[Poems by Odell in] The Loyal Verses of Joseph Stansbury and Doctor Jonathan Odell relating to the American Revolution |
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 | [Poems by Odell in] The Loyal Verses of Joseph Stansbury and Doctor Jonathan Odell |  |
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INSCRIPTION
FOR A CURIOUS CHAMBER-STOVE, IN THE FORM OF AN URN, SO CONTRIVED AS TO MAKE THE FLAME DESCEND, INSTEAD OF RISE, FROM THE FIRE; INVENTED BY DOCTOR FRANKLIN.
Like a Newton sublimely he soar'd
To a Summit before unattained;
New regions of Science explor'd,
And the Palm of Philosophy gain'd.
To a Summit before unattained;
New regions of Science explor'd,
And the Palm of Philosophy gain'd.
With a Spark, that he caught from the Skies,
He display'd an unparallel'd wonder:
And we saw, with delight and surprise,
That his Rod could protect us from thunder.
He display'd an unparallel'd wonder:
And we saw, with delight and surprise,
That his Rod could protect us from thunder.
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O had he been wise to pursue
The track for his talents design'd,
What a tribute of praise had been due
To the teacher and friend of Mankind!
The track for his talents design'd,
What a tribute of praise had been due
To the teacher and friend of Mankind!
But to covet political fame
Was, in him, a degrading ambition;
A Spark, that from Lucifer came,
And kindled the blaze of Sedition.
Was, in him, a degrading ambition;
A Spark, that from Lucifer came,
And kindled the blaze of Sedition.
Let Candor, then, write on his Urn—
Here lies the renowned Inventor,
Whose flame to the Skies ought to burn,
But, inverted, descends to the Center!
Here lies the renowned Inventor,
Whose flame to the Skies ought to burn,
But, inverted, descends to the Center!
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BIRTHDAY ODE.
O'er Britannia's happy Land,
Rul'd by George's mild command,
On this bright, auspicious day
Loyal hearts their tribute pay.
Ever sacred be to mirth
The day that gave our Monarch birth!
Rul'd by George's mild command,
On this bright, auspicious day
Loyal hearts their tribute pay.
Ever sacred be to mirth
The day that gave our Monarch birth!
There, the thundering Cannon's roar
Echoes round from shore to shore;
Royal Banners wave on high;
Drums and trumpets rend the sky.
Echoes round from shore to shore;
Royal Banners wave on high;
Drums and trumpets rend the sky.
There our Comrades clad in Arms,
Long enured to War's alarms,
Marshall'd all in bright array
Welcome this returning day.
Long enured to War's alarms,
Marshall'd all in bright array
Welcome this returning day.
There, the temples chime their bells;
And the pealing anthem swells;
And the gay, the grateful throng
Join the loud triumphant song!
And the pealing anthem swells;
And the gay, the grateful throng
Join the loud triumphant song!
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Nor to Britain's Isle confin'd—
Many a distant Region join'd
Under George's happy sway
Joys to hail this welcome day.
Many a distant Region join'd
Under George's happy sway
Joys to hail this welcome day.
O'er this Land among the rest,
Till of late supremely blest,
George, to sons of Britain dear,
Swell'd the song from year to year.
Till of late supremely blest,
George, to sons of Britain dear,
Swell'd the song from year to year.
Here, we now lament to find
Sons of Britain, fierce and blind,
Drawn from loyal love astray,
Hail no more this welcome day.
Sons of Britain, fierce and blind,
Drawn from loyal love astray,
Hail no more this welcome day.
When by foreign Foes dismay'd,
Thankless Sons, ye call'd for aid:
Then, we gladly fought and bled,
And your Foes in triumph led.
Thankless Sons, ye call'd for aid:
Then, we gladly fought and bled,
And your Foes in triumph led.
Now, by Fortune's blind command,
Captives in your hostile Land;
To this lonely spot we stray
Here unseen to hail this day!
Captives in your hostile Land;
To this lonely spot we stray
Here unseen to hail this day!
Though by Fortune thus betray'd,
For a while we seek the shade,
Still our loyal hearts are free—
Still devoted, George, to thee!
For a while we seek the shade,
Still our loyal hearts are free—
Still devoted, George, to thee!
Britain, Empress of the Main,
Fortune envies thee in vain:
Safe, while Ocean round thee flows,
Though the world were all thy Foes.
Fortune envies thee in vain:
Safe, while Ocean round thee flows,
Though the world were all thy Foes.
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Long as Sun and Moon endure
Britain's Throne shall stand secure,
And great George's royal line
There in splendid honor shine.
Ever sacred be to Mirth
The day that gave our Monarch birth!
Britain's Throne shall stand secure,
And great George's royal line
There in splendid honor shine.
Ever sacred be to Mirth
The day that gave our Monarch birth!
SONG
FOR A FISHING PARTY NEAR BURLINGTON, ON THE DELAWARE, IN 1776.
How sweet is the season, the sky how serene;
On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;
The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,
In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;
The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,
In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
Away from the noise of the Fife and the Drum,
And all the rude din of Bellona we come;
And a plentiful store of good humor we bring
To season our feast in the shade of Cold Spring.
And all the rude din of Bellona we come;
And a plentiful store of good humor we bring
To season our feast in the shade of Cold Spring.
A truce then to all whig and tory debate;
True lovers of Freedom, contention we hate:
For the Demon of discord in vain tries his art
To possess or inflame a true Protestant heart.
True lovers of Freedom, contention we hate:
For the Demon of discord in vain tries his art
To possess or inflame a true Protestant heart.
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True Protestant friends to fair Liberty's cause,
To decorum, good order, religion and laws,
From avarice, jealousy, perfidy, free;
We wish all the world were as happy as we.
To decorum, good order, religion and laws,
From avarice, jealousy, perfidy, free;
We wish all the world were as happy as we.
We have wants, we confess, but are free from the care
Of those that abound, yet have nothing to spare:
Serene as the sky, as the river serene,
We are happy to want envy, malice and spleen.
Of those that abound, yet have nothing to spare:
Serene as the sky, as the river serene,
We are happy to want envy, malice and spleen.
While thousands around us, misled by a few,
The Phantoms of pride and ambition pursue,
With pity their fatal delusion we see;
And wish all the world were as happy as we!
The Phantoms of pride and ambition pursue,
With pity their fatal delusion we see;
And wish all the world were as happy as we!
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A BIRTHDAY SONG.
Time was when America hallow'd the morn
On which the lov'd monarch of Britain was born,
Hallow'd the day, and joyfully chanted
God save the King!
Then flourish'd the blessings of freedom and peace,
And plenty flow'd in with a yearly increase.
Proud of our lot we chanted merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
On which the lov'd monarch of Britain was born,
Hallow'd the day, and joyfully chanted
God save the King!
Then flourish'd the blessings of freedom and peace,
And plenty flow'd in with a yearly increase.
Proud of our lot we chanted merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
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With envy beheld by the nations around,
We rapidly grew, nor was anything found
Able to check our growth while we chanted
God save the King!
O blest beyond measure, had honour and truth
Still nurs'd in our hearts what they planted in youth!
Loyalty still had chanted merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
We rapidly grew, nor was anything found
Able to check our growth while we chanted
God save the King!
O blest beyond measure, had honour and truth
Still nurs'd in our hearts what they planted in youth!
Loyalty still had chanted merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
But see! how rebellion has lifted her head!
How honour and truth are with loyalty fled!
Few are there now who join us in chanting
God save the King!
And see! how deluded the multitude fly
To arm in a cause that is built on a lye!
Yet are we proud to chant thus merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
How honour and truth are with loyalty fled!
Few are there now who join us in chanting
God save the King!
And see! how deluded the multitude fly
To arm in a cause that is built on a lye!
Yet are we proud to chant thus merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
Though faction by falsehood awhile may prevail,
And loyalty suffers a captive in jail,
Britain is rouz'd, rebellion is falling:
God save the King!
The captive shall soon be releas'd from his chain;
And conquest restore us to Britain again,
Ever to join in chanting merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
And loyalty suffers a captive in jail,
Britain is rouz'd, rebellion is falling:
God save the King!
The captive shall soon be releas'd from his chain;
And conquest restore us to Britain again,
Ever to join in chanting merrily
Glory and joy crown the King!
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TO SIR JAMES WALLACE.
Fye! fye! Sir James! it cruel isOf the old Dutchman to make prize.
Tho', on enquiry, you may find
It was for good King Cong. designed,
Do'st think it is an honest job
This Mity bunch of Kings to rob?
The Wine they want to cheer their spirits:
The Cordage to reward their merits:
Tea's now no more a cursed plant;
It now has Virtue—which they want.
Their Linen and their Silks return—
They're all in rags; their garments torn!
Yet e'en of rags nigh destitute—
The bullion which their friends recruit.
Tho' by Experiment you find
Their Bark is Jesuits, rescind:
And I dare tell you, free as wink,
Detain their Salt, they then must stink:
Or, if you mean at all to save,
Their Brandy let the Varlets have.
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THE CONGRATULATION.
A Poem.
Dii boni, boni quid porto.—
Terence.
Terence.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
In vain has [Franklin's] artifice been tried,
And Louis swell'd with treachery and pride:
Who reigns supreme in heav'n deception spurns,
And on the author's head the mischief turns.
What pains were taken to procure D'Estaing!
His fleet's dispers'd, and Congress may go hang.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
In vain has [Franklin's] artifice been tried,
And Louis swell'd with treachery and pride:
Who reigns supreme in heav'n deception spurns,
And on the author's head the mischief turns.
What pains were taken to procure D'Estaing!
His fleet's dispers'd, and Congress may go hang.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Heav'ns King sends forth the hurricane and strips
Of all their glory the perfidious ships.
His Ministers of Wrath the storm direct;
Nor can the Prince of Air his French protect.
Saint George, Saint David show'd themselves true hearts;
Saint Andrew and Saint Patrick topp'd their parts.
With right Eolian puffs the wind they blew;
Crack went the masts; the sails to shivers flew.
Such honest Saints shall never be forgot;
Saint Dennis, and Saint Tammany, go rot.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Heav'ns King sends forth the hurricane and strips
Of all their glory the perfidious ships.
His Ministers of Wrath the storm direct;
Nor can the Prince of Air his French protect.
Saint George, Saint David show'd themselves true hearts;
Saint Andrew and Saint Patrick topp'd their parts.
With right Eolian puffs the wind they blew;
Crack went the masts; the sails to shivers flew.
Such honest Saints shall never be forgot;
Saint Dennis, and Saint Tammany, go rot.
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Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold;
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Old Satan holds a council in mid-air;
Hear the black Dragon furious rage and swear—
—Are these the triumphs of my Gallic friends?
How will you ward this blow, my trusty fiends?
What remedy for this unlucky job?
What art shall raise the spirits of the mob?
Fly swift, ye sure supporters of my realm,
Ere this ill-news the rebels overwhelm.
Invent, say any thing to make them mad;
Tell them the King—No, Dev'ls are not so bad;
The dogs of Congress at the King let loose;
But ye, brave Dev'ls, avoid such mean abuse.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Old Satan holds a council in mid-air;
Hear the black Dragon furious rage and swear—
—Are these the triumphs of my Gallic friends?
How will you ward this blow, my trusty fiends?
What remedy for this unlucky job?
What art shall raise the spirits of the mob?
Fly swift, ye sure supporters of my realm,
Ere this ill-news the rebels overwhelm.
Invent, say any thing to make them mad;
Tell them the King—No, Dev'ls are not so bad;
The dogs of Congress at the King let loose;
But ye, brave Dev'ls, avoid such mean abuse.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
What thinks Sir Washington of this mischance;
Blames he not those, who put their trust in France?
A broken reed comes pat into his mind:
Egypt and France by rushes are defin'd,
Basest of Kingdoms underneath the skies,
Kingdoms that could not profit their allies.
How could the tempest play him such a prank?
Blank is his prospect, and his visage blank:
Why from West-Point his armies has he brought?
Can nought be done?—sore sighs he at the thought.
Back to his mountains Washington may trot:
He take this city—yes, when Ice is hot.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
What thinks Sir Washington of this mischance;
Blames he not those, who put their trust in France?
A broken reed comes pat into his mind:
Egypt and France by rushes are defin'd,
Basest of Kingdoms underneath the skies,
Kingdoms that could not profit their allies.
How could the tempest play him such a prank?
Blank is his prospect, and his visage blank:
Why from West-Point his armies has he brought?
Can nought be done?—sore sighs he at the thought.
Back to his mountains Washington may trot:
He take this city—yes, when Ice is hot.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Ah, poor militia of the Jersey State,
Your hopes are bootless, you are come too late.
Your four hours plunder of New-York is fled,
And grievous hunger haunts you in its stead.
Sorrow and sighing seize the Yankee race,
When the brave Briton looks them in the face:
The brawny Hessian, the bold Refugee,
Appear in arms, and lo! the rebels flee;
Each in his bowels griping spankue feels;
Each drops his haversack, and trusts his heels.
Scamp'ring and scouring o'er the fields they run,
And here you find a sword, and there a gun.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Ah, poor militia of the Jersey State,
Your hopes are bootless, you are come too late.
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And grievous hunger haunts you in its stead.
Sorrow and sighing seize the Yankee race,
When the brave Briton looks them in the face:
The brawny Hessian, the bold Refugee,
Appear in arms, and lo! the rebels flee;
Each in his bowels griping spankue feels;
Each drops his haversack, and trusts his heels.
Scamp'ring and scouring o'er the fields they run,
And here you find a sword, and there a gun.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold;
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
The doleful tidings Philadelphia reach,
And Duffield cries—The wicked make a breach!
Members of Congress in confusion meet,
And with pale countenance each other greet.
—No comfort, brother?—Brother, none at all.
Fall'n is our tower; yea, broken down our wall.
Oh brother! things are at a dreadful pass:
Brother, we sinn'd in going to the Mass.
The Lord, who taught our fingers how to fight,
For this denied to curb the tempest's might:
Our paper coin refus'd for flour we see,
And lawyers will not take it for a fee.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
The doleful tidings Philadelphia reach,
And Duffield cries—The wicked make a breach!
Members of Congress in confusion meet,
And with pale countenance each other greet.
—No comfort, brother?—Brother, none at all.
Fall'n is our tower; yea, broken down our wall.
Oh brother! things are at a dreadful pass:
Brother, we sinn'd in going to the Mass.
The Lord, who taught our fingers how to fight,
For this denied to curb the tempest's might:
Our paper coin refus'd for flour we see,
And lawyers will not take it for a fee.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
What caus'd the French from Parker's fleet to steal?
They wanted thirty thousand casks of meal.
Where are they now—can mortal man reply?
Who finds them out must have a Lynx's eye.
Some place them in the ports of Chesapeak;
Others account them bound to Martinique;
Some think to Boston they intend to go;
And some suppose them in the deep below.
One thing is certain, be they where they will,
They keep their triumph most exceeding still.
They have not even Pantagruel's luck,
Who conquer'd two old women and a duck.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
What caus'd the French from Parker's fleet to steal?
They wanted thirty thousand casks of meal.
Where are they now—can mortal man reply?
Who finds them out must have a Lynx's eye.
Some place them in the ports of Chesapeak;
Others account them bound to Martinique;
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And some suppose them in the deep below.
One thing is certain, be they where they will,
They keep their triumph most exceeding still.
They have not even Pantagruel's luck,
Who conquer'd two old women and a duck.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
How long shall the deluded people look
For the French squadron moor'd at Sandy Hook?
Of all their hopes the comfort and the stay,
This vile deceit at length must pass away.
What imposition can be thought on next,
To cheer their partizans, with doubt perplex'd?
Dollars on dollars heap'd up to the skies,
Their value sinks the more, the more they rise;
Bank notes of bankrupts, struck without a fund,
Puff'd for a season, will at last be shunn'd.
Call forth invention, ye renown'd in guile;
New falsehoods frame in matter, and in style;
Send some enormous fiction to the press;
Again prepare the circular address;
With lies, with nonsense, keep the people drunk:
For should they once reflect, your power is sunk.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
How long shall the deluded people look
For the French squadron moor'd at Sandy Hook?
Of all their hopes the comfort and the stay,
This vile deceit at length must pass away.
What imposition can be thought on next,
To cheer their partizans, with doubt perplex'd?
Dollars on dollars heap'd up to the skies,
Their value sinks the more, the more they rise;
Bank notes of bankrupts, struck without a fund,
Puff'd for a season, will at last be shunn'd.
Call forth invention, ye renown'd in guile;
New falsehoods frame in matter, and in style;
Send some enormous fiction to the press;
Again prepare the circular address;
With lies, with nonsense, keep the people drunk:
For should they once reflect, your power is sunk.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
The farce of empire will be finish'd soon,
And each mock-monarch dwindle to a loon.
Mock-money and mock-states shall melt away,
And the mock-troops disband for want of pay.
Ev'n now decisive ruin is prepar'd:
Ev'n now the heart of Huntington is scar'd.
Seen or unseen, on earth, above, below,
All things conspire to give the final blow.
Heaven has ten thousand thunderbolts to dart;
From Hell, ten thousand livid flames will start;
Myriads of swords are ready for the field;
Myriads of lurking daggers are conceal'd;
In injur'd bosoms dark revenge is nurst:
Yet but a moment, and the storm shall burst.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
The farce of empire will be finish'd soon,
And each mock-monarch dwindle to a loon.
Mock-money and mock-states shall melt away,
And the mock-troops disband for want of pay.
Ev'n now decisive ruin is prepar'd:
Ev'n now the heart of Huntington is scar'd.
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All things conspire to give the final blow.
Heaven has ten thousand thunderbolts to dart;
From Hell, ten thousand livid flames will start;
Myriads of swords are ready for the field;
Myriads of lurking daggers are conceal'd;
In injur'd bosoms dark revenge is nurst:
Yet but a moment, and the storm shall burst.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Now War, suspended by the scorching heat,
Springs from his tent, and shines in arms complete.
Now Sickness, that of late made heroes pale,
Flies from the keenness of the northern gale.
Firmness and Enterprize, united, wait
The last command, to strike the stroke of Fate.
Now Boston trembles; Philadelphia quakes;
And Carolina to the center shakes.
There is, whose councils the just moment scan:
Whose wisdom meditates the mighty plan:
He, when the season is mature, shall speak;
All Heaven shall plaud him, and all Hell shall shriek.
At his dread fiat tumult shall retire;
Abhorr'd rebellion sicken and expire;
The fall of Congress prove the world's relief;
And deathless glory crown the god-like Chief!
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Now War, suspended by the scorching heat,
Springs from his tent, and shines in arms complete.
Now Sickness, that of late made heroes pale,
Flies from the keenness of the northern gale.
Firmness and Enterprize, united, wait
The last command, to strike the stroke of Fate.
Now Boston trembles; Philadelphia quakes;
And Carolina to the center shakes.
There is, whose councils the just moment scan:
Whose wisdom meditates the mighty plan:
He, when the season is mature, shall speak;
All Heaven shall plaud him, and all Hell shall shriek.
At his dread fiat tumult shall retire;
Abhorr'd rebellion sicken and expire;
The fall of Congress prove the world's relief;
And deathless glory crown the god-like Chief!
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
What now is left of Continental brags?
Taxes unpaid, tho' payable in rags.
What now remains of Continental force?
Battalions mould'ring: Waste without resource.
What rests there yet of Continental Sway?
A ruin'd People, ripe to disobey.
Hate now of men, and soon to be the Jest;
Such is your fate, ye Monsters of the West!
Yet must on every face a smile be worn,
While every breast with agony is torn.
Hopeless yourselves, yet hope you must impart,
And comfort others with an aching heart.
Ill-fated they who, lost at home, must boast
Of help expected from a foreign coast:
How wretched is their lot, to France and Spain
Who look for succour, but who look in vain.
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
What now is left of Continental brags?
Taxes unpaid, tho' payable in rags.
What now remains of Continental force?
Battalions mould'ring: Waste without resource.
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A ruin'd People, ripe to disobey.
Hate now of men, and soon to be the Jest;
Such is your fate, ye Monsters of the West!
Yet must on every face a smile be worn,
While every breast with agony is torn.
Hopeless yourselves, yet hope you must impart,
And comfort others with an aching heart.
Ill-fated they who, lost at home, must boast
Of help expected from a foreign coast:
How wretched is their lot, to France and Spain
Who look for succour, but who look in vain.
Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold:
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Courage, my boys; dismiss your chilling fears:
Attend to me, I'll put you in your geers.
Come, I'll instruct you how to advertize
Your missing friends, your hide-and-seek Allies.
O YES!—If any man alive will bring
News of the squadron of the Christian King:
If any man will find out Count D'Estaing,
With whose scrub actions both the Indies rang:
If any man will ascertain on oath
What has become of Monsieur de la Mothe:
Whoever these important points explains,
Congress will nobly pay him for his pains,
Of pewter dollars, what both hands can hold,
A thimble-full of plate, a mite of gold;
The lands of some big Tory he shall get,
And start a famous Colonel en brevet:
And last to honour him (we scorn to bribe)
We'll make him chief of the Oneida Tribe!
The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd!
Courage, my boys; dismiss your chilling fears:
Attend to me, I'll put you in your geers.
Come, I'll instruct you how to advertize
Your missing friends, your hide-and-seek Allies.
O YES!—If any man alive will bring
News of the squadron of the Christian King:
If any man will find out Count D'Estaing,
With whose scrub actions both the Indies rang:
If any man will ascertain on oath
What has become of Monsieur de la Mothe:
Whoever these important points explains,
Congress will nobly pay him for his pains,
Of pewter dollars, what both hands can hold,
A thimble-full of plate, a mite of gold;
The lands of some big Tory he shall get,
And start a famous Colonel en brevet:
And last to honour him (we scorn to bribe)
We'll make him chief of the Oneida Tribe!
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THE FEU DE JOIE.
A Poem.
Urgetur pugna Congressus iniqua.—
Virgil.
Virgil.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Hail, Congress, hail! magnificent, renown'd:
Rejoice, be merry; the lost Sheep is found!
You, Congress, knew him by his graceful bleat.
We only know him by his foul defeat.
Great Bell Wether, he led his scabby flock
In apt conjunction with the rebel stock.
He came, he push'd, he fled with half his train;
While sav'd Savannah swell'd with heaps of slain.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Hail, Congress, hail! magnificent, renown'd:
Rejoice, be merry; the lost Sheep is found!
You, Congress, knew him by his graceful bleat.
We only know him by his foul defeat.
Great Bell Wether, he led his scabby flock
In apt conjunction with the rebel stock.
He came, he push'd, he fled with half his train;
While sav'd Savannah swell'd with heaps of slain.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
What awful silence thro' the land prevail'd
Since Count D'Estaing from St. Domingo sail'd.
No voice, no breath, no sound, no rumour flew,
Lest Parker should with all his fleet pursue.
No whisper; no report—but all was mum,
Lest reinforcements from New York should come.
To catch the British napping was their thought:
Now, by my faith, a Tartar have they caught.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
What awful silence thro' the land prevail'd
Since Count D'Estaing from St. Domingo sail'd.
No voice, no breath, no sound, no rumour flew,
Lest Parker should with all his fleet pursue.
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Lest reinforcements from New York should come.
To catch the British napping was their thought:
Now, by my faith, a Tartar have they caught.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The French, entangled in a dreadful scrape,
From the West-Indies made a fine escape.
Arriv'd upon the coast, the scene was chang'd:
Uncivil Winds their armament derang'd;
Their first reception was exceeding rough;
Howe'er they landed: landed sure enough.
Ashore, they vapour and defy the Storm,
And soon with Lincoln's troops a junction form.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The French, entangled in a dreadful scrape,
From the West-Indies made a fine escape.
Arriv'd upon the coast, the scene was chang'd:
Uncivil Winds their armament derang'd;
Their first reception was exceeding rough;
Howe'er they landed: landed sure enough.
Ashore, they vapour and defy the Storm,
And soon with Lincoln's troops a junction form.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Plunder's the Word; but Plunder soon is o'er.
Rob folks of all, and you can rob no more.
Live stock or dead, they capture and condemn:
Come Whig, come Tory, 'tis the same to them.
The Continental gentry stand aghast
To see their good Allies devour so fast.
Are these the Troops of Louis, Friend of Men?
They're rather Tygers, loosen'd from a Den.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Plunder's the Word; but Plunder soon is o'er.
Rob folks of all, and you can rob no more.
Live stock or dead, they capture and condemn:
Come Whig, come Tory, 'tis the same to them.
The Continental gentry stand aghast
To see their good Allies devour so fast.
Are these the Troops of Louis, Friend of Men?
They're rather Tygers, loosen'd from a Den.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The sworn confederates manfully advance
In quest of Glory and the Good of France.
Go summon, Trumpeter, yon haughty Town:
Bid them surrender to the Gallic Crown.
What, are they restiff?—scorn they to obey?
Peste—we'll compel them with what speed we may.
Erect your batteries, Engineers, in haste:
Mortars and Cannons in the Works be plac'd.
Upon the right my valiant French shall load;
You Continentals, line th' Augusta road.
Moncrieffe seems active, but he'll soon be sick,
When shells and balls and bullets rattle thick.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The sworn confederates manfully advance
In quest of Glory and the Good of France.
Go summon, Trumpeter, yon haughty Town:
Bid them surrender to the Gallic Crown.
What, are they restiff?—scorn they to obey?
Peste—we'll compel them with what speed we may.
53
Mortars and Cannons in the Works be plac'd.
Upon the right my valiant French shall load;
You Continentals, line th' Augusta road.
Moncrieffe seems active, but he'll soon be sick,
When shells and balls and bullets rattle thick.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The brave D'Estaing encourages his troops,
And promises good store of drams and soups.
Work on, work on, ye jolly Pioneers.
The town shall soon be knock'd about their ears.
Meantime, strict guard about the camp we'll keep,
And neither in nor out a mouse shall creep.
But whence arises, in the dead of night,
This horrid noise to fill us with affright?
Are all the devils got loose?—D'Estaing cries out.
—No, sir, 'tis Maitland puts us to the rout.
Stop him this instant!—Sir, he won't be stopt.
Chop him—En verite, ourselves are chopt.
The town he shall not enter, I declare,
—True, noble Count, for he's already there.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The brave D'Estaing encourages his troops,
And promises good store of drams and soups.
Work on, work on, ye jolly Pioneers.
The town shall soon be knock'd about their ears.
Meantime, strict guard about the camp we'll keep,
And neither in nor out a mouse shall creep.
But whence arises, in the dead of night,
This horrid noise to fill us with affright?
Are all the devils got loose?—D'Estaing cries out.
—No, sir, 'tis Maitland puts us to the rout.
Stop him this instant!—Sir, he won't be stopt.
Chop him—En verite, ourselves are chopt.
The town he shall not enter, I declare,
—True, noble Count, for he's already there.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The Gallic Chief, his batteries complete,
Conceives the British humbled at his feet.
Full thirty cannons, mortars half a score;
No doubt Prevost must tremble at their roar.
They open, and proclaim Savannah's doom;
Hide day with smoke, with flashes night illume.
Now whistle through the air the pond'rous plumbs;
Now mount aloft, and now descend the bombs.
Incessant thunders rend the frighted sky,
And bluffs and hillocks to the sound reply.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The Gallic Chief, his batteries complete,
Conceives the British humbled at his feet.
Full thirty cannons, mortars half a score;
No doubt Prevost must tremble at their roar.
They open, and proclaim Savannah's doom;
Hide day with smoke, with flashes night illume.
Now whistle through the air the pond'rous plumbs;
Now mount aloft, and now descend the bombs.
Incessant thunders rend the frighted sky,
And bluffs and hillocks to the sound reply.
54
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
What great effect has all this fire produc'd?
Here falls an house, and there a turf is loos'd.
What, no slain warriors tumbled in the trench?
Yes, by the Mass:—abundance of the French!
No cannon yet dismounted can you see?
Oh yes—a number marked with Fleurs de Lys.
Where are the Yankees?—where they were at first.
What have we got then?—we have got the worst.
How can this be? Six days, and nothing done!
The case is plain—the foe gives three for one.
Our thirty cannon have no chance at all,
Moncrieffe salutes with ninety from the wall.
Pize on't—this way of siege is most absurd:
We'll have no more on't—Storm shall be the word!
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
What great effect has all this fire produc'd?
Here falls an house, and there a turf is loos'd.
What, no slain warriors tumbled in the trench?
Yes, by the Mass:—abundance of the French!
No cannon yet dismounted can you see?
Oh yes—a number marked with Fleurs de Lys.
Where are the Yankees?—where they were at first.
What have we got then?—we have got the worst.
How can this be? Six days, and nothing done!
The case is plain—the foe gives three for one.
Our thirty cannon have no chance at all,
Moncrieffe salutes with ninety from the wall.
Pize on't—this way of siege is most absurd:
We'll have no more on't—Storm shall be the word!
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The Veterans of France have form'd the line,
Expecting daybreak and the promis'd sign.
The Rebel Bands are marshall'd in array,
Boastful and loud, and covetous of prey.
What held the Town of beauty, wealth, and power,
Was all devoted in that cruel hour.
Sore sigh'd the Mother, for her Babes afraid;
And, anxious for herself, the blooming Maid.
The Merchant trembled for his crouded store:
One dreadful pause—and all perhaps is gore!
So to the rock Andromeda lay bound,
When rose the Monster from the vast profound:
But soon her brave Deliverer fac'd the foe;
No matter whether Perseus or Prevost.
His winged courser gallant he bestrode;
He look'd a Hero, and he mov'd a God!
He met the Monster in his fierce attack,
And to old Ocean headlong drove him back.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
The Veterans of France have form'd the line,
Expecting daybreak and the promis'd sign.
The Rebel Bands are marshall'd in array,
Boastful and loud, and covetous of prey.
What held the Town of beauty, wealth, and power,
Was all devoted in that cruel hour.
Sore sigh'd the Mother, for her Babes afraid;
And, anxious for herself, the blooming Maid.
The Merchant trembled for his crouded store:
One dreadful pause—and all perhaps is gore!
So to the rock Andromeda lay bound,
When rose the Monster from the vast profound:
But soon her brave Deliverer fac'd the foe;
No matter whether Perseus or Prevost.
His winged courser gallant he bestrode;
He look'd a Hero, and he mov'd a God!
55
And to old Ocean headlong drove him back.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Lo! from the Artillery pours the grand salute:
Then Silence flows—and all is hush'd and mute.
Sudden the drum rebellows; swells the fife;
And all move forward to the mortal strife.
The shouting warriors and the trumpets shrill
The meanest heart with martial ardour fill.
With rapid march advance the hostile rows,
While British fire the ranks tremendous mows.
Now nearer still and nearer they engage,
And War puts on accumulated rage.
There is the din of battle; there the crash;
The roaring volley, and the frequent flash.
There animation in the front appears:
There charge the chosen Gallic Grenadiers.
There, where each moment death they take or give,
Scarce Immortality herself could live!
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Lo! from the Artillery pours the grand salute:
Then Silence flows—and all is hush'd and mute.
Sudden the drum rebellows; swells the fife;
And all move forward to the mortal strife.
The shouting warriors and the trumpets shrill
The meanest heart with martial ardour fill.
With rapid march advance the hostile rows,
While British fire the ranks tremendous mows.
Now nearer still and nearer they engage,
And War puts on accumulated rage.
There is the din of battle; there the crash;
The roaring volley, and the frequent flash.
There animation in the front appears:
There charge the chosen Gallic Grenadiers.
There, where each moment death they take or give,
Scarce Immortality herself could live!
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Now Slaughter triumphed and resistless strow'd
With mangled carcasses the reeking road.
Ev'n then, when blood was streaming like a fount,
Polaski rush'd the strong Redoubt to mount.
Again the grape-shot thunders from the walls:
He falls—half hero, half a fiend, he falls.
Off from the field his soldiers bear their chief;
Art was invok'd, but Art gave no relief;
Deep in his groin was fix'd the deadly wound.
Worthless, tho' brave, a glorious fate he found.
Such noble death what right had he to hope,
Whose odius Treason merited a Rope?
Undaunted minds were made in verse to shine?
But hate to parricides blots out the line.
Not Valour's self the Traitor can excuse:
Him Truth condemns: him execrates the Muse.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Now Slaughter triumphed and resistless strow'd
With mangled carcasses the reeking road.
Ev'n then, when blood was streaming like a fount,
Polaski rush'd the strong Redoubt to mount.
Again the grape-shot thunders from the walls:
He falls—half hero, half a fiend, he falls.
Off from the field his soldiers bear their chief;
Art was invok'd, but Art gave no relief;
Deep in his groin was fix'd the deadly wound.
Worthless, tho' brave, a glorious fate he found.
56
Whose odius Treason merited a Rope?
Undaunted minds were made in verse to shine?
But hate to parricides blots out the line.
Not Valour's self the Traitor can excuse:
Him Truth condemns: him execrates the Muse.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Such desperate efforts the battalions thin.
Disorder and dismay and rout begin.
The worn brigades from fight recoiling swerve;
Their courage droops, they faint in every nerve.
Yet still remains an excellent resource—
Bring to the charge the Continental Force.
What ails these Braggadocios of the Land?
Won't they come forward?—stiff as Posts they stand.
Strange petrifaction on their host attends.
Deuce take the fools, they level at their friends!
Some angry Demon sure their sense misleads;
See, the French tremble, and their General bleeds.
By rebel hands (Lo! Providence is just)
The rebels' patron wounded bites the dust.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Such desperate efforts the battalions thin.
Disorder and dismay and rout begin.
The worn brigades from fight recoiling swerve;
Their courage droops, they faint in every nerve.
Yet still remains an excellent resource—
Bring to the charge the Continental Force.
What ails these Braggadocios of the Land?
Won't they come forward?—stiff as Posts they stand.
Strange petrifaction on their host attends.
Deuce take the fools, they level at their friends!
Some angry Demon sure their sense misleads;
See, the French tremble, and their General bleeds.
By rebel hands (Lo! Providence is just)
The rebels' patron wounded bites the dust.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
'Tis done: Confusion sits on every face;
Inevitable ruin; foul disgrace.
Now Terror domineers, and wild Affright:
No hope in Arms: no safety but in Flight.
Now, Britons, Hessians and Provincials pour:
Arrest the fugitives and bathe in gore.
'Tis done:—D'Estaing betakes him to his ship;
To Charlestown Yankies thro' the forests slip.
Go reckon up thy loss, amphibious Count;
Mark Fifteen Hundred to the full amount:
Of wounded and of killed an equal train
Left Lincoln weltering on the bloody plain:
Whilst forty Britons on the list appear.
O Earth confess, the Hand of Heaven was here!
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
'Tis done: Confusion sits on every face;
Inevitable ruin; foul disgrace.
Now Terror domineers, and wild Affright:
No hope in Arms: no safety but in Flight.
Now, Britons, Hessians and Provincials pour:
Arrest the fugitives and bathe in gore.
'Tis done:—D'Estaing betakes him to his ship;
To Charlestown Yankies thro' the forests slip.
57
Mark Fifteen Hundred to the full amount:
Of wounded and of killed an equal train
Left Lincoln weltering on the bloody plain:
Whilst forty Britons on the list appear.
O Earth confess, the Hand of Heaven was here!
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Does Lordly Congress relish this defeat—
Say, is it pleasant to their souls and sweet?
What, both o'erthrown, America and France,
By one small splinter of the British Lance!
Yet these were they, gigantic in their boast,
Who swore to chase us from this Western Coast:
Yet these were they who built flat-bottomed boats,
And vow'd to drive us like a Flock of Goats.
Unstable as the sand, their arts shall fail:
As water weak, they never shall prevail.
These, Reuben-like, their parent's couch defile;
Like Judas, these shall perish in their guile.
Could the Sword spare them, yet of Heaven accurst
Their very Bowels would asunder burst.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Does Lordly Congress relish this defeat—
Say, is it pleasant to their souls and sweet?
What, both o'erthrown, America and France,
By one small splinter of the British Lance!
Yet these were they, gigantic in their boast,
Who swore to chase us from this Western Coast:
Yet these were they who built flat-bottomed boats,
And vow'd to drive us like a Flock of Goats.
Unstable as the sand, their arts shall fail:
As water weak, they never shall prevail.
These, Reuben-like, their parent's couch defile;
Like Judas, these shall perish in their guile.
Could the Sword spare them, yet of Heaven accurst
Their very Bowels would asunder burst.
Let songs of triumph every voice employ,
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Ye poor deluded owners of the soil,
For others' good who labour and who toil—
Ye wretches doom'd to sorrowful mistake,
Who hunger and who thirst for Congress' sake—
Arouse for Shame: like Men your rights resume,
And send your Tyrants to the Land of Gloom.
If Shame prevail not, still let Wisdom plead.
If both are slighted, Vengeance must succeed.
Your Parent State grows stronger every hour;
As yet, its Mercy far exceeds its Power.
Your Congress every moment weaker grows.
Rags are its Treasure: Honest Men its Foes.
Its Building cracks, tho' buttress'd by the Gaul:
It nods, it shakes, it totters to its fall.
O save yourselves before it is too late!
O save your Country from impending Fate!
Leave those, whom Justice must at length destroy.
Repent, come over, and partake our joy.
And every Muse discharge a feu de joie!
Ye poor deluded owners of the soil,
For others' good who labour and who toil—
Ye wretches doom'd to sorrowful mistake,
Who hunger and who thirst for Congress' sake—
Arouse for Shame: like Men your rights resume,
And send your Tyrants to the Land of Gloom.
If Shame prevail not, still let Wisdom plead.
If both are slighted, Vengeance must succeed.
58
As yet, its Mercy far exceeds its Power.
Your Congress every moment weaker grows.
Rags are its Treasure: Honest Men its Foes.
Its Building cracks, tho' buttress'd by the Gaul:
It nods, it shakes, it totters to its fall.
O save yourselves before it is too late!
O save your Country from impending Fate!
Leave those, whom Justice must at length destroy.
Repent, come over, and partake our joy.
ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR.
When rival Nations first descried,
Emerging from the boundless Main
This Land by Tyrants yet untried,
On high was sung this lofty strain:
Rise Britannia beaming far!
Rise bright Freedom's morning star!
Emerging from the boundless Main
This Land by Tyrants yet untried,
On high was sung this lofty strain:
Rise Britannia beaming far!
Rise bright Freedom's morning star!
To distant Regions unexplor'd
Extend the blessings of thy sway;
To yon benighted World afford
The light of thy all-chearing ray;
Rise Britannia, rise bright star!
Spread thy radiance wide and far!
Extend the blessings of thy sway;
To yon benighted World afford
The light of thy all-chearing ray;
Rise Britannia, rise bright star!
Spread thy radiance wide and far!
59
The shoots of Science rich and fair,
Transplanted from thy fostering Isle
And by thy Genius nurtur'd there,
Shall teach the Wilderness to smile.
Shine, Britannia, rise and shine!
To bless Mankind the task be thine!
Transplanted from thy fostering Isle
And by thy Genius nurtur'd there,
Shall teach the Wilderness to smile.
Shine, Britannia, rise and shine!
To bless Mankind the task be thine!
Nor shall the Muses now disdain
To find a new Asylum there:
And ripe for harvest see the plain,
Where lately rov'd the prowling Bear.
Plume, Britannia, plume thy wing!
Teach the savage Wild to sing!
To find a new Asylum there:
And ripe for harvest see the plain,
Where lately rov'd the prowling Bear.
Plume, Britannia, plume thy wing!
Teach the savage Wild to sing!
From thee descended, there the Swain
Shall arm the Port and spread the Sail,
And speed his traffick o'er the Main
With skill to brave the sweeping Gale;
Skill, Britannia, taught by thee,
Unrivall'd Empress of the Sea!
Shall arm the Port and spread the Sail,
And speed his traffick o'er the Main
With skill to brave the sweeping Gale;
Skill, Britannia, taught by thee,
Unrivall'd Empress of the Sea!
This high and holy strain how true
Had now from age to age been shown;
And to the World's admiring view
Rose Freedom's transatlantic throne:
Here, Britannia, here thy fame
Long did we with joy proclaim.
Had now from age to age been shown;
And to the World's admiring view
Rose Freedom's transatlantic throne:
Here, Britannia, here thy fame
Long did we with joy proclaim.
But ah! what frenzy breaks a band
Of love and union held so dear!
Rebellion madly shakes the land,
And love is turn'd to hate and fear.
Here, Britannia, here at last
We feel Contagion's deadly blast.
Of love and union held so dear!
Rebellion madly shakes the land,
And love is turn'd to hate and fear.
Here, Britannia, here at last
We feel Contagion's deadly blast.
60
Thus blind, alas! when all is well,
Thus blind are Mortals here below:
As when apostate Angels fell,
Ambition turns our bliss to woe.
Now, Britannia, now beware:
For other conflicts now prepare!
Thus blind are Mortals here below:
As when apostate Angels fell,
Ambition turns our bliss to woe.
Now, Britannia, now beware:
For other conflicts now prepare!
By thee controul'd for ages past,
See now half Europe in array:
For wild Ambition hopes at last
To fix her long projected sway.
Rise, Britannia, rise again
The scourge of haughty France and Spain!
See now half Europe in array:
For wild Ambition hopes at last
To fix her long projected sway.
Rise, Britannia, rise again
The scourge of haughty France and Spain!
The howling tempest fiercely blows,
And Ocean rages in the storm:
'Tis then the fearless Pilot shows
What British courage can perform.
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves
And ruin all intruding slaves!
And Ocean rages in the storm:
'Tis then the fearless Pilot shows
What British courage can perform.
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves
And ruin all intruding slaves!
106
A WELCOME HOME TO THE TWENTY-THIRD REGIMENT
AFTER THE PEACE OF 1763.
From burning sands or frozen plains,
Where Victory cheer'd the way,
Hail, ye returning, small remains
Of many a glorious day!
Where Victory cheer'd the way,
Hail, ye returning, small remains
Of many a glorious day!
In eight revolving years, alas,
What havoc war has made?
A tear shall swell one circling glass
In memory of the Dead.
What havoc war has made?
A tear shall swell one circling glass
In memory of the Dead.
107
With English hearts, to fate resign'd,
They earn'd a deathless fame:
For England bled, and left behind
A sadly-pleasing name.
They earn'd a deathless fame:
For England bled, and left behind
A sadly-pleasing name.
On many a widely distant land,
Or in the howling deep,
Tho' now they seem by Death's cold hand
Held in eternal sleep:
Or in the howling deep,
Tho' now they seem by Death's cold hand
Held in eternal sleep:
Yet are they far from what they seem;
Their clay alone is cold:
The soul, a warm, etherial beam,
No power of Death can hold.
Their clay alone is cold:
The soul, a warm, etherial beam,
No power of Death can hold.
This mortal frame is but a Screen
Between us and the Skies;
Death draws the Curtain, and the Scene
Then opens on our eyes.
Between us and the Skies;
Death draws the Curtain, and the Scene
Then opens on our eyes.
'Tis we that dream, not they that sleep:
Their hovering Spirits fly
Around you still, and on you keep
A friendly watchful eye.
Their hovering Spirits fly
Around you still, and on you keep
A friendly watchful eye.
And thus the Chief, who lately led
Your courage to the field,
May still be fancied at your head;
Still warn you not to yield.
Your courage to the field,
May still be fancied at your head;
Still warn you not to yield.
Your lost companions thus may strive
With you each toil to bear:
May still in Fancy's eye survive
Your future fame to share!
With you each toil to bear:
May still in Fancy's eye survive
Your future fame to share!
108
With joyful triumph, then, review
Your toils and dangers past;
Fill up the circling glass anew,
And—Welcome home at last!
Your toils and dangers past;
Fill up the circling glass anew,
And—Welcome home at last!
ON POPE'S GARDEN AT TWICKENHAM: 1765.
Behold the consecrated Bowers
Where oft, with rapture sweet,
The Muse beguil'd the lingering hours,
And cheer'd her Bard's retreat.
Where oft, with rapture sweet,
The Muse beguil'd the lingering hours,
And cheer'd her Bard's retreat.
“To wake the Soul, the Genius raise,
“And mend the Heart,” he sings:
Echo repeats the melting lays;
And Fame her tribute brings.
“And mend the Heart,” he sings:
Echo repeats the melting lays;
And Fame her tribute brings.
Here nothing splendid, nothing great
Your admiration claims:
No proud display of wealth or state
Your envy here inflames.
Your admiration claims:
No proud display of wealth or state
Your envy here inflames.
No vain sepulchral pomp is here;
But every passing eye
Here pays the tribute of a tear,
And every heart a sigh.
But every passing eye
Here pays the tribute of a tear,
And every heart a sigh.
No breathing marbles do you meet
Near this enchanting spot;
But Inspiration holds a seat
In yon Muse-haunted grot.
Near this enchanting spot;
But Inspiration holds a seat
In yon Muse-haunted grot.
109
Delightful Hermitage! where still
Some nameless charm resides:
But ah! no more the murmuring rill
Across the cavern glides.
Some nameless charm resides:
But ah! no more the murmuring rill
Across the cavern glides.
The Genius of the grotto fled;
And left the mournful stream,
No longer by the Muses fed,
To vanish as a dream.
And left the mournful stream,
No longer by the Muses fed,
To vanish as a dream.
Yet here entranc'd a simple Swain
With rapture seems inspired.
Here Fancy listens to the strain
That first my bosom fired.
With rapture seems inspired.
Here Fancy listens to the strain
That first my bosom fired.
Methinks I hear in every tree
The fluttering Sylphs around;
And lo! the ravish'd lock I see,
A constellation crown'd!
The fluttering Sylphs around;
And lo! the ravish'd lock I see,
A constellation crown'd!
Here, shelter'd by the solemn shade,
The Cloister seems to rise,
Where Eloisa, hapless Maid,
Still vents her tender sighs.
The Cloister seems to rise,
Where Eloisa, hapless Maid,
Still vents her tender sighs.
Here, shrouded in a bloody vail,
A more ill-fated Fair
Glides by, and swells the hollow gale
With shrieks of wild despair.
A more ill-fated Fair
Glides by, and swells the hollow gale
With shrieks of wild despair.
But hark? an evangelic song
Reechoed from the Spheres,
Here floats the silver Thames along:
“A God, a God appears!”
Reechoed from the Spheres,
Here floats the silver Thames along:
“A God, a God appears!”
110
With awful and sublime delight
This hallow'd ground I tread;
Where Angels hover in my sight,
And whisper o'er my head.
This hallow'd ground I tread;
Where Angels hover in my sight,
And whisper o'er my head.
A plain Obelisk, to the Memory of Mrs. Pope, with this inscription: Ah Editha, Matrum optima, Mulierum amantissima, Vale!
MOLLY ODELL ON HER BIRTHDAY.
BY HER FATHER.
Amidst the rage of civil strife,
The orphan's cries, the widow's tears,
This day my rising dawn of life
Has measured five revolving years.
The orphan's cries, the widow's tears,
This day my rising dawn of life
Has measured five revolving years.
Unconscious of the howling storm,
No signs of shipwreck'd peace I see;
For what, with all its bustling swarm,
What is the noisy world to me?
No signs of shipwreck'd peace I see;
For what, with all its bustling swarm,
What is the noisy world to me?
My needle and my book employ
The busy moments of my day;
And, for the rest, with harmless joy,
I pass them in a round of play!
The busy moments of my day;
And, for the rest, with harmless joy,
I pass them in a round of play!
And if, ere long, my vacant heart
Is to be fill'd with Care and Pain,
Still I shall bravely bear my part
While Truth and Innocence remain.
Is to be fill'd with Care and Pain,
Still I shall bravely bear my part
While Truth and Innocence remain.
111
ON OUR THIRTYNINTH WEDDING-DAY;
6TH OF MAY, 1810.
Twice nineteen years, dear Nancy, on this day
Complete their circle, since the smiling May
Beheld us at the altar kneel and join
In holy rites and vows, which made thee mine.
Then, like the reddening East without a cloud,
Bright was my dawn of joy. To Heaven I bowed
In thankful exultation, well assured
That all my heart could covet was secured.
Complete their circle, since the smiling May
Beheld us at the altar kneel and join
In holy rites and vows, which made thee mine.
Then, like the reddening East without a cloud,
Bright was my dawn of joy. To Heaven I bowed
In thankful exultation, well assured
That all my heart could covet was secured.
But ah, how soon this dawn of Joy so bright
Was followed by a dark and stormy night!
The howling tempest, in a fatal hour,
Drove me, an exile from our nuptial bower,
To seek for refuge in the tented field,
Till democratic Tyranny should yield.
Thus torn asunder we, from year to year,
Endured the alternate strife of Hope and Fear;
Till, from Suspense deliver'd by Defeat,
I hither came and found a safe retreat.
Was followed by a dark and stormy night!
The howling tempest, in a fatal hour,
Drove me, an exile from our nuptial bower,
To seek for refuge in the tented field,
Till democratic Tyranny should yield.
Thus torn asunder we, from year to year,
Endured the alternate strife of Hope and Fear;
Till, from Suspense deliver'd by Defeat,
I hither came and found a safe retreat.
Here, join'd by thee and thy young playful train,
I was o'erpaid for years of toil and pain.
We had renounced our native hostile shore;
And met, I trust, till death to part no more!
But fast approaching now the verge of life,
With what emotions do I see a Wife
And Children, smiling with affection dear,
And think—how sure that parting, and how near!
The solemn thought I wish not to restrain:
Tho' painful, 'tis a salutary pain.
Then let this verse in your remembrance live,
That, when from life released, I still may give
A token of my love; may whisper still
Some fault to shun, some duty to fulfill;
May prompt your Sympathy, some pain to share;
Or warn you of some pleasures to beware;
Remind you that the Arrow's silent flight,
Unseen alike at noon or dead of night,
Should cause no perturbation or dismay,
But teach you to enjoy the passing day
With dutiful tranquillity of mind;
Active and vigilant, but still resign'd.
For our Redeemer liveth, and we know,
How or whenever parted here below,
His faithful servants, in the Realm above,
Shall meet again as heirs of his eternal love.
I was o'erpaid for years of toil and pain.
We had renounced our native hostile shore;
And met, I trust, till death to part no more!
But fast approaching now the verge of life,
With what emotions do I see a Wife
And Children, smiling with affection dear,
And think—how sure that parting, and how near!
112
Tho' painful, 'tis a salutary pain.
Then let this verse in your remembrance live,
That, when from life released, I still may give
A token of my love; may whisper still
Some fault to shun, some duty to fulfill;
May prompt your Sympathy, some pain to share;
Or warn you of some pleasures to beware;
Remind you that the Arrow's silent flight,
Unseen alike at noon or dead of night,
Should cause no perturbation or dismay,
But teach you to enjoy the passing day
With dutiful tranquillity of mind;
Active and vigilant, but still resign'd.
For our Redeemer liveth, and we know,
How or whenever parted here below,
His faithful servants, in the Realm above,
Shall meet again as heirs of his eternal love.
| [Poems by Odell in] The Loyal Verses of Joseph Stansbury and Doctor Jonathan Odell | |