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
epic poems. Whether, in the modern art of war, equal interest
can be attached to, or equal enthusiasm excited by similar description,
remained to be seen. For, certain it is, the greater part
of modern poets have not been equally successful in this species
of composition. And this want of success, it may fairly be concluded,
has frequently happened from a servile use of hackneyed
expressions, as well as from a confused mixture of ideas, with
respect to ancient and modern arms and tactics. It has not been
pretended that the art of war among the ancients was as perfect
as it is among the moderns. But it has been intimated, in proportion
as the arts grew more perfect they grew less complex,
and less capable of being adorned with poetical ornament. And
it has been said, “that the single combats of the chiefs, the long
dialogues held with the dying, and the unexpected rencounters
we meet with, which betray the imperfection of the military art,
furnish the poet with the means of making us acquainted with his
heroes, and interesting us in their good or ill fortune.” It has
further been said, “at present armies are vast machines, animated
by the breath of their General. The muse denies her assistance
in their evolutions: she is afraid to penetrate the clouds
of powder and smoke that conceal from her sight alike the coward
and the brave, the private sentinel and the Commander in
Chief.” But is this noisome vapour, this terrifying darkness,
which operates so mischievously on the sight of the muse and on
the imagination of the critic, so complete and so durable, as to
render it impracticable for us to acquire any distinct idea of the
scenery? Is it not rather a poetical licence to assert, that the
Commander in Chief is not more conspicuous than the private
sentinel? At the same time he is represented as the only object
that is worthy of attention. Is every illustrious achievement concealed
from view, or seen through a contracting medium? Does
not a certain degree of obscurity and indistinctness for the moment,
like the twilight of a checkered grove, serve to magnify
and vary the objects of vision? Is there no variety of sounds to
relieve the monotony, no change of circumstances to diversify the
relation? No choice of incidents for general, none for particular
description? Can nothing that is tender or pathetic be selected
to touch the sensibility? Is there no possibility of picturing some
part of the bloody field (with the clouds withdrawing) to the
mind's eye as it appeared to the bodily optics? No means of rendering
the principal combatants interesting, because they are not
often to be seen in single combat, and because they cannot now be
unnaturally employed in holding long dialogues with the dying,
and in making us acquainted with the history of the living? Did
the prose prototypes of those poetical colloquies ever exist? Does
the character of the modern Commander in Chief become less
important or less interesting from the creative faculty which is attributed
to him of infusing a vital principle into his army? Is not
heaven's all-ruling Sire represented to our feeble comprehensions,
in the majesty of his terrors, as being at times surrounded with
clouds and thick darkness? Could the ancients introduce into
their heroic compositions the grand phenomena of nature with
as much propriety as the moderns? Ask those who have seen a
battle fought in our own time, whether there be nothing glorious
in the appearance of
one MAN, who, in the midst of the confusion
and horror of the elemental conflict, decides the fortune of
the day? Is he attended with no tremendous apparel, which can
furnish truly poetical images? Is there nothing dreadfully sublime
in the thunder of cannon, the charge of cavalry, and the
moving line of infantry, whose naked steel bears down all before
it? Nothing unspeakably animating in modern martial music?
But let the writer feel his subject; let him rush rapidly with his
reader into the hurry and heat of the battle; let animation, harmony
and movement be communicated; and it is to be supposed
that the human mind is still susceptible of receiving strong impressions,
and of being agitated with powerful emotions. It is not
intended to be decided here, that the Greek and Latin poets possess
no advantage over the moderns in the copiousness or melody
of their languages; or that poesy in those languages does not admit
of more boldness in the figures, pomp in the diction, music
in the cadences, variety in the numbers, or greater facility for
imitative beauty in making the sound an echo to the sense, than
in most of the living languages. This is left to the decision of
those who are better acquainted with the subject. But what is
still more fascinating than the charms of poesy; what more
likely to elevate the rising generation to emulate the exalted deeds
of their fathers, than the examples of illustrious men placed in
action before them? Or what more capable than glowing descriptions
of battles successfully fought for freedom, to keep alive
that fire of heroism which is so essentially necessary for the defence
of free states?
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.
