The Poems of Philip Freneau - LightNovelsOnl.com
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74
Curs'd be the s.h.i.+p that brought him o'er the main, And curs'd the hands who from his country tore, May she be stranded, ne'er to float again, May they be s.h.i.+pwreck'd on some hostile sh.o.r.e--
75
O gold accurst, of every ill the spring, For thee compa.s.sion flies the darken'd mind, Reason's plain dictates no conviction bring, And pa.s.sion only sways all human kind.
76
O gold accurst! for thee we madly run With murderous hearts across the briny flood, Seek foreign climes beneath a foreign sun, And there exult to shed a brother's blood.
77
But thou, who own'st this sugar-bearing soil, To whom no good the great First Cause denies, Let freeborn hands attend thy sultry toil, And fairer harvests to thy view shall rise.
78
The teeming earth shall mightier stores disclose Than ever struck thy longing eyes before, And late content shall shed a soft repose, Repose, so long a stranger at thy door.
79
Give me some clime, the favourite of the sky, Where cruel slavery never sought to rein-- But shun the theme, sad muse, and tell me why These abject trees lie scatter'd o'er the plain?
80
These isles, lest nature should have prov'd too kind, Or man have sought his happiest heaven below, Are torn with mighty winds, fierce hurricanes, Nature convuls'd in every shape of woe.
81
Nor scorn yon' lonely vale of trees so reft; There plantane groves late grew of lively green, The orange flourish'd, and the lemon bore, The genius of the isle dwelt there unseen.
82
Wild were the skies, affrighted nature groan'd As though approach'd her last decisive day, Skies blaz'd around, and bellowing winds had nigh Dislodg'd these cliffs, and tore yon' hills away.
83
O'er the wild main, dejected and afraid, The trembling pilot lash'd his helm a-lee, Or, swiftly scudding, ask'd thy potent aid, Dear pilot of the Galilean sea.
84
Low hung the clouds, distended with the gale The clouds dark brooding wing'd their circling flight, Tremendous thunders join'd the hurricane, Daughter of chaos and eternal night.
85
And how, alas! could these fair trees withstand The wasteful madness of so fierce a blast, That storm'd along the plain, seiz'd every grove, And delug'd with a sea this mournful waste.
86
That plantane grove, where oft I fondly stray'd, Thy darts, dread Phoebus, in those glooms to shun, Is now no more a refuge or a shade, Is now with rocks and deep sands over-run.
87
Those late proud domes of splendour, pomp and ease No longer strike the view, in grand attire; But, torn by winds, flew piece-meal to the seas, Nor left one nook to lodge the astonish'd squire.
88
But other groves the hand of Time shall raise, Again shall nature smile, serenely gay, So soon each scene revives, why should I leave These green retreats, o'er the dark seas to stray?
89
For I must go where the mad pirate roves, A stranger on the inhospitable main, Torn from the scenes of Hudson's sweetest groves, Led by false hope, and expectation vain.
90
There endless plains deject the wearied eye, And hostile winds incessant toil prepare; And should loud bellowing storms all art defy, The manly heart alone must conquer there.
91
On these blue hills, to pluck the opening flowers, Might yet awhile the unwelcome task delay, And these gay scenes prolong the fleeting hours To aid bright Fancy on some future day.
92
Thy vales, Bermuda, and thy sea-girt groves, Can never like these southern forests please; And, lash'd by stormy waves, you court in vain The northern shepherd to your cedar trees.
93
Not o'er those isles such equal planets rule, All, but the cedar, dread the wintry blast: Too well thy charms the banish'd Waller sung; Too near the pilot's star thy doom is cast.
94
Far o'er the waste of yonder surgy field My native climes in fancied prospect lie, Now hid in shades, and now by clouds conceal'd, And now by tempests ravish'd from my eye.
95
There, triumphs to enjoy, are, Britain, thine, There, thy proud navy awes the pillag'd sh.o.r.e; Nor sees the day when nations shall combine That pride to humble and our rights restore.
96
Yet o'er the globe shouldst thou extend thy reign, Here may thy conquering arms one grotto spare; Here--though thy conquest vex--in spite of pain, I quaff the enlivening gla.s.s, in spite of care.
97
What, though we bend to a tyrannic crown; Still Nature's charms in varied beauty s.h.i.+ne-- What though we own the proud imperious Dane, Gold is his sordid care, the Muses mine.
98
Winter, and winter's glooms are far remov'd; Eternal spring with smiling summer join'd;-- Absence and death, and heart-corroding care, Why should they cloud the sun-s.h.i.+ne of the mind?
