The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys Late Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of Madrid |
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| A POEM ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON. |
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 | The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys |  |
A POEM ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
Dear and respected Madam,
Too long was I an inmate of your hospitable family, and too intimately connected with the late illustrious head of it, not to share in the poignancy of your distress for the death of the best of husbands. The loss of the most distinguished man of the age is an event which has produced an extensive mourning in Europe as well as in America. On the return of this day, which was signalized by his birth, and which was accustomed to be celebrated with heartfelt festivity throughout the United States, what mingled ideas crowd upon the recollection! Grief more genuine or more universal was never manifested in any age or in any nation. While a grateful country offers to you the joint tribute of sympathetic tears, I am encouraged to hope that the solitary condolences of an absent friend will not be unseasonable or unacceptable. Accept, then, that pledge of my sincere affection and respect for you. In the season of severe afflictions, I know you were ever disposed to listen to the voice of friendship, reason, and religion. When, nearly nineteen years ago, you were bereaved by death of a dear, an only son, after having mentioned the superior motives for resignation to the dispensations of the Deity, I attempted to administer some consolation, by showing that the lenient hand of time might mitigate the severity of grief, and that you had still the prospect of enjoying many good days on earth in the society of the best of friends, as well as in beholding your grand-children happily established in life, as a comfort for your more advanced years. Highly favoured have you been by Providence, in the uninterrupted fruition of those felicities, until the late fatal stroke, which has removed all you held most dear for ever from this world. Having lived long enough for himself, and long enough for glory, he has gone before us from these mutable scenes of trouble to the mansions of eternal rest.
We, too, are hastening to follow him “to that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns.” The only difference is, whether we shall commence our journey a few days sooner or later. In either case the idea of meeting our dear departed friends will serve, in some degree, to cheer the gloomy passage. To those who have already passed into the vale of declining life, it is true every thing here below ought to appear too transitory and too short-lived to allow them to calculate on permanent enjoyments. If the consolation which was once naturally drawn from the expectation of still seeing many good days on this earth, be diminished, the resources of reason and religion are everlasting as they are inexhaustible. The noble sentiments and principles of your departed husband remain for your support. Your long alliance with that exalted character cannot fail to elevate your mind above the pressure of immoderate and unreasonable sorrow: we are apt to assimilate ourselves, as far as we are able, to the character, and, as it were, to identify our own with the destinies of those we love. Your hope of happiness is with him on high. But without suffering your intellectual view to be diverted from that higher contemplation, may you not experience some soothing sensations in contemplating a whole people weeping over the tomb of your beloved; in seeing them strive to bestow unequalled honours on his memory, and in knowing that they wish to alleviate your sorrow by a participation of it? And may you not derive some rational comfort from the recollection that the great and good man whom we now mourn as having been subject to the lot of mortality, has faithfully discharged every duty in life; from a belief that he has now entered upon a glorious immortality; and from a conviction that, after having rendered to his country more important services than any other human character ever performed, his example will continue to be a blessing to mankind so long as this globe shall exist as a theatre for human action? Since the fatal news reached me, I have found my heart so much oppressed as not to be able to give vent to those effusions which can alone afford me some relief. I wished to express my sensations, but felt myself incapable of the effort: so true is the observation of the author of the pathetic elegy on Mr. Addison:
“What mourner ever felt poetic fires!Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires;
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with bleeding heart.”
When my own grief shall become a little moderated, I propose to indulge my melancholy meditations in endeavouring to delineate such features of the character of the deceased father of his country, and such events of his interesting life, as have left the most indelible impressions on my mind. I shall thus procure the double advantage, first, for myself, of holding a kind of spiritual intercourse with him; and, next, of exhibiting for others an admirable model for imitation. Could I flatter myself with the expectation of being able to express (in any adequate proportion) what I know and what I feel on a subject which will employ the pens of innumerable writers, I might then hope to do not less justice to his public and private virtues than others. For, conscious I am that few have had opportunities of knowing him better, and that none could appreciate more justly his morals and his merits. If the task which gratitude, affection and duty impose shall not be executed in a manner too unworthy of the subject, even in my own judgment, I shall ask your acceptance of the production when finished. In the mean time, may you receive, while here on earth, every species of consolation of which an afflicted and virtuous mind is susceptible: and may the choicest of heaven's benedictions attend you through the whole period of your existence. Such is the fervent prayer of
Your most affectionate And most obliged friend and servant, D. HUMPHREYS.P. S. I request you will present my most affectionate regards to Mrs. Stuart and family, to all your amiable grand-children, to Mr. Lear, Dr. Craig and family, and, in general, all my ancient friends in your neighbourhood. Mrs. Humphreys, although she has not the honour of being personally known to you, cannot but take a deep interest in your afflictions. She requests me to tender the homage of her best respects to you.
TO Mrs. WASHINGTON, At Mount-Vernon.
Dear and respected Madam,
In conformity to the intimation given in my letter, dated the 22d of February last, I now dedicate to you a Poem, on the death of your late husband, delivered yesterday, at the house of the American legation in this city, in presence of a respectable number of persons belonging to different nations. Their partiality to the subject led them to listen to it with peculiar indulgence. And from you, I flatter myself, it will meet with no unfavourable reception, even if it should not have the desired effect of diminishing the source of your sorrow, as it contains a representation (though but an imperfect one) of my melancholy sensations—and as it is rather the production of the heart than of the head. When I wrote to you on the 22d of February last, I was ignorant that day had been set apart as sacred to the memory of General Washington. I was unconscious that the voice of mourning was raised at that moment throughout every district in the United States for your and their irreparable loss. Yet, on a day which had been rendered for ever memorable by his birth, it was so natural for the feelings of the whole nation to be in sympathy, that I could not fail of participating in the mournful solemnity which I afterwards found had been recommended by the President to the people of the union.
The anniversary of Independence produces, in some sort, a renovation of the same sentiments. For who can separate the idea of our Washington from that of our Independence? Who can avoid renewing their lamentations, that he, who contributed so largely to the establishment of it, is now no more? That he was raised up by Heaven to be more instrumental than any other mortal in obtaining the acknowledgment of our right to be an independent nation, and in securing the enjoyment of our civil liberty under a good form of government, no one has ever pretended to deny. For the accomplishment of this glorious destiny, it was indispensably necessary that he should have been born just so long before the
In either extremity of life so immediately does the lot of General Washington appear to have been the charge of heaven! Since the mortal as well as the natal hour is unchangeably fixed, it
Happy is it that the seal of immortality is set on the character of him, whose counsels as well as actions were calculated to increase the sum of human happiness. Those counsels are now the more likely to be spontaneously obeyed, since his career has been successfully finished, and since it is every where fashionable to speak of his talents and services in terms of the highest applause. In fine, the world is disposed, in this instance, to do justice to the most unsullied worth it has perhaps ever witnessed. While heroes, and statesmen, and nations contemplate with complacency his public life as a perfect model for a public character, it remains for those who knew him in the calm station of retirement to demonstrate how dearly they prized his amiable dispositions and domestic virtues, by imitating his conduct in private life. To be great is the lot of few—to be good is within the power of all. What are the inestimable consolations of a good conscience in the hour of afflictions, no one knows better than yourself; and it ought not to be indifferent to you that posterity too will know, that, in all your social relations, and in discharging all the duties of your sex, the whole tenour of your behaviour has been highly exemplary, and worthy of the most unreserved approbation: indeed, that it has been worthy of the wife of General Washington.
With such consolatory reflections I bid you an affectionate adieu, in renewing the assurances of the great regard and esteem with which
ADVERTISEMENT.
Since the following Poem will probably be perused by some foreigners who have not much acquaintance with the United States, it was presumed that it might not be improper to furnish some illustrations of it in the notes.
As the life of General Washington excited so much admiration, and his death such universal sorrow, it was imagined no communications could be unwelcome to the public which might tend to give a just idea of the purity, disinterestedness and friendship of that distinguished character. Such is the tendency of his letters to the author, written in the confidence of friendship, and, consequently, not meant for the public eye. But now that the curtain is drawn by death, it was conceived that the publication would not only reflect credit upon the man who composed them, but even be of some utility to his country. And now that he is for ever removed from us, it will not be superfluous to remark, that what might have been considered by certain persons as flattery, if published during his life, cannot at present be subject to that imputation.
The author thinks proper here to offer some apology for the disproportion which may perhaps be noticed between the different parts of the poem. Since several writers have concurred in expressing more admiration for the civil than for the military talents of General Washington; and since the splendour of the late warlike achievements in Europe has, in a manner, eclipsed all the martial glory that had preceded, so that the events of our revolutionary war are in danger of being unknown to posterity; it was deemed not improper to describe at large the principal battle which was fought between the two main armies, and which was rendered the more remarkable from the scenery, season, and vicissitudes that designated the engagement.
These are the chief reasons why the author has thought himself justified in dwelling so long on that part of his subject, while he has been obliged to pass over many other topics of importance with so much rapidity. Nothing has been more admired among mankind than the description of ancient battles, on which the fate of empires depended, and which have been immortalized in
If a coincidence of thought should be found in this composition with that which has been introduced into any other on the same subject, it ought to be known that the author had not seen any publication, except the eulogy of Judge Minot, of Boston, at the time when he composed the following poem.
ARGUMENT.
This Anniversary of Independence overcast with unusual glooms—symptoms of extreme and universal affliction for the death of Washington—my unutterable feelings of distress— his friends who were present, how affected—apostrophe to melancholy —motives for endeavouring to overcome the oppression of silent grief, in order to celebrate his glorious achievements —different classes of people called upon to sympathise in the general sorrow for his death—sketch of the extraordinary qualities of body and mind, which distinguished him in youth, and fitted him for future public employments—his early mission —first military exploits—subsequent occupation in civil and agricultural life until middle age—election as a Delegate to the first Congress—Great-Britain forces us into the revolationary war—that war different in character and weapons from the wars of the Indians or ancients—Washington is appointed Commander in Chief of the American armies—his wise and successful procrastinating system—battle of Monmouth, as being the principal action fought between the two main armies, described in detail—siege of York-Town—difficult and distressing situations—invincible firmness of the American hero—a mutiny suppressed—peace—resignation of his commission as Commander in Chief—troubles that succeeded in the United States for want of a good government—Washington, with the Federal Convention, formed a new Constitution—he is unanimously chosen first President of the United States, at a very tempestuous period—his just system of policy in general, and particularly with respect to foreign nations—an insurrection quelled without bloodshed—his humane conduct on all occasions toward our enemies, and especially towards the aborigines of America when conquered—treatment of Africans— his journey through the United States—their gratitude to him—unparalleled prosperity of his administration—his reward —the benefits resulting from his enlightened policy not limited to his own country, but extended to mankind—his retirement from public life—he is again named Commander in Chief a short time before his death—that event lamented with the tenderest sensibility by all our troops—though he was so extensively respected and beloved, he did not entirely escape slander—its impotency—his last advice—his important services in life, and heroic contempt of death, cited as examples—consolations for his widow—view of a happy immortality—spirits of the brave and supernatural beings invoked to protect our orphaned land—address to the supreme Disposer of all things to preserve our freedom—vision of Washington concludes the poem.
Beneath whose banner broad in war unfurl'd,
With Washington I toil'd! beneath whose shade
With him beheld thy fruits in peace display'd!—
Say why such deep'ning glooms this day o'erspread,
Thy annual feast, as for some dearest dead?
After having served through the war with General Washington, the author accompanied him to Mount-Vernon, and was the last officer belonging to the army of the United States who parted from the Commander in Chief. He afterwards returned and resided at that seat during the whole time which elapsed between the publication of the present Constitution and the election of General Washington as first President: And when Mr. Charles Thompson came there, by direction of Congress, to notify that event, the author was the only person (their domestics excepted) who attended the President to New-York, then the temporary residence of the government.
Why paleness gathers on each alter'd cheek?
Why round the shore and o'er each inland heath,
Tolls from each village tow'r the bell of death?
Why stops the dance? Why cease the sounds of mirth?
What unknown sorrow saddens half the earth?
What means yon sable train in shadowy ranks,
That dimly moves along Potowmac's banks?
Why on my view ascends yon phantom bier?
I fear'd—ah, woe to me! too true that fear!—
Our day to darkness turn'd—our glory fled—
Yes, that lov'd form lies lifeless, dark in dust—
Of patriots purest as of heroes first!
Upon the news of the death of General Washington being communicated to the American people, public deliberations ceased, business was suspended, places of amusement were shut, funeral solemnities were performed in many churches, and every possible demonstration of sincere mourning was manifested throughout the United States.
The reader may be referred to the printed relation of the affecting manner in which the burial was conducted at the family vault, on the bank of the Potowmac.—See the general order for celebrating the funeral obsequies. Also the interesting description of the military proceedings, on this occasion, in the cantonment of the Union Brigade, at the Scotch-Plains, in New-Jersey, commanded by Colonel William S. Smith, formerly Aid-de-Camp of General Washington.
Unutterable feelings choak my voice—
For sensibilities I bring, not less,
And greater grief than others, to express.
Then ask your breast, each feeling patriot, ask,
How dread the duty and how great the task?
Yet who can tell what sorrow fills my breast?
Can all the sighs that will not be supprest,
The struggling voice and eyes that overflow,
Effuse such deep, immeasurable woe?
Then view the scene of death, where keener pain
Palsies each nerve, and thrills through every vein.
Ye sorrowing inmates of his mournful dome,
Ye sad domestics, kindred, neighbours, come!
Take a last gaze—in ruins where he lies!—
Pale your mute lips—and red your failing eyes—
But, dumbly eloquent, despair shall tell,
How long ye lov'd him, and, ev'n more, how well!
Come, thou! whose voice alone my country hears,
To woe abandon'd, and dissolv'd in tears;
Come, Melancholy! come—in sorrow steep
The dirge of death, and teach my words to weep?
Thee will I woo in every haunted place,
And give my bosom to thy cold embrace.
Adieu, ye gayer scenes—a long farewell
To festal domes where mirth and music dwell;
I seek the house of mourning—there, my soul,
Thy daring flights, 'mid damps of death, controul!
Or let me rove where spectres haunt the glooms,
In meditations lost among the tombs;
Hold visionary converse with my chief,
And long indulge the luxury of grief.
Can stoic precepts grief like this assuage,
Grief not confin'd to nation, sex, or age!
Could apathy our sense of grief benumb,
Matter inanimate, no longer dumb,
Our path to Independence first explor'd,
Sleep unremember'd? him will none adorn,
Whose wreaths of fame shall deck our sons unborn,
Whose independent soul, untaught to yield,
Shall fill their breasts and fire them to the field?
Shall not the western world bewail the blow
That laid our chief, the first of mortals, low?
And shall not he (th' example plac'd in view
For endless generations to pursue)
Who for his country spent his every breath,
Speak from the tomb and serve it after death?
Then weep thou orphan'd world! thy poignant grief
From nat'ral tears shall find a faint relief.
Ye choirs of children!—Washington is dead—
Have ye no sobs to heave, no tears to shed?
Unknowing your great loss, with chaplets come,
In robes of white, and strow with flow'rs his tomb!
Ye lovely virgins left to long despair,
With soften'd features and disorder'd hair,
The slow procession join! Ye matrons grave,
Who boast an offspring resolute and brave,
Swell with your moan the symphony of woe;
While youth and manhood teach their tears to flow!
Orphans!—your benefactor is no more—
A second parent lost, with pangs deplore!
Ye desolated widows, weep him dead,
Whose fleeces cloath'd you and whose harvests fed!
Ye his co-evals, whose dim west'ring sun
Nigh to that bourne, whence none returns, has run;
With parsimonious drops bedew his urn;
Ye go to him, but he will not return.
Stern-visag'd vet'rans, scorning threats and fears,
With death familiar, but unus'd to tears;
Ye who with him for independence fought,
And the rough work of revolution wrought;
Ye brave companions of his martial cares,
Inur'd to hardships, in his fame co-heirs;
Let sharper sorrow sting your manly breast!
To worlds unknown what friends have gone before!
The place that knew them, knows them now no more;
Your seats at annual feasts must be more bare,
Ev'n ye must be the wrecks of what ye were;
Till late, supported on his staff, appears
(Like some lone arch that braves a length of years)
One hoary MAN, all helpless, pale, unnerv'd,
The last alive with Washington who serv'd!
And ye, who oft his public counsels heard,
Admir'd his wisdom and his words rever'd;
Ye senators! let mourning's voice succeed,
And join the cry, “the mighty's fall'n indeed.”
Many solemn processions, in celebration of the funeral obsequies of General Washington, were made in divers cities, towns, and villages of the United States.
Mr. Lear, the confidential friend of General Washington, can disclose better than any other person what an amount of property was annually distributed by him in secret charities.
The society of the Cincinnati is composed of the officers of the army who served their country during the revolutionary war. Their annual meetings are held on the fourth day of July in every State.
“Fall'n is the mighty,” shore to shore replies,
Of him the tearful traveller will speak—
The tear will wet the wandering sailor's cheek,
Who, hearing 'mid the storm his country's cry,
Furls the white canvass in a foreign sky.
Of him, at home, will speak each aged sire,
As his young offspring crowd the wintry fire,
Their list'ning ears with tales of wonder strike,
And say, “alas! when shall we see his like?”
The citizens of the United States travelling or residing in foreign countries, universally wore badges of mourning.
Upon the news of the death of General Washington being received in Europe, the colours on board of American vessels were hoisted half mast high, and minute guns were fired. The sailors belonging to American vessels in the Thames assisted at the church in Wapping at a service adapted to the occasion.
To him, the glory of his age, were giv'n?
What force of body, majesty of mind,
To make one perfect whole in him combin'd?
O'er his fine figure and distinguish'd face,
Life's rosy morn suffus'd cherubic grace;
While toils his sinews brace, his limbs dilate,
And arm his breast to brave the bolts of fate.
What peerless portion of th' Almighty's might
Nerv'd the new chief, magnanimous for fight?
He look'd and mov'd conspicuous as a god?
Him young a model for our youth behold!
No dupe to pleasure and no slave to gold;
Above low pride, nor smit with love of pow'r,
Nor idly changing with the changing hour:
Each headstrong passion curb'd, each sense refin'd,
Devote to virtue all his mighty mind!—
That mighty mind, correct, capacious, strong,
Discriminating clearly right from wrong;
By Meditation's lamp soon learn'd to scan
The dark recesses of the heart of man—
Modest, not bashful, ev'n in timid youth,
Nor obstinate, but nobly firm for truth;
Of others' counsels, his own judgment such,
He priz'd them nor too little nor too much;
And chief, that happiest skill to him was known,
When others' to prefer and when his own.
General Washington constantly declined receiving any thing from the public, but merely for the purpose of defraying his expenses. At the close of the war he rendered an account to government, in his own hand-writing, of all the public money which had been expended by or for him.
Ere manhood's earliest honours deck'd his chin;
What time, a legate through the gloomy grove,
To quench the first-seen spark of war, he strove:
To him so young the task sublime consign'd,
Involv'd the peace or war of half mankind.
But vain his task. The spark that there began,
A fiery deluge through the nations ran.
Who has not heard, when round our borders far
Encroachments wak'd the colonies to war;
He led a band where band ne'er march'd before,
And dyed his maiden steel in savage gore?
Or how, by perils press'd, his growing fame
(When captur'd at the fort that drew its name
Or how, when Braddock fell (though hedg'd by foes,
Though weak with sickness, watching, want of food,
And midnight wand'ring in the howling wood)
He hew'd a glorious passage, bold, discreet,
And sav'd an army by a sage retreat?
So through Misfortune's path the stripling far'd,
For other fields, by early feats, prepar'd.
So rose the youthful hero's glory—soon
To blaze and brighten in perennial noon—
High o'er each earth-born mist, that frequent shrouds
Meridian glory in a night of clouds.
The American hero was sent, when very young, by the government of Virginia, to confer with the French commander on the frontiers, and to endeavour, by checking encroachments, to prevent hostilities. These, however, shortly afterwards commenced in that quarter, and extended to all parts of the world.
Fort Necessity, which was commanded by Colonel Washington, after a gallant defence, was surrendered by capitulation. The garrison was allowed to retire to the settlements.
On the day of Braddock's defeat, young Washington, who was so weak from a fever as to be supported by a cushion on his horse, performed the most arduous and meritorious services. After having conducted the shattered remains of the army across the Monongahels, into a place of safety, he proceeded through the dark and bowling wilderness all night, in order to reach the camp of Colonel Dunbar, and obtain the necessary succour as soon as possible. On his arrival he fainted, and suffered a relapse, which lasted for a considerable time.
Then happier days began to shine serene.
'Twas then he honour'd many a civil trust,
A judge and legislator wise and just.
In rural cares he plac'd his chief delight,
By day his pleasure and his dream by night—
How sweetly smil'd his eye to view his farms,
In produce rich, display unnumber'd charms;
While joys domestic sweeten'd every toil,
And his fond partner paid him smile for smile!
General Washington was, for many years before the revolution, a magistrate of Fairfax county, and a member of the Legislature of the dominion of Virginia.
What time the fathers of the western clime
In congress first assembled—there his name
Stood midst the foremost on the list of fame.
Nor since this sublunary scene began,
Have names more glorious grac'd the race of man.
At first they hop'd redress, their wrongs made known
In mild remonstrance with a manly tone:
In vain they hop'd the parent pow'r would hear;—
On them she scornful turn'd a deafen'd ear.
And in our country's cause all dangers dare.
Then Britain's legions (in whose van he strove
In former fight, and seiz'd amid the grove
That fort where fair Ohio takes its name)
In hostile terrors, like a torrent came.
To us how strange that hateful strife appear'd,
To meet as foes whom kindred names endear'd!
No more in woods and swamps the war was wag'd,
As when our sires the native race engag'd;
When painted savages from mountains far
Made vallies howl with hollow whoops of war;
Or when, in ambush hid, the bow they drew,
And arrowy deaths on silent pinions flew;
Or when from captive heads the scalps they tore,
And wav'd the trophies reeking warm with gore.
But now on broader plains, with banners gay,
And burnish'd steel that flashes back the day,
In fiercer hosting meet, with mutual fires,
Two armies sprung from the same warlike sires.
What though nor ancient arms or armour shed
A floating splendour round each hero's head;
What though our eyes no single chief behold,
Come tow'ring arm'd in panoply of gold;
What though no beamy mail, no sun-bright shields
Shoot their long lightnings o'er th' astonish'd fields;
Nor flies the twink'ling steel nor thund'ring car,
Its wheels whirl redd'ning o'er the ranks of war;—
New arms more fatal give man's rage new force,
Where modern tactics turn the battle's course;
Where discipline through thousands breathes one soul,
Combines their strength and animates the whole;
A moving world obeys the leader's nod,
In pomp and prowess likest to a god!
One spark of martial fire an army warms,
One breath inspires it and one soul informs.
As wing'd by wintry winds the horsemen move,
A running flame that wastes the crackling grove:
The phalanx firm in uniform attire,
Indissolubly stands a wall of fire:
Singe the red air and rock the solid world.
Fort Pitt, formerly called Fort Du Quesne, is situated at the confluence of the rivers Allegany and Monongabela, where the waters assume the name of the Ohio. General Washington commanded the Virginia troops when this fort was taken in a former war.
A mighty angel arm'd with God's own might!
To Washington the wise, prepar'd by heav'n
To lead our host, the high command was giv'n.
He came obsequious to the sacred call,
Survey'd the dangers and despis'd them all.
Though in his mind he found no mean resource,
He felt the task too great for human force;
And plac'd, reluctant, of our leaders first,
He in the God of battles put his trust.
(Nor foes nor friends confest but half his fame)
From beauteous Boston drove the royal ranks,
Their inroads check'd on Hudson's rocky banks,
Resolv'd the state to save by wise delay,
Nor risk our fortunes on one fatal day.
But, when by duty urg'd, with dread delight
(Like heav'n's red vengeance rous'd at dead of night)
He rush'd to battle. Witness, wide domains!
Ye Jersey hills and Pennsylvania plains!
Witness, ye war-graves, rising round our coast,
Where rest the bones of half the British host!
Thou, Monmouth, witness through thy waste of sand,
The battle bravely fought as wisely plann'd!
As General Washington was, at one period, erroneously considered by many of his countrymen, as being too much disposed to pursue the Fabian system of war, it was thought the more necessary to attempt to impress the public mind with an idea of his active and enterprizing character whenever the circumstances would justify such conduct. The battle of Monmouth, and the siege of York-Town, are particularly selected for that purpose.
The gaping ground for lack of moisture dried;
The foliage scorch'd, the grass untimely sear'd,
And dry and dun the late green-swerd appear'd;
When now from Schuylkill's shore in strong array,
The royal host through Jersey wind their way;
Full many a league with weary steps retreat,
Through suffocating dust, and drought, and heat:
Hangs on their rear-guard like the storm of night.
The dubious dawn o'er Monmouth's plain that shone,
Crimson'd the clouds before the rising sun;
Where Britain's cavalry, in dreadful length,
Stood, sword in hand, a living wall of strength!
Simcoe's videttes by glimm'ring embers move,
Like gliding shapes in some enchanted grove:
While scatter'd far, at first approach of morn,
Tarleton's light scouts now blew the bugle-horn.
Mean while our troops, observant of their plan,
Sounded the matin trump along the van:
Straight at the sound, up springs, with nimble speed,
The ready rider on the ready steed;
No loath'd delay, no hateful halt occurs,
Wheel'd to the charge with all the speed of spurs.
Red rose the sun; the sabres bluely bright
Leap'd from their scabbards on his sanguine light.
Fairer than beauteous forms young fancy feigns,
Pour'd Britain's squadrons o'er th' embattled plains,
From Arab sires commenc'd the lofty breed,
Their strength the thunder and the wind their speed:
In Britain's fields they fed, there learn'd to prance
In gorgeous ranks, and meet the lifted lance—
No more in Britain's fields to feed at large,
Prance in proud ranks and meet in mimic charge—
Unconscious of their fate! to fall in gore,
Or toil inglorious on a foreign shore.
In flank the Chasseur troops less gay were seen,
And false Columbians cloath'd like them in green:
Ingrates! to play a patricidal part,
And strive to stab their country to the heart!
To meet that mingled force, Columbia's steeds,
Long pamper'd high amid her flow'ry meads,
With speed electric rush'd—the rapid band,
With horny hoofs, uphurl'd th' eddying sand.
Then wrapp'd in dust and smoke the fight began,
Steed furious springs on steed, and man on man:
As fire-balls burst with startling flash at night,
So clash Columbian sabres sparkling bright;
Makes horrid circles, hissing high in air.
From steely helms incessant lightnings flash,
And death sits frequent in the ghastly gash.
With inextinguishable rage, so rush'd
Both hostile lines, by mutual fury push'd:
So toil'd in blood, till drain'd of wonted force,
Promiscuous fell the rider and the horse.
Though squadrons hew'd down squadrons, none would yield,
Till signals gave to wider war the field.
And dusky wreaths of smoke to shrowd the skies:
First silent gloom prevails—'mid clouds of fire,
Then deathful engines sound the onset dire.
Now iron balls through less'ning legions bound,
Whiz red in air and rock the gory ground:
So swells the sound when torrent waters pour
On the stunn'd ear th' intolerable roar;
Or when tornadoes black the world assail,
And burst th' eternal magazines of hail.
Here leads great Washington Columbia's band,
The brand of battle blazing in his hand;
Darts his experienc'd eye along the files,
And o'er the subject-scene superior smiles.
In front of Britain Clinton's vet'ran form
Rides dark as night and louring as a storm;
With glory gain'd in former wars elate,
His voice the tempest's and his falchion fate.
All those who have seen General Washington on horse-back, at the head of his army, will doubtless bear testimony with the author, that they never saw a more graceful or dignified person.
Some lightly arm'd—with deadly rifles some—
These from cerulean mountains hurried down,
In fringed vest succinct, tawney or brown:
Beneath their aim the hostile leaders fall,
For death rides swift th' unseen, unerring ball.
Militia bands, who fought to save their farms,
All multiformly march in garb and arms.
Equipp'd alike, to martial music tread.
Now rang'd, the host in grand divisions stands,
Brigades, battalions, squadrons, troops and bands:
On either wing the horse (new form'd) appear'd—
In front the Gen'rals ordering loud are heard,
(While chiefs of corps to pass the order press)—
“To right display the columns—march! halt! dress!”
From solid columns lengthening lines now wheel,
Front form'd to front, and steel oppos'd to steel.
The hosts stretch opposite in equal length,
The same their order and the same their strength.
Two lines had each and corps of strong reserve,
To stay the lines where'er the battle swerve;
To turn the hostile flank, the charge sustain,
To guard the baggage and the batt'ring train.
A cloud they move—a ridge of fire they stand—
And waving banners guide each silent band.
Here shine the silvery stars in mystic trains,
Fair as their sisters on th' ethereal plains;
Above our eagle's hoary head they shine,
And shed blest influence on each battling line.
There other ensigns point the British course.
With various emblems, but united force.
There frowns the lion's port, conspicuous far!
Here harps and thistles lead th' unnatural war:
O'er hireling troops the German eagles cow'r,
Intent to lure them to the feast of gore.
Britons with Germans form'd, apart, for fight,
The left wing rob'd in blue, in red the right;
On adverse lines their march tremendous bend,
Where young Columbia's sons their steel protend;
With seried files receive the rushing foe,
Deal wounds for wounds and parry blow with blow.
As ocean's billows beat a jutting rock,
Which unimpair'd receives, repels the shock:
So Britain's force on firm Columbia broke,
Which unimpair'd receiv'd, repell'd the stroke.
These IN and FOR their native country fought.
The companies of Riflemen from the western mountains were generally dressed in hunting-shirts and trowsers, of fawn colour or brown, adorned with fringe.
Foreigners may not, perhaps, know, without being here informed, that in the armorial bearings of the United States, under the emblematical stars, is the bald eagle—a bird peculiar to America.
The British regimental colours are ornamented with a lion, the Scotch with a thistle, and the Irish with a harp—the German auxiliary troops bore eagles in their banners.—Some of the standards of each of these nations were taken with the army of Lord Cornwallis, at York-Town.
Diffus'd a flood of heat, a flood of light;
O'er either battle hung with fearful glare,
Shot burning beams and fir'd the angry air.
From both the hosts as some faint soldiers stray,
They meet unnerv'd, beneath the scorching day;
Victors or Vanquish'd, blighted by his beams,
Together sought and drank the scanty streams—
Of war unmindful—mingled on the heath,
They fell—but guiltless of each other's death.
The 28th of June, 1778, the day on which the battle of Monmouth was fought, was one of the hottest ever known in America. Many soldiers expired from the heat alone.
Form'd on the second as the ranks recoil'd;
Between the hosts a space now open'd large,
Instant our chief bade sound the general charge.
No blythesome lark that chaunts the birth of light,
Nor soothing Philomela's notes at night,
Nor virgin-voice responsive to her lyre,
Can like the battle-sound the soul inspire:
Each milder thought in martial transport drown'd,
Than music more, there's magic in the sound;
Through tingling veins a tide tumultuous rolls
Advent'rous valour to heroic souls.
Swift to the sound he bade the battle move;
Of Bayonne's bristly pikes an iron grove!
Bade livid lightning nearer bosoms singe,
The scorch'd skin blacken and the red wound twinge:
Bade bick'ring blades in British gore be dyed,
And vital crimson flow in many a tide:
Bade leaden hail its vollied vengeance pour,
And all the thunder of the battle roar.
The battle's fate long undecided lay,
And deeds immortal grac'd the doubtful day.
Some future bard, with rapture-rolling eyes,
His numbers rising as his raptures rise,
Sublim'd, proportion'd to his theme, shall tell
What glorious heroes for their country fell;
The trophies gain'd, the cannon lost and won:
Where Lee in front our light-arm'd legion led,
How from the giant-grenadiers they fled;
From dark oblivion snatch that soldier's wife,
Who saw him for his country sell his life;
Saw every gunner round the cannon die,
And covering bands, o'erpow'r'd, compell'd to fly;
Then as the foe to seize that cannon came,
She touch'd the pregnant brass with quick'ning flame,
And cried “confusion on your heads be hurl'd,
Here comes our Chief, the glory of the world!”
Him midst his chiefs a bounding courser bore,
Snorting thick clouds and scatt'ring foam and gore;
With placid smile and animating voice,
That made the wearied warrior's souls rejoice,
He came—conspicuous to his own side far,
And breath'd fresh vigour through the broken war.
Columbia, rallying round the godlike form,
Swept o'er the dry sand like a mountain storm;
The chief of chiefs, our foremost band before,
Bade the dry sand be drunk with hostile gore.
Then mean desires to reach the shelt'ring coast,
Resistless, seiz'd the faint Britannic host;
Not captains brave could wonted strength inspire,
Nor Clinton, fearless 'mid a flood of fire;
Who flew from rank to rank their souls to raise,
With thoughts of former deeds and former praise.
The foe with palpitations pass'd the heath:
The squadron'd steeds that headlong sought the strand,
Successive fail'd and bit the gory sand—
The foot battalions, wedg'd in firm array,
Indissoluble long, pursued their way:
But nought that day great Washington withstood,
Who sway'd the battle where he rode in blood.
As when th' Almighty's messenger of wrath,
Rides in the whirlwind's desolating path,
Such flames convulsive shoots his wrathful eye,
Th' uprooted groves one broad red ruin lie;
Wing'd in his crimson way the battle storm;
Such prowess shedding through his new-rais'd host,
As not the foe's long discipline could boast.
From Britain's rout the sun withdrew his eye—
The pale moon setting saw the legions fly—
Now foul disorder, flight and shameful fear,
From the scar'd van-guard gain'd the victim rear.
Now many a Briton's last campaign was made,
His eye-lids clos'd in death's oblivious shade:
Ierne's sons, who lov'd our sacred cause,
There fought as foes and fell without applause:
There many a German, whom his prince had sold,
Sunk on the sand and black in carnage roll'd:
None knew the bodies though well known before,
Deform'd with gashes and besmear'd with gore.
Now corses, cannon, cars bestrew'd the soil,
With shatter'd arms and former ill-won spoil:
Till Albion's remnants, where the billows roar,
Reach'd their tall ships beside the Shrewsb'ry shore.
What eagle flight can trace through regions far,
Th' immortal march of Washington in war?
Who sing his conq'ring arms o'er York that shone,
And deeds surviving monumental stone?
How cloud-hid batt'ries rain'd red bullets dire,
Volcanic mortars belch'd infernal fire,
While baleful bombs that buoy'd in ether rode,
Emblaze the skies, and, fill'd with fate, explode!
Till great Cornwallis, hopeless of relief,
Resign'd whole armies to a greater chief?
Then solemn thanks by blest Columbia giv'n,
With songs of gratitude, rose sweet to heav'n.
What though my lips no common fervour warm'd
To sing th' achievements that his arm perform'd;
Though strong as when I follow'd where he led,
Toil'd in his sight, or with his mandates sped,
Or bore his trophies to our pow'r supreme,
I sink beneath th' immensity of theme.
So vast an argument divinely sing;
Then should the numbers rise as heav'n sublime,
Defy the ravage of corroding time,
Make late posterity his deeds admire,
And raptur'd bosoms burn with more than mortal fire.
A monument was ordered to be erected by Congress, at York-Town, to perpetuate the remembrance of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis's army.
And who the palm of independence gain'd.
'Twas that blest meed, to Washington so dear,
Sustain'd his efforts through the dread career.
Shall I, who knew the secrets of his soul,
His smother'd anguish ere he reach'd the goal;
When faint, with sickness visited by heav'n,
His feeble band before the foe was driv'n—
(Their snow-tracks stain'd with blood—their limbs by frost
Benumb'd) defeated—all but honour lost;—
When scarcely hope surviv'd the chilling blast—
And every hour of freedom seem'd the last—
Shall I not tell how firm he met the shock,
Impassable his breast, a diamond rock?
This alludes, in a particular manner, to the forlorn condition of the American army during the winter campaign of 1777.
(If forc'd to combat) on one desp'rate day;
Though for his country's cause so wrapp'd in gloom,
The patriot felt—the hero brav'd his doom—
If vanquish'd, conscious of their destin'd state,
Slavery the country's—his a rebel's fate!—
Yet, not the threats of death to slavery join'd,
Could shake one settled purpose of his mind.
Stern independence steel'd his stubborn breast—
Unmov'd, by more than mountains weight opprest,
Remain'd the matchless soul—unmov'd alone
Th' unconquerable soul of Washington.
Nor were his feelings tortur'd but by foes,
He keenly felt his army's wants and woes.
What time, unpaid, ill-clothed for years entire,
Our war-worn legions felt distresses dire;
Taught black revolt and bade the tumult rise:
To meet the malice of his secret pen,
Mild in the midst uprose the first of men.
The storm was hush'd. The patriot legions prov'd
How much their country and their chief they lov'd:
Still could his country in each crisis boast
His word her treasure and his name a host.
The transaction here alluded to occurred at the cantonment of the army, near Newburgh, State of New-York, in the winter 1782–3. For the particulars of this extraordinary event, a reference must be made to the anonymous letters which were intended to excite a mutiny, for the purpose of forcing Congress to pay the arrearages due to the troops—to the address of General Washington, and to the resolutions passed by the delegates of the army on the occasion. When General Washington rose from bed on the morning of the meeting, he told the writer his anxiety had prevented him from sleeping one moment the preceding night.
Our cause triumphant and our rights secur'd;
Then peace, returning from her native heav'n,
Saw ruthless war and red destruction driv'n
Far from our coast; and view'd reviving arts
With promis'd blessings glad our grateful hearts.
Soon show'd our chief, retiring to his farms,
The pomp of pow'r for him display'd no charms;
He show'd th' ambitious, who would mount a throne,
Greatness is seated in the mind alone.
With what delight his homeward course he sped,
With all his country's blessings on his head!
Our revolution to conclusion brought,
His public toils complete he vainly thought;
But heav'n reserv'd him for more glorious deeds,
Whose height the scope of human praise exceeds.
In peace, our perils drew not to a close,
While 'midst ourselves we found more dang'rous foes.
Remember ye, the storm of battle o'er,
What other tempests lour'd along the shore!
By gusts of faction how the States were tost,
The feeble links of federation lost!
How round the land despondency prevail'd,
And bosoms bold in battle then first fail'd!
And heaves on high his multitude of waves,
What time the storm, by angry spirits hurl'd,
Rocks the foundations of the watery world:—
So rag'd the storm of anarchy—the crowd
By demagogues excited, mad and loud,
Their Pandemonium held—no more was seen
The calm debate—till Washington serene
From every State conven'd the chosen sires,
Where Penn's fair city lifts her gilded spires.
In every breast the patriot-passion glow'd,
While strains of eloquence unequall'd flow'd;
While on each brow deliberation sate,
'Twas he presided in the grand debate.
Thence, form'd by sages, sanction'd by his name,
To save us from ourselves a compact came.
A Constitution fram'd on Freedom's plan,
Now guards with balanc'd pow'rs the rights of man,
Alike from monarchy and mobs remov'd,
Its checks well-plann'd, and by each State approv'd:
The people (soon to gladness chang'd their grief)
Turn'd every eye upon their ancient chief.
General Washington was President of the Convention which formed the present Constitution of the United States.
His will submissive to his country's choice;
By reason's force reluctance overcome,
Behold him meekly leave his darling home;
Again resign the calm of rural life,
Again embarking on a sea of strife!
Since deeds so recent in your breasts are grav'd,
Why should I tell our country how he sav'd!
How 'midst still rising storms he persever'd,
And through a sea of troubles safely steer'd!
The tricks of state his soul indignant scorn'd,
Thence candid policy his sway adorn'd:
Faith, honour, justice, honesty his aim,
And truth and Washington were but one name.
When war arose in many a foreign land,
A firm neutrality his wisdom plann'd;
At length they own'd the system just and sage.
While insurrection's imps were seen to fly
The flashing terrors of his angry eye;
O'er them humanity triumphant smil'd,
For not the stain of blood the triumph soil'd.
None but strangers to the history of the United States will require to be informed, that an allusion is here made to the happy suppression of the insurrection on account of the excise law.
Nor worlds could make him from his duty swerve;
Yet mercy, loveliest attribute divine,
And mild compassion, Washington! were thine.
Thy voice, humanity! he still rever'd,
Thy small voice 'mid the roar of battle heard.
To him his fellows, ev'n though foes, were dear,
And vict'ry's joy was chasten'd with a tear.
Beneath his tent in war the wretched found
Ease from each woe, and balm for every wound.
The conquer'd savage, prowling through the wild,
A foe no more—he foster'd as a child—
He bade constructed mills abridge the toil
For wond'ring tribes; new harvests deck the soil;
And taught, to wean them from the scalping-knife,
The works of peace and arts of civil life.
Authentic documents, respecting the case of Captain Asgill, in proof of this, have been long since published—others might be produced. Too much praise cannot be bestowed on the system adopted, during the first Presidency, of furnishing gratuitously to the Indians, instruments of agriculture, and utensils for domestic use, with the design of introducing husbandry, arts, and civilization among them, after they had been reduced, by force of arms, to the necessity of accepting terms of peace from us. This was effected by the forces under the command of General Wayne.
Through Afric's sons transmitted in the blood;
Hereditary slaves his kindness shar'd,
For manumission by degrees prepar'd:
Return'd from war, I saw them round him press,
And all their speechless glee by artless signs express.
General Washington, by his will, liberated all his negroes, making an ample provision for the support of the old, and the education of the young. The interesting scene of his return home, at which the author was present, is described exactly as it existed.
He through the States his pleasing progress made;
What gratulations pure the patriot met!
What cheeks with tears of gratitude were wet!
While useful knowledge from each State be gain'd,
Prais'd their improvements and their bliss explain'd;
While bridges, roads, canals, in every State,
And growing fabrics own'd his influence great;
Such goodness mark'd each act, in every place
He left impressions time can ne'er efface.
Then rose the favour'd States beneath his smile,
Adorn'd, enrich'd, and strengthen'd by his toil;
Then millions felt what happiness ensued,
And hail'd their country's father great and good!
The storied medal and the laurell'd bust:
But now he saw his fame in peace expand,
Grow with his years and reach each farthest land.
The medal voted by Congress to General Washington, in consequence of the evacuation of Boston by the British army, as well as that to General Gates, for the Convention of Saratoga, and that to General Greene, for the battle of Eutaw-Springs, were executed by the first artists at Paris, under the direction of the author of this Poem, who availed himself of the talents of the celebrated Abbe Barthelemy, and the Academy of Belles Lettres and Inscriptions, to assist in furnishing the devices and inscriptions.
The statue voted by Congress to the Commander in Chief of the American armies, at the close of the war, is to be placed at the seat of government. The State society of the Cincinnati in New-York, in concurrence with their fellow citizens, are engaged in procuring an equestrian statue of General Washington, in Bronze, to be erected in the Park of that city; an example which will probably be followed by many of the principal towns in the United States.
Our luminary rose to bless the earth.
His mind by human frailties scarcely stain'd,
One spotless course of rectitude maintain'd:
His mind, a moral sun, with cheering ray,
Rejoic'd to scatter intellectual day,
A light among the nations shining clear,
To gild the darkness in each hemisphere!
Say, dazzling conq'rors! who as comets glar'd,
How mean your splendour when to his compar'd!
Nor cold his mind. When cold his count'nance seem'd,
Within, concent'ring rays still brighter beam'd.
Just in the golden mean his conduct fix'd;
Alike with feeling, as with patience, blest,
The proud oppressor and the poor opprest
He taught, that man full oft by man betray'd,
By heav'n for social happiness was made—
He taught, how long a nation wrongs may bear,
And when th' unknown of innovation dare—
He taught mankind (if truth can make them wise)
That for self-government their pow'rs suffice.
Then duty's task and glory's toils complete,
He sought fair Vernon's shades, his fond retreat!
From stormy care to calm content retir'd,
Consol'd by conscience and by men admir'd;
He, like the sun whose broader orb at ev'n
Sheds brighter glories from the verge of heav'n,
The clouds his heat had rais'd in rainbows drest,
Descended great and glorious to the west.
Ev'n then his country heard o'er ocean far,
The coming sounds of predatory war:
Again her voice his martial service claims,
Oh! best of heroes! best of patriot names!
Thy last obedience crowns thy precious life.
“But who shall lead us to the glorious strife?”
Exclaim our mourning bands, as o'er thy bier
They bend, and bathe it with a frequent tear.
Fear not—his spirit, still the soldier's friend,
Shall in your front on some brave chief descend;
And 'mid the thunder of the war inspire
In every breast a spark of heav'n's own fire.
Thus pass'd his useful life, by foes approv'd,
By nations honour'd, and by heav'n belov'd.
Yet blushing truth must tell with deep regret,
What opposition from a few he met;
While conscious virtue, on his visage laught
At slander's quiver, and defied the shaft.
No vulgar mark appear'd his brilliant fame—
O'er him fell slander hung with foulest aim.
No more the monster lifts briarean hands,
Shakes all his shafts, and, steep'd in venom, flings
At him invulnerable, poison'd stings—
Since virtue's sons have dash'd those shafts accurst,
And spurn'd the monster foaming in the dust.
Supernal visions opening on his view;
Ye heard the last advice your guardian gave,
Ye heard his words when bord'ring on the grave:—
What truths experience taught you from his tongue,
When in your ears such awful warnings rung?
“To follow virtue never, never cease,
Her path is pleasant, and its end is peace:
Oh, cultivate blest union, but on this
Relies your freedom, independence, bliss.
Who sees a foreign policy prevail,
Must see thy promis'd bliss, Columbia! fail;
Must see thy goodly heritage, that day,
The prize of factions or of war the prey.”
What MORTAL truths more sacred spake of old,
Inspir'd by heav'n!—The words are grav'd in gold.
Then say what chief has nobler trophies won?
What godlike patriot deeds more glorious done?
Who more the secret foes of union foil'd?
For independence more successful toil'd?
To love our country more the mind prepar'd?
'Gainst foreign influence plac'd a stronger guard?
In education form'd a wiser plan,
To guard inviolate the rights of man?
Who better could our path to bliss explore?
And whose whole life has honour'd virtue more?
What other sage, by equal ardour warm'd,
Such signal service for mankind perform'd?—
Wide as the world shall spread his deathless fame,
While boundless generations bless the name,
In bright example shown. Ye good! ye brave!
Come learn with him to triumph o'er the grave.
That lore divine beyond our reason's reach;
Bid comfort come (ere grief prevail too long)
And exultation join the seraph song,
While spirits of the just made perfect sing,
“Where is thy vict'ry, grave! where, death! thy sting?”
See General Washington's will, in which he treats of a national university and a national education.
Or in the battle-field or sickness-bed:
For there I saw him far too great for fear,
Still greater grow as danger drew more near.
How fond and vain th' anticipation sweet,
Beneath thy friendly shades once more to meet!
Oh, best of friends! still had I hop'd to view
Thy face once more, and all my joys renew.
But heav'n those joys, too perfect, turn'd to pains,
And one sad duty only now remains,
That I, while yet thy widow'd mate survive,
That comfort which I want, should strive to give.
Wife of his youth! his joy twice twenty years!
Though all this empty world can give or take,
On thy lorn heart can small sensation make;
Though not the trophied tomb can sooth thy grief,
Or well-earn'd praise can give thy pangs relief:
Yet see whence higher consolations flow,
And dry at length th' unceasing tear of woe.
Where his freed spirit tastes the bliss above,
Unfailing feast, beatitude and love!
Soon shalt thou meet him on th' immortal coast,
And all thy grief in ecstacy be lost.
A few more times th' expanded moon shall rise,
And walk in brightness up the eastern skies;
With varying face diffuse her waning beams,
And cast on earth her chill and watery gleams;
A few more times the ruddy sun shall lave,
And dip his dim orb in the western wave;
Ere yet our spirits try their heav'n-ward flight,
From these dull regions of surrounding night;
Death sweep the stage and time shall be no more.
What though ere yet a few short years revolve,
This earthly tabernacle must dissolve—
What though the flesh, abandon'd, rest in dust—
Sweet is the memory of the good and just.
Then shall (unfetter'd from the pris'ning tomb)
This mortal immortality assume;
The better part to brighter mansions fly,
Mansions, not made with hands, eternal in the sky!
Then shall we rest forlorn beyond relief,
Dumb in despair and stupified with grief?
To drear forgetfulness consign our friends,
And lose the hope “that being never ends?”
That prop imperishable prone on earth,
The spring of action and reward of worth!
What! shall we faint? nor give to faith its scope?
Shall we remain as mourners without hope?
And shall not hope celestial sooth these sighs?
Are there not crowns and triumphs in the skies?
Think ye, now fate has cut the vital thread,
Th' immortal Washington is wholly dead?
Though cold in clay the mortal members lie,
Mounts not th' immortal mind to worlds on high?
Ev'n that lost form shall rise from kindred dust,
Fair in the renovation of the just.
From conflagrated orbs in atoms hurl'd,
Anon shall spring a renovated world—
That world, for suff'ring man, of bright rewards,
Thus fir'd the song of heav'n-illumin'd bards.
“Let all creation fail,” the prophets sung,
While holy rapture trembled on their tongue;
“Let rocks dissolve, seas roar, and mountains nod,
And all things tremble to the throne of God—
Matter and motion cease from nature's course,
Her laws controul'd by some superior force—
To final ruin, stars and comets rush,
Suns suns consume and systems systems crush—
These heav'ns stretch'd visible, together roll
Inflam'd, and vanish like a burning scroll—
Though nature's self decay—the soul, o'er all,
Survives the wrecks of matter and of time,
Shrin'd in immortal youth and beauty's prime;
High o'er the bounds of this diurnal sphere,
To bloom and bask in heav'n's eternal year.”
Where uncreated light no sun requires,
And other splendours beam unborrow'd fires;
On our lov'd chief, long tried in virtue's toils,
With bliss ineffable the Godhead smiles—
In the full blaze of day, his angel-frame
For ever shines another and the same.
Heroic chiefs! who, fighting by his side,
Liv'd for your country, for your country died—
If ye behold us from the holy place,
“Angels and spirits, ministers of grace,”
And sainted forms, who, erst incarnate strove,
Through thorny paths to reach the bliss above!
Protect our orphan'd land, propitious still,
To virtue guide us and avert from ill!
Ancient of days! unutterable name!
At whose command all worlds from nothing came;
Beneath whose frown the nations cease to be—
Preserve, as thou hast made, our nation free!
To guard from harms send forth thy hallow'd band!
Be thou a wall of fire around our land,
Above the frail assaults of flesh and sense!
And in the midst our glory and defence!
Open, ye gates, instinct with vital force,
That earth with heaven may hold high intercourse!
Open, ye portals of eternal day!
Through worlds of light prepare the glorious way!
Come, sons of bliss, in bright'ning clouds reveal'd,
Myriads of angels throng th' aërial field!
Come, sainted hosts! and from thy happier home,
Thou, Washington! our better angel! come.
And, lo! what vision bursts upon my sight,
Rob'd in th' unclouded majesty of light?
'Tis he—and hark! I hear, or seem to hear,
A more than mortal voice invade my ear;
Mortals! attend the warning voice of heav'n:
Your likeness love! adore the pow'r divine!
So shall your days be blest, your end like mine!
So will Omnipotence your freedom guard,
And bliss unbounded be your great reward!”
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |