 | The Last Poems of Philip Freneau |  |
116
On the Death of Robert Fulton
Rest, Fulton, here where Hudson's passing wave
Rolls near your silent vault, too early grave!
Here, if some artist roves, I see him tread
Respectful near the ashes of the dead:
Here, will he say, beneath this arch, this sod,
Chills the warm heart, changed to the valley's clod,
Here, mouldering into dust, the inventive brain
No more inventive, shall with dust remain;
Here, will he say, while grief his heart devours
Here lies the man who searched through nature's powers
Proved to mankind what active thought can do,
And taught a system useful, great, and NEW.
Rolls near your silent vault, too early grave!
Here, if some artist roves, I see him tread
Respectful near the ashes of the dead:
Here, will he say, beneath this arch, this sod,
Chills the warm heart, changed to the valley's clod,
Here, mouldering into dust, the inventive brain
No more inventive, shall with dust remain;
Here, will he say, while grief his heart devours
Here lies the man who searched through nature's powers
Proved to mankind what active thought can do,
And taught a system useful, great, and NEW.
None could, like him, resist bold Hudson's stream:
By powerful impetus of imprisoned steam;
By this the Fulton stems the opposing brine,
Majestic fabric, as of grand design;
By this we see the Paragon advance,
And Neptune's Car flies o'er the long expanse;
The watery world before her prow divides,
She dares all tempests, and subdues all tides.
The Richmond left the river and the bay,
And through fierce tempests forced her rapid way;
No canvas aids her on the billowy waste,
No gales detain her, and no tides arrest.
By powerful impetus of imprisoned steam;
By this the Fulton stems the opposing brine,
Majestic fabric, as of grand design;
By this we see the Paragon advance,
And Neptune's Car flies o'er the long expanse;
The watery world before her prow divides,
She dares all tempests, and subdues all tides.
The Richmond left the river and the bay,
And through fierce tempests forced her rapid way;
No canvas aids her on the billowy waste,
No gales detain her, and no tides arrest.
Who knows—can tell, where art and genius cease?—
Time from the unyielding yard may sails release;
When a new race another century hails,
Who knows but Fulton's steam o'er seas prevails!
Who knows but art such proud improvement brings;
Navies may fly without the aid of wings.
In days to come, (perhaps our age, may know,)
Round the vast globe, impelled by steam, they go,
Bear wars loud thunder o'er the Atlantic foam,
And waft all commerce in the years to come.
Time from the unyielding yard may sails release;
When a new race another century hails,
Who knows but Fulton's steam o'er seas prevails!
Who knows but art such proud improvement brings;
Navies may fly without the aid of wings.
In days to come, (perhaps our age, may know,)
Round the vast globe, impelled by steam, they go,
117
And waft all commerce in the years to come.
Far to the western wilds this power extends;
To steams vast force old Mississippi bends;
A thousand leagues against his giant force
Vapour propels flotillas on their course;
Through many a grove, by many a savage isle
The incessant wheel drives on the unwieldy pile.
Then, Fulton, rest! thy memory shall survive
While man is grateful, or his offspring live.
And they, who on our Hudson's waters sail,
And dread no mischief from the impending gale,
These, these will say, when passing near your tomb,
The world's great Artist sleeps in yonder gloom!—
To steams vast force old Mississippi bends;
A thousand leagues against his giant force
Vapour propels flotillas on their course;
Through many a grove, by many a savage isle
The incessant wheel drives on the unwieldy pile.
Then, Fulton, rest! thy memory shall survive
While man is grateful, or his offspring live.
And they, who on our Hudson's waters sail,
And dread no mischief from the impending gale,
These, these will say, when passing near your tomb,
The world's great Artist sleeps in yonder gloom!—
And thousands, still, shall hold his memory dear,
The man of thoughts, who sleeps all honored here,
Whose bold designs, on every mind impressed,
An Archimedes is by all confessed.
Perhaps his equal will not soon be seen,
An age at least, nay more, may intervene
Ere one, like Fulton, rises to our view,
And gives at once the USEFUL, GREAT, and NEW.
The man of thoughts, who sleeps all honored here,
Whose bold designs, on every mind impressed,
An Archimedes is by all confessed.
Perhaps his equal will not soon be seen,
An age at least, nay more, may intervene
Ere one, like Fulton, rises to our view,
And gives at once the USEFUL, GREAT, and NEW.
| The Last Poems of Philip Freneau | |