The Last Poems of Philip Freneau

What Salem said Susannah tells—
Elijah frets, and bites his nails—
They both resolve to quit the Lot
Should Salem judge it right or not.
They both agree, and think it best
To try their fortunes in the west;
But, yet, to keep their scheme concealed
'Till they could safely quit the field,
And leave a soil which barely fed,
Or, half the year denied them bread,
And which, when youth and strength were past,
Would leave them mendicants at last.
And what said Father to our notion?
(Elijah said, with some emotion;)
What thinks he of our views, and plan?
Did it not please the old gentleman?
SUSANNAH

Elijah sit you down, my dear—
Our project did not please his ear:
He said, we only dozed and dreamt,
And treated us with marked contempt,
Our journey is discouraged, all
Our purpose huddled to the wall;
It does not to his liking seem,
He thinks us crazy in the extreme—
He says the Indians will destroy us,
And bears and buffaloes annoy us,
And evils of a hundred kinds
Distract our brains, distress our minds.
Some other plan we must contrive—
In years you are but twenty-five;

And I am young, robust and hale,
Can travel over hill and dale.
Thus He, who toiled on Laban's land,
Took sprightly Rachel by the hand,
And, while the old dotard snored in bed,
With the fair Syrian damsel fled.

My mother, long ago, was placed
With those from Nature's list erased,
Where sighs and tears will nought avail 'em,
Nor cares for Susan or for Salem.
For her advice I would be glad;
But since it cannot, now, be had,
Perhaps the better part would be
With father's counsels to agree;
To live a little scant and bare,
And stay, contented, where we are.

ELIJAH

I stay, contented, where I am!!!
Give such advice to others, Ma'am.
Let father Salem boil his pot,
I'm careless if it boils or not;
He long has throve, and yet may rise
By ways and means that I despise;
Has made his way by hook and crook,
Nor his own interest once mistook,
But waddled on, through thick and thin,
Where'er he could a bargain win,
By turn and twist, through suits and scandal,
And selling trash by inch of candle—
Let him progress in such a trade—
I was for other uses made.

But fear, with timorous Fancy joined,
Will find a storm in every wind,
Will turn, with more than magic power,
A school-boy's wind-mill to a tower;

Will give an ape a giant's size,
Bid mole-hills into mountains rise,
And, still opposed to Reason's laws,
To masts and yards change sticks and straws.

If Salem is of such a stamp,
We must desert him, and decamp.

Young Jehu rigged a travelling cart,
Then, trembling asked his baby heart,
If Indians were not in his way,
And where they live, and where they stray?
He faultered, and was faint, do ye see,
So, ere he reached the Chickapee
Was so discouraged, so appalled,
That his good purpose he recalled,
Returned his fortune to bewail,
And starve and die in Boston jail.

I am not of such a feeble make,
Nor will I shrink when all's at stake,
Nor meanly to our hut return
At which a man of spunk would spurn.

SUSANNAH
Two oxen we can call our own:
How long—to you is better known—
These oxen are not counted mean,
Not very plump, nor very lean;
We have a cart—and there it stands,
Made by your own ingenious hands;
There is a mare, not very old.
That, months ago, has safely foaled;
With these we may set out to-morrow,
And leave this land of toil and sorrow,
Where one, to thrive, must cheat and juggle,
And life is one continual struggle.
I am impatient to be gone—
Pray let it be to-morrow's dawn.

ELIJAH
Remember, man was born to bear,
And woman, too, must have her share;
(Dear Susan, do not blush and smile,
I'm talking in a decent style.)
Remember Job, the man of Uz,
When sick, and in a constant buzz,
The gale came on that smote his roof,
And put his patience to the proof
(About that period of his life,
The time he quarrelled with his wife,)
When all his household was in tears
And rafters whistling round his ears,
When beams and shingles flew, like hail,
His goods, perhaps, at sheriff's sale;
When all his bairns were gone to pot;
False friends—old Satan—and what not?
By his example, be resigned,
And learn serenity of mind.
Of all the virtues you have nursed,
Believe me, Patience is the first;
So, leave me, without further clatter,
The whole conducting of the matter.

SUSANNAH
Elijah, I am all submission,
But go with you on this condition;
I'll sit where'er we pitch our tent,
Like Patience on a monument,
If you will hear, like other men,
A woman's counsel now and then.
If you to western woods depart
I'll follow on, with all my heart;
The love I bear to Yankee land
I will forget, at your command,

Will lay my female fears aside,
And roam the forest, far and wide,
For tracts that will repay our care,
And pumpkins, to perfection, bear.
Let me enjoy some favorite whim,
And I'll attend you—sink or swim.

ELIJAH
If we but reach the western woods,
Sanduskie's hills, Sanduskie's floods,
My axe shall find employment there
'Till to the sun the fields lie bare,
'Till from the soil such harvests rise
As never yet have met your eyes;
Such harvests from the earth shall grow
As Massachusetts never knew.
For such a jaunt with me prepare,
Nor heed the weather, foul or fair,
I have of money, such a store,
As will ten acres buy, or more,
And, if of more to be possessed,
Let art and cunning get the rest—
Of youth and vigor, such a stock,
As may at toil and hardship mock.
A cabin I can build, and fence
My little farm at small expence;
We Yankees have an active mind,
And all things are to all mankind;
We are for all conditions made,
Contented with the sun or shade,
There you might be supremely blest,
With more than one poor white-oak chest;
And I, as blest as man could wish,
With twice-a-day the venison dish,
Did I possess, on acres ten,
But two domestics—COCK and HEN.

A small river, falling into Connecticut river on the east side, at Springfield.

University of Virginia Library

Elijah, The New England Emigrant. No. III