 | American poems, selected and original |  |
292
ODE TO TIME.
Full oft the Painter's pencil, oft the Bard,
On canvas, or on Fancy's airy scene,
Hath shewn thee laughable, with grisly beard
Stiff-starting from a peaked chin;
A few white hairs thin-scatter'd round thy head,
Thine eyes turn'd grey with age;
Thy nose quite shrivell'd, like a pointed hook,
Thy visage bearing all a wrinkled wizard look:
Bent down and crooked was thy form,
And tottering on thy weak, lank legs,
Like some slim weed amid the shaking storm:
Thy blood, poor miserable dregs
Of life, crept thro' each wind-puff'd vein,
Which seem'd as tho' 'twould burst with ev'ry strain:
Thy long and dangling arms a scythe sustain,
To top off men as they cut down their grain:
Most laughable indeed! thus to deform
A Cod in power first, as first in form!
On canvas, or on Fancy's airy scene,
Hath shewn thee laughable, with grisly beard
Stiff-starting from a peaked chin;
A few white hairs thin-scatter'd round thy head,
Thine eyes turn'd grey with age;
Thy nose quite shrivell'd, like a pointed hook,
Thy visage bearing all a wrinkled wizard look:
Bent down and crooked was thy form,
And tottering on thy weak, lank legs,
Like some slim weed amid the shaking storm:
Thy blood, poor miserable dregs
Of life, crept thro' each wind-puff'd vein,
Which seem'd as tho' 'twould burst with ev'ry strain:
Thy long and dangling arms a scythe sustain,
To top off men as they cut down their grain:
Most laughable indeed! thus to deform
A Cod in power first, as first in form!
But look ye painters! hear ye bards this truth!
His face shall ever bloom unfading youth.
Bright golden locks adorn his head,
Majestick beauty seems his form:
Where'er he steps, his awful tread
Sounds like the thunder of the storm.
His face shall ever bloom unfading youth.
293
Majestick beauty seems his form:
Where'er he steps, his awful tread
Sounds like the thunder of the storm.
Imperial Rome! once mistress of the world!
Who rear'd her palaces, her towers on high,
Bade her tall obelisks assail the sky!
In ruin lies, by his strong arm of power hurl'd.
Some broken arch, or nodding tower,
Falls prone to earth each passing hour;
And oft the wary traveller hears the sound
Of some lofty column broke,
By Time's rudely shattering stroke,
When down it comes loud-crashing on the ground,
And hills and vales, the horrid roars rebound.
Who rear'd her palaces, her towers on high,
Bade her tall obelisks assail the sky!
In ruin lies, by his strong arm of power hurl'd.
Some broken arch, or nodding tower,
Falls prone to earth each passing hour;
And oft the wary traveller hears the sound
Of some lofty column broke,
By Time's rudely shattering stroke,
When down it comes loud-crashing on the ground,
And hills and vales, the horrid roars rebound.
Behold yon figure starting on the sight!
His awful brow around,
With palm and laurel bound;
His forceful eye with genius bright,
Seems now in Fancy's view to roll,
And speak the bloody Cæsar's warlike soul!
But Cæsar! thou art gone!
And Time shall bid thy statue follow soon.
His awful brow around,
With palm and laurel bound;
His forceful eye with genius bright,
Seems now in Fancy's view to roll,
And speak the bloody Cæsar's warlike soul!
But Cæsar! thou art gone!
And Time shall bid thy statue follow soon.
The spacious Forum where great Tully's voice,
A clear and swelling torrent pour'd along,
'Till the tumultuous faction check'd their murmuring noise,
And mute—with dumb attention hark—as to the song
Of Orpheus, did fierce Cerberus of old,
When he with music's tongue his tender story told;
Touch'd by Time's destructive, potent wand,
Lies in ruins mouldering on the land.
From Rome the Muse now turns her eagle-eye,
To where the sun burns in the western sky,
Where Niagara loud and strong,
His deep majestic torrent rolls along:
From many a noble stream and lake supplied
The rushing tide,
With rapid force, most awful roars;
While echo swells the solemn sound upon his solitary shores.
But lo! the boiling flood check'd by a rocky mound,
It madly foams, and whirling round,
In one stupendous sheet,
From the dizy awful height,
Fierce rushing, headlong thunders to the ground.
The trembling groves, and caves around,
For many a league the dreadful shout resound—
And while the bellowing flood midst craggy rocks below
Boils into foam, above the heaven-depicted bow
In rapture holds the wondering traveller's eye,
And all his senses thrill with heavenly extacy.
But hold my Muse! repress thy airy flight,
Nor give thy quick'ned soul to sweet delight;
For e'en those haughty rocks, that rear on high
Their shaggy heads, and rend the vaulted sky
With their loud-roaring sounds sublime,
Shall bow beneath the shattering hand of Time.
A clear and swelling torrent pour'd along,
'Till the tumultuous faction check'd their murmuring noise,
And mute—with dumb attention hark—as to the song
Of Orpheus, did fierce Cerberus of old,
When he with music's tongue his tender story told;
Touch'd by Time's destructive, potent wand,
Lies in ruins mouldering on the land.
294
To where the sun burns in the western sky,
Where Niagara loud and strong,
His deep majestic torrent rolls along:
From many a noble stream and lake supplied
The rushing tide,
With rapid force, most awful roars;
While echo swells the solemn sound upon his solitary shores.
But lo! the boiling flood check'd by a rocky mound,
It madly foams, and whirling round,
In one stupendous sheet,
From the dizy awful height,
Fierce rushing, headlong thunders to the ground.
The trembling groves, and caves around,
For many a league the dreadful shout resound—
And while the bellowing flood midst craggy rocks below
Boils into foam, above the heaven-depicted bow
In rapture holds the wondering traveller's eye,
And all his senses thrill with heavenly extacy.
But hold my Muse! repress thy airy flight,
Nor give thy quick'ned soul to sweet delight;
For e'en those haughty rocks, that rear on high
Their shaggy heads, and rend the vaulted sky
With their loud-roaring sounds sublime,
Shall bow beneath the shattering hand of Time.
Yet waft away! oh! dissipate thy fears,
For now thro' the deep gloom of future years,
A beauteous scene beneath the western skies,
Resplendent bursts upon my ravish'd eyes.
Where thro' uncultur'd wilds Ohio rolls,
And hears the rav'nous wolf's terrific howls;
Or sees upon his shores at midnight hour,
The cruel savage exercise his power;
Sees him with a demoniack's joy elate,
Commit the hapless victim to his fate,
And while with grinning rage, the blazing wood
He quenches in the Prisoner's hissing blood,
Hears the shrill shrieks that pierce the distant air,
And freeze the heart of pity with despair:
There Time's command shall bid those horrors cease,
And wild Ohio smile with scenes of peace.
Where beasts of prey prowl o'er the desert ground,
Some future youths shall listen to the sound
Of wisdom, flowing from the Sage's tongue,
In tones attractive as the voice of song.
Then shall fair temples, villas, cities rise,
To beam new splendor on the natives' eyes;
The heaven-taught Painter, Sculptor, and the Bard
Shall there in future ages seek reward;
The voice of music warble thro' the air,
And all the glorious arts of peace appear.
For now thro' the deep gloom of future years,
A beauteous scene beneath the western skies,
Resplendent bursts upon my ravish'd eyes.
Where thro' uncultur'd wilds Ohio rolls,
And hears the rav'nous wolf's terrific howls;
295
The cruel savage exercise his power;
Sees him with a demoniack's joy elate,
Commit the hapless victim to his fate,
And while with grinning rage, the blazing wood
He quenches in the Prisoner's hissing blood,
Hears the shrill shrieks that pierce the distant air,
And freeze the heart of pity with despair:
There Time's command shall bid those horrors cease,
And wild Ohio smile with scenes of peace.
Where beasts of prey prowl o'er the desert ground,
Some future youths shall listen to the sound
Of wisdom, flowing from the Sage's tongue,
In tones attractive as the voice of song.
Then shall fair temples, villas, cities rise,
To beam new splendor on the natives' eyes;
The heaven-taught Painter, Sculptor, and the Bard
Shall there in future ages seek reward;
The voice of music warble thro' the air,
And all the glorious arts of peace appear.
But now again, the Muse prophetic, sighs,
While scenes of future desolation rise.
She sees her City, fair Columbia's pride,
A heap of ruins spreading far and wide:
She sees her streets once beauteous to behold,
Partition'd off, the shepherd flocks to fold;
The crumbling bricks, and separated stone,
By pale-green moss, and scattering fern o'ergrown.
The wiley fox from broken arches peeps,
Thro' the deserted dome the weasle creeps,
The owl sits whooping on the temple door,
While hops the squalid toad along the floor;
The hissings of the deadly snake she hears,
The warning rattle, trembles in her ears.
Begone delusive fancy! may thy wand
No more deform the beauty of our land!
Be unprophetic all thy gloomy views,
The airy offspring of the weeping Muse—
But all too true alas! thy words may prove,
When Time's destructive power shall o'er their beauties move!
While scenes of future desolation rise.
She sees her City, fair Columbia's pride,
A heap of ruins spreading far and wide:
She sees her streets once beauteous to behold,
Partition'd off, the shepherd flocks to fold;
The crumbling bricks, and separated stone,
By pale-green moss, and scattering fern o'ergrown.
The wiley fox from broken arches peeps,
Thro' the deserted dome the weasle creeps,
The owl sits whooping on the temple door,
While hops the squalid toad along the floor;
296
The warning rattle, trembles in her ears.
Begone delusive fancy! may thy wand
No more deform the beauty of our land!
Be unprophetic all thy gloomy views,
The airy offspring of the weeping Muse—
But all too true alas! thy words may prove,
When Time's destructive power shall o'er their beauties move!
Ere thrice ten times the God of day,
Has drove his flaming, annual Car,
Adown the rosy west;
My slender frame of clay,
With Time and fierce disease at war
May moulder into dust:
These grief-strung nerves of mine may cease to move
In sad vibrations to the voice of Love;
With many a hapless Bard whose tender breast
Now knows no more the goading thrust
Of pride, or penury his nerves of feeling tear.
But hold! ah hold thy lifted hand!
Nor lowly bow,
Beneath thy awful blow
The Father of Columbia's favor'd land:
Oh spare! the glorious Patriot spare!
Nor give the stroke of fate,
Until his equal shall appear
To fill with equal dignity the lofty chair of state.
Has drove his flaming, annual Car,
Adown the rosy west;
My slender frame of clay,
With Time and fierce disease at war
May moulder into dust:
These grief-strung nerves of mine may cease to move
In sad vibrations to the voice of Love;
With many a hapless Bard whose tender breast
Now knows no more the goading thrust
Of pride, or penury his nerves of feeling tear.
But hold! ah hold thy lifted hand!
Nor lowly bow,
Beneath thy awful blow
The Father of Columbia's favor'd land:
Oh spare! the glorious Patriot spare!
Nor give the stroke of fate,
Until his equal shall appear
To fill with equal dignity the lofty chair of state.
Birtha.
Philadelphia, July 1791.
This Poem was originally published, in an imperfect state, in No. 20 of the 3d volume of the Gazette of the United States, for July 6th, 1791, with its present signature. The great alterations which it has since undergone, and the many important additions now made to it, form a sufficient excuse for the conduct of the Editors in placing it among the Original Poems.
| American poems, selected and original | |