The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 27

When round the bark the howling tempest raves Tossed in the conflict of a thousand waves, The lubber landsmen weep, complain, and sigh, And on the pilot's skill, or heaven, rely; Lurk in their holes, astonished and aghast, Dreading the moment that must be their last.

The tempest done--their terror also ceases, And up they come, and shew their shameless faces, At once feel bold, and tell the pilot, too, He did no more than they--themselves--could do!

A Foe to Tyrants! one your pen restores:-- There is a Tyrant whom your soul adores: And every line you write too plainly shows, Your heart is hostile to that tyrant's foes.

What, worse than folly, urged this genius dull With Churchill's[186] wreathes to shade his leaden scull: So, midnight darkness union claims with light: So, oil and water in one ma.s.s unite:-- No more your rage in plundered verse repeat, Sink into prose--even there no safe retreat.[187]

Reed's[188] patriot fame to distant years may last, When rancorous reptiles to the dogs are cast, Or, where oblivion spreads her weary wings, Lost in the lumber of forgotten things; And none shall ask, nor wish to know, nor care, Who--what their names--or when they lived--or where.[189]

[184] During the summer of 1782 the _Freeman's Journal_ waged a bitter warfare with the _Independent Gazetteer_, a paper which had been established in Philadelphia on April 13, 1782, by Eleazer Oswald. To such extremes did this quarrel go that Oswald, defeated by the more nimble pen of his adversary, at length challenged him to a duel. The above poem marks the beginning of the poetical phase of the battle. It appeared in the _Journal_ on the 28th of August and was a reply to the following effusion published in the _Gazetteer_ four days previously:

"MR. OSWALD: The following lines are addressed to a most infamous Tyrant,... and to a noted speculator when high in office. Yours, &c., A FOE TO TYRANTS.

"Be wicked as you will, do all that's base, Proclaim yourselves the monsters of your race, Let vice and folly your dark souls divide, Be proud with meanness and be mean with pride, Deaf to the voice of faith and honour, fall From side to side, yet be of none at all: Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties, Which nature, in her bounty, good as wise, To work our safety and ensure her plan, Contriv'd to bind and rivet man to man: Lift against Virtue pow'r's oppressive rod, Betray your country, and deny your G.o.d."

But candour in some future day will scan The actions of pale Joe and brazen Sam, Who're lost to virtue and all sense of shame, They've barter'd honour for some villain's name: Yet may they pa.s.s unnotic'd in the throng And, free from envy, safely sneak along; Let Clarkson tell how Joe is in disgrace And honest Jack will follow up the chase."

[185] This t.i.tle first appeared in the 1809 edition. In the edition of 1795 the t.i.tle was "To Shylock Ap-Shenkin, an abusive court writer."

[186] The twelve lines in quotation points in the poem by "The Foe to Tyrants" were taken, with little change, from Churchill's "Epistle to William Hogarth."

[187] "Sneak into prose--the dunce's last retreat."--_Ed. 1786._

[188] The attack of "The Foe to Tyrants" was directed mainly against General Joseph Reed, the "pale Joe" of the poem. So bitter and persistent were the attacks of "Oswald's Scribblers" that Reed, in the _Journal_ of Sept. 11, published a protest against the "set of men in this city [who] uninjured and unprovoked by me are weekly pouring forth some abuse under anonymous signatures." And early in 1783 he put forth a pamphlet ent.i.tled "Remarks on a late publication in the _Independent Gazetteer_, with a short address to the people of Pennsylvania on the many libels and slanders which have lately appeared against the author."

A second edition was called for several weeks after the first issue of this pamphlet.

[189] Freneau signed these lines as they appeared in the _Journal_ "A FOE TO MALICE."

TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST[190]

In Answer to a Second Attack[191]

_Quid immerentes hospites vexas, canis Ignavus adversum lupos?

Quin huc inanes, si potes, vertis minas, Et me remorsurum petis?--_ --Hor. _Epod._ 10.

Base as they are, this rancorous royal crew[192]

Seem baser still, when they are praised by you.

By you adorned in regal garb they s.h.i.+ne, Sweat through your verse, and stink in every line.

True child of folly--eldest of her tribe-- How could you dream that you were worth a bribe.-- Ill-fated scribbler, with a pointless quill, Retract the threat you dare not to fulfil: Round your own neck the wythe or halter twine, And be the science of a hangman thine:--[193]

Have we from you purloined one shred of wit, Or did we imitate one line you writ?

Peace to your verse!--we do not rob the dead, The clay-cold offspring of a brazen head.

Doctor! retire! what madness would it be To point artillery at a mite like thee?-- Such noxious vermin clambering from their sh.e.l.l, By squibs and crackers might be killed as well.

But, if you must torment the world with rhymes, (Perhaps you came to curse us for our crimes) In sleepy odes indulge your smoky wit, Pindarics would your happy genius fit-- With your coa.r.s.e white-wash daub some miscreant's face, Puppies advanced, or traitors in disgrace:[194]

To gain immense renown we leave you free, Go, scratch and scribble, uncontrouled by me:-- Haste to the realms of nonsense and despair-- The ghosts of murdered rhymes will meet you there; Like rattling chains provoke unceasing fears, And with eternal jinglings--stun your ears.

[190] This poem appeared in the _Journal_, September 4, 1782, in answer to the following, which had been published in the _Gazetteer_, August 31, 1782:

"MR. OSWALD: _Please give the following Lines, addressed to the_ Foe to Malice, _a Place in your useful Paper; in order to convince this great_ Poet (_who never borrowed a Line in his Life_) _how easy it is to take his Battery, and turn it against himself_.

A FOE TO TYRANTS.

"When in the Bark, the unskilful Pilot raves, And lets her drive amidst conflicting waves; The free-born Landsmen rous'd, complain, and cry.

What Pilot's this, on whom we can't rely?

We're wreck'd, undone, and driven on the sh.o.r.e, Unless you quit the helm, and steer no more.

The Pilot, conscious of the mischief done, Not knowing what to do, or where to run, Lurks to his hole, astonish'd and aghast, Dreading the moment that must be his last.

The tempest o'er--his terrors also fled, Once more upon the deck he shews his head, At once grown brave, he tells the people too, He did for them, whatever man could do.

But cease thy boasting--Freemen all will think, A Bark thus manag'd, in the deep must sink.

"A FOE TO TYRANTS--ne'er receiv'd a Bribe, Nor Gold ador'd, nor stuck to Johnston's side; With malice stupid, ev'ry line must show, The man that's Johnston's friend is not thy foe.

What wond'rous fancy urg'd thy genius bright, To speak of Churchill--as if thou coud'st write; To s.h.i.+ne in _borrow'd plumes_, with base design, And to oblivion worthy men consign.

Reptiles and Dogs, and all those dreary things, Bespeak the mind from whence such slander springs; Dirt thou may'st throw--the dunce's last retreat, For none but dunces will thy lines repeat.

Not Churchill's wreathes, but hick'ry withes will do, To twine thy brows, and lace thy jacket too; Leave thy friend R----, we've had enough of him, For abler Pilots live the Bark to trim.

What! if a thousand JOES should wince and bawl, One honest JACK would make amends for all."

[191] The t.i.tle in the edition of 1786 was "To the Foe to Tyrants," and in 1795 "To Shylock Ap-Shenkin." Freneau translates the stanza from Horace as follows: "A dog, cowardly against wolves, yet molests strangers that have no quarrel with him--approach, whelp, and attack us, who are able to dash your teeth down your throat."

[192] "Vile as they are, this lukewarm Tory crew."--_Ed. 1786._

[193]

"And round your neck the wythe or halter twine, And be the office of the hangman mine."--_Ed. 1786._

[194] "Blockheads in power or traitors in disgrace."--_Ed. 1786._

TO THE CONCEALED ROYALIST[195]

On His Farewell

"I will meet you, Brutus, at Philippi."--_Roman History._

Since ink, thank heaven! is all the blood you spill, Health to the driver of the grey goose quill: Such war shall leave no widow in despair, Nor curse one orphan with the public care.

'Tis the worst wound the heart of man can feel, When touched, or worried, by an a.s.s's heel-- With generous satire give your foes their due, Nay, give them more, and prove them scoundrels too: Make them as black as h.e.l.l's remotest gloom, But still to genius let them owe their doom:-- By Jove's red lightnings 'tis no shame to bleed, But by a grovelling swine--is death indeed!-- Now, by the laurels of your royal crew, I knew no shame, till I engaged with you:-- But such an odour atmosphered your song, I held my nose, and quickly pa.s.sed along, Grieved for the wretch who could such filth display, His maw disgorging in the public way.

Armed though we are, unusual tumults rise;-- But all resentment in my bosom dies.

We deem, that in the skirmish of a day, This bard must perish, and his verse decay: This day he goes to black oblivion's clime; Turned, chased, and routed by the "power of rhyme."

We wished him still unhandled and unhurt-- We wished no evils to this man of dirt; We thought to leave him sweltering in his den, Not with such rotten trash to tinge the pen: But his mean labours wrought his present woe, And his own scribblings, now, have laid him low!

Before his eyes the s.e.xton's spade appears, And m.u.f.fled bells disorganize his ears: Already is his mean existence fled, Sense, wit, and reason--all proclaim him dead: In his own lines he tolled his funeral bell, And when he could not sing--he stunk--farewell!

[195] In the _Journal_ of September 11, 1782, in answer to the effusion of the "Foe to Tyrants" in the _Gazetteer_ of September 7, ent.i.tled, "To the Foe to Malice. The Farewell." This farewell began as follows:

"When men will prost.i.tute the power of rhime, Their dirt and malice jingling out of time; When men the sacred shrine of truth forsake, And deal in slander, just for slander's sake, 'Tis time to quit plain reason, common sense, And in their stile Correction to dispense.

"Our Theme first pointed to your _pale-fac'd_ friend Whom you forsook--unable to defend; To save his fame, you thought it best to fly To vile abuse, and low scurrility; Then feel the Weapons you yourself have us'd And blame not those you've dirtily abus'd."

The rest of the poem is too vile to reproduce.