwilling Muse, Thrice happy there, through peaceful plains to rove, Or the cool verdure of the orange grove, Safe from the miscreants that my peace molest, Miscreants, with dullness and with rage opprest.
[144] I can find only two versions of this poem: that in the 1786 edition of the poet, which I have reproduced, and that in the 1809 edition, in which the t.i.tle is changed to "A Satire in Answer to a Hostile Attack. [First written, and published 1775.]" From the nature of the concluding lines of the poem, it may be inferred that it was the last work done by the poet before starting on his voyage to the West Indies, late In November. I have not been able to find a trace of the hostile attack in the newspapers or publications of the period, or of the original publication of "Mac Swiggen." The poem was omitted from the 1795 edition, only the first eight lines being used in the short poem "To Shylock Ap-Shenken." The poet made many verbal changes for the later edition, but I have marked only the most significant.
[145] "Urge your little soul to cruelty."--_Ed. 1809._
[146] "Castle."--_Ed. 1809._
[147] "Meant you harm."--_Ib._
[148] "Thou bright genius." In each case where Mac Swiggen is used in the earlier version, it is changed later.--"This giant," "Sangrado,"
"dear satirist," "a green goose," "scribbler," and "insect," are supplied in its place.
[149] Of the ninety-four remaining lines of the poem, fifty were taken from the satires written by the poet while in college, in the war between the Whig and Cliosophic Societies. Many of the lines were much changed. The portion used by Freneau may be said to comprise all of the three early satires that could be quoted with decency.
[150] This line and the one following not in the Clio-Whig satires.
[151] This line and the one following not in the Clio-Whig satires.
[152] This line and the seven following not in the Clio-Whig satires.
[153] This line and the seven following not in the Clio-Whig satires.
[154] Six lines not in Clio-Whig satires.
[155] The remainder of the poem not in the Clio-Whig satires.
THE HOUSE OF NIGHT[156]
A Vision
ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT--This Poem is founded upon the authority of Scripture, inasmuch as these sacred books a.s.sert, that _the last enemy that shall be conquered is Death_. For the purposes of poetry he is here personified, and represented as on his dying bed. The scene is laid at a solitary palace, (the time midnight) which, tho'
before beautiful and joyous, is now become sad and gloomy, as being the abode and receptacle of Death. Its owner, an amiable, majestic youth, who had lately lost a beloved consort, nevertheless with a n.o.ble philosophical fort.i.tude and humanity, entertains him in a friendly manner, and by employing Physicians, endeavours to restore him to health, altho' an enemy; convinced of the excellence and propriety of that divine precept, _If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink_. He nevertheless, as if by a spirit of prophecy, informs this (fict.i.tiously) wicked being of the certainty of his doom, and represents to him in a pathetic manner the vanity of his expectations, either of a reception into the abodes of the just, or continuing longer to make havock of mankind upon earth. The patient finding his end approaching, composes his epitaph, and orders it to be engraved on his tombstone, hinting to us thereby, that even Death and Distress have vanity; and would be remembered with honour after he is no more, altho' his whole life has been spent in deeds of devastation and murder. He dies at last in the utmost agonies of despair, after agreeing with an avaricious Undertaker to intomb his bones. This reflects upon the inhumanity of those men, who, not to mention an enemy, would scarcely cover a departed friend with a little dust, without certainty of reward for so doing. The circ.u.mstances of his funeral are then recited, and the visionary and fabulous part of the poem disappears. It concludes with a few reflections on the impropriety of a too great attachment to the present life, and incentives to such moral virtue as may a.s.sist in conducting us to a better.
1
Trembling I write my dream, and recollect A fearful vision at the midnight hour; So late, Death o'er me spread his sable wings, Painted with fancies of malignant power!
2
Such was the dream the sage Chaldean saw 5 Disclos'd to him that felt heav'n's vengeful rod, Such was the ghost, who through deep silence cry'd, Shall mortal man--be juster than his G.o.d?
3
Let others draw from smiling skies their theme, And tell of climes that boast unfading light, 10 I draw a darker scene, replete with gloom, I sing the horrors of the House of Night.
4
Stranger, believe the truth experience tells, Poetic dreams are of a finer cast Than those which o'er the sober brain diffus'd, 15 Are but a repet.i.tion of some action past.
5
Fancy, I own thy power--when sunk in sleep Thou play'st thy wild delusive part so well You lift me into immortality, Depict new heavens, or draw the scenes of h.e.l.l. 20
6
By some sad means, when Reason holds no sway, Lonely I rov'd at midnight o'er a plain Where murmuring streams and mingling rivers flow Far to their springs, or seek the sea again.
7
Sweet vernal May! tho' then thy woods in bloom 25 Flourish'd, yet nought of this could Fancy see, No wild pinks bless'd the meads, no green the fields, And naked seem'd to stand each lifeless tree:
8
Dark was the sky, and not one friendly star Shone from the zenith or horizon, clear, 30 Mist sate upon the woods, and darkness rode In her black chariot, with a wild career.
9
And from the woods the late resounding note Issued of the loquacious Whip-poor-will,[A]
Hoa.r.s.e, howling dogs, and nightly roving wolves 35 Clamour'd from far off cliffs invisible.
[A] A Bird peculiar to America, of a solitary nature, who never sings but in the night. Her note resembles the name given to her by the country people.--_Freneau's note._
10
Rude, from the wide extended Chesapeke I heard the winds the das.h.i.+ng waves a.s.sail, And saw from far, by picturing fancy form'd, The black s.h.i.+p travelling through the noisy gale. 40
11
At last, by chance and guardian fancy led, I reach'd a n.o.ble dome, rais'd fair and high, And saw the light from upper windows flame, Presage of mirth and hospitality.
12
And by that light around the dome appear'd 45 A mournful garden of autumnal hue, Its lately pleasing flowers all drooping stood Amidst high weeds that in rank plenty grew.
13
The Primrose there, the violet darkly blue, Daisies and fair Narcissus ceas'd to rise, 50 Gay spotted pinks their charming bloom withdrew, And Polyanthus quench'd its thousand dyes.
