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 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
161
THE INVENTION OF LETTERS:
A POEM, WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE PRESIDENT OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY; AND DELIVERED, IN CAMBRIDGE, ON THE DAY OF ANNUAL COMMENCEMENT, JULY 15, 1795.
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TO HIS EXCELLENCY GEORGE WASHINGTON, WHOSE CIVICK AND MILITARY VIRTUES DESERVE A NOBLER EULOGIUM, THAN THE “INVENTION OF LETTERS” CAN BESTOW, THIS POEM IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY AN OBEDIENT AND GRATEFUL CITIZEN,
THE AUTHOR.
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Scarce had the cedar cleft the virgin wave,
That erst to Tyre its chaste embraces gave;
Scarce had the bold Phœnician, forced to roam
By barren nature and a desert home;
His vales of rock exchanged for Ocean's field,
And left the plough's, the trident's beam to wield;
When Cadmus, eldest heir of classick fame,
First gave each element of thought a name.
Of oral tongue the varying sounds he caught,
For every tone a varying emblem wrought;
From signs a word; from words a period flows;
A page succeeds, and next a volume grows.
That erst to Tyre its chaste embraces gave;
Scarce had the bold Phœnician, forced to roam
By barren nature and a desert home;
His vales of rock exchanged for Ocean's field,
And left the plough's, the trident's beam to wield;
When Cadmus, eldest heir of classick fame,
First gave each element of thought a name.
Of oral tongue the varying sounds he caught,
For every tone a varying emblem wrought;
From signs a word; from words a period flows;
A page succeeds, and next a volume grows.
Thus, on the surface of the polished rind,
He sketched the features of the viewless mind;
At length aspired to rhetorick's colouring grace,
And pictured thought, as artists shade the face.
He sketched the features of the viewless mind;
At length aspired to rhetorick's colouring grace,
And pictured thought, as artists shade the face.
Now to Achaia's rude, unlettered shore,
His glorious art the bold discoverer bore.
In that calm seat of innocence and ease,
Where Nature strove to bless, and Life to please:
No ruffling passion shook the placid breast,
For Anger's fluid surface was at rest.
With rising sun, the swain his course renewed,
His flock conducted, or his Daphne wooed;
And when his vows she heard in dale or grove,
Her smile was friendship; but her blush was love.
No jealous fear, as roving arm in arm,
Her brow could wrinkle, or her heart alarm;
As chaste, as Eve, when she, in virtue pure,
Without a fig-leaf thought her charms secure.
His glorious art the bold discoverer bore.
In that calm seat of innocence and ease,
Where Nature strove to bless, and Life to please:
164
For Anger's fluid surface was at rest.
With rising sun, the swain his course renewed,
His flock conducted, or his Daphne wooed;
And when his vows she heard in dale or grove,
Her smile was friendship; but her blush was love.
No jealous fear, as roving arm in arm,
Her brow could wrinkle, or her heart alarm;
As chaste, as Eve, when she, in virtue pure,
Without a fig-leaf thought her charms secure.
Soon, for the sceptre, was the crook resigned,
And arts and arms employed the active mind.
From Attick climes, the Cadmean tablet spread,
And Roman eyes the page of Athens read.
By Genius sunned, by fond Ambition nursed,
Forth from its germ the flower of Science burst.
Now rose the temple; now the clarion rung;
The forum thundered, and the Muses sung:
Now flew the shuttle; now the quarry broke;
There breathed the canvass; here the marble spoke.
And arts and arms employed the active mind.
From Attick climes, the Cadmean tablet spread,
And Roman eyes the page of Athens read.
By Genius sunned, by fond Ambition nursed,
Forth from its germ the flower of Science burst.
Now rose the temple; now the clarion rung;
The forum thundered, and the Muses sung:
Now flew the shuttle; now the quarry broke;
There breathed the canvass; here the marble spoke.
Be such the lay to sons of elder time,
Whose green tombs flourish in immortal prime.
May no rude Saracen's unhallowed tread
Profane the ashes of the classick dead!
But let the pedant, whelmed in learned dust,
Who values Science only for its rust,
No more presume with bigot zeal to raise,
O'er modern worth, the palm of ancient days.
No more let Athens to the world proclaim,
Her classick phalanx holds the field of fame;
No more let delving Tyre's mechanic host
The birth of letters, as of commerce, boast;
And thou, proud Tyber! vaunt those waves no more,
Which once a Cesar bathed, a Virgil bore!
The barbarous Rhine now blends its classick name,
With Rome's, Phœnicia's, and Achaia's fame;
See, midst her waves, their fragrance to restore,
He dips the laurels, which your heroes wore;
Green with new life, and chastened of their dust,
Restores each chaplet to its votive bust.
Sovereign of Art, Invention's noblest son,
He claims the bays, which every art has won;
Of fame unenvious, living worth rewards,
And loves the genius, which his page records.
Whose green tombs flourish in immortal prime.
May no rude Saracen's unhallowed tread
Profane the ashes of the classick dead!
But let the pedant, whelmed in learned dust,
Who values Science only for its rust,
No more presume with bigot zeal to raise,
O'er modern worth, the palm of ancient days.
No more let Athens to the world proclaim,
Her classick phalanx holds the field of fame;
165
The birth of letters, as of commerce, boast;
And thou, proud Tyber! vaunt those waves no more,
Which once a Cesar bathed, a Virgil bore!
The barbarous Rhine now blends its classick name,
With Rome's, Phœnicia's, and Achaia's fame;
See, midst her waves, their fragrance to restore,
He dips the laurels, which your heroes wore;
Green with new life, and chastened of their dust,
Restores each chaplet to its votive bust.
Sovereign of Art, Invention's noblest son,
He claims the bays, which every art has won;
Of fame unenvious, living worth rewards,
And loves the genius, which his page records.
Egyptian shrubs, in hands of cook or priest,
A king could mummy, or enrich a feast;
Faustus, great shade! a nobler leaf imparts,
Embalms all ages, and preserves all arts.
A king could mummy, or enrich a feast;
Faustus, great shade! a nobler leaf imparts,
Embalms all ages, and preserves all arts.
The ancient scribe, employed by bards divine,
With faultering finger traced the lingering line.
So few the scrivener's dull profession chose,
With tedious toil each tardy transcript rose;
And scarce the Iliad, penned from oral rhyme,
Grew with the bark, that bore its page sublime.
With faultering finger traced the lingering line.
So few the scrivener's dull profession chose,
With tedious toil each tardy transcript rose;
And scarce the Iliad, penned from oral rhyme,
Grew with the bark, that bore its page sublime.
But when the Press, with fertile womb, supplies
The useful sheet, on thousand wings it flies;
Bound to no climate, to no age confined,
The pinioned volume spreads to all mankind.
The useful sheet, on thousand wings it flies;
Bound to no climate, to no age confined,
The pinioned volume spreads to all mankind.
166
No sacred power the Cadmean art could claim,
O'er time to triumph, and defy the flame:
In one sad day a Goth could ravage more,
Than ages wrote, or ages could restore.
O'er time to triumph, and defy the flame:
In one sad day a Goth could ravage more,
Than ages wrote, or ages could restore.
The Roman hemlet, or the Grecian lyre,
A realm might conquer, or a realm inspire;
Then sink, oblivious, in the mouldering dust,
With those who blest them, and with those who curst.
What guide had then the lettered pilgrim led,
Where Plato moralized; where Cesar bled?
What page had told, in lasting record wrought,
The world who butchered, or the world who taught?
A realm might conquer, or a realm inspire;
Then sink, oblivious, in the mouldering dust,
With those who blest them, and with those who curst.
What guide had then the lettered pilgrim led,
Where Plato moralized; where Cesar bled?
What page had told, in lasting record wrought,
The world who butchered, or the world who taught?
Thine was the mighty power, immortal sage!
To burst the cearments of each buried age.
Through the drear sepulchre of sunless Time,
Rich with the trophied wrecks of many a clime,
Thy daring genius broke the pathless way,
And brought the glorious relicks forth to day.
To burst the cearments of each buried age.
Through the drear sepulchre of sunless Time,
Rich with the trophied wrecks of many a clime,
Thy daring genius broke the pathless way,
And brought the glorious relicks forth to day.
To thee the historian's pen, indebted, owes
The map of ages, which his page bestows:
From thee e'en Fame inhales the air, she breathes,
And crowns thy brows with tributary wreathes!
The map of ages, which his page bestows:
From thee e'en Fame inhales the air, she breathes,
And crowns thy brows with tributary wreathes!
The Press, that engine, formed to rouse mankind,
To expand the heart, and civilize the mind,
In feats, like these, each statesman has outdone;
From Nimrod's house of peers, to Chatham's peerless son!
To expand the heart, and civilize the mind,
In feats, like these, each statesman has outdone;
From Nimrod's house of peers, to Chatham's peerless son!
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By Freedom guarded, and by Virtue graced,
It weeds the morals, while it prunes the taste.
But when, in thraldom of oppressive chains,
The curb of power the liberal press restrains,
Vice, who has charms, Circassia never knew,
In voice a Circe, and in poison too,
With luring dimples, and with wanton smiles,
The eye enamours, and the heart beguiles.
In publick veins her foul infections roll,
Seduce the nation, and corrupt its soul.
It weeds the morals, while it prunes the taste.
But when, in thraldom of oppressive chains,
The curb of power the liberal press restrains,
Vice, who has charms, Circassia never knew,
In voice a Circe, and in poison too,
With luring dimples, and with wanton smiles,
The eye enamours, and the heart beguiles.
In publick veins her foul infections roll,
Seduce the nation, and corrupt its soul.
Had Vulcan's web, which once, in realm of Jove,
Trapped in crim. con. the tripping queen of love,
Of late at Gaul's lascivious court been spread,
Ere fettered Type from dread Bastile was led;
The magick seine, such shoals its wires had caught,
Like Peter's net, had broken with the draught!
Trapped in crim. con. the tripping queen of love,
Of late at Gaul's lascivious court been spread,
Ere fettered Type from dread Bastile was led;
The magick seine, such shoals its wires had caught,
Like Peter's net, had broken with the draught!
The mystick Fossil, whose attracted soul,
With fond affection, seeks its kindred pole,
To bless the globe, had ne'er explored the wave,
But, Cortes-like, discovered to enslave.
Had letters ne'er the bold ambition crowned,
And Printing polished what the magnet found;
In vain had Gama traced the orient way,
And Europe stretched her wings 'mid Indian day;
In vain Columbus, spurning Neptune's roar,
Gave earth a balance, and the sea a shore,
'Till truth-winged Science, bursting Error's night,
Shed her religion, where she beamed her light.
With fond affection, seeks its kindred pole,
To bless the globe, had ne'er explored the wave,
But, Cortes-like, discovered to enslave.
Had letters ne'er the bold ambition crowned,
And Printing polished what the magnet found;
In vain had Gama traced the orient way,
And Europe stretched her wings 'mid Indian day;
In vain Columbus, spurning Neptune's roar,
Gave earth a balance, and the sea a shore,
'Till truth-winged Science, bursting Error's night,
Shed her religion, where she beamed her light.
168
But most that triumph of the press we prize,
Which bade the slumbering rights of Nature rise;
Stripped of his mask, the despot's face displayed,
And showed the world the monster, they obeyed.
Which bade the slumbering rights of Nature rise;
Stripped of his mask, the despot's face displayed,
And showed the world the monster, they obeyed.
Not Tell's fleet arrow sped with surer art;
Not Cordé's dagger deeper cleft the heart;
Not tower-armed elephant, nor bursting mine,
The battering aries, nor the blazing line,
With deadlier prowess spread their fatal rage,
Than Type, indignant for an injured age.
When patriots, leagued a nation to redress,
At tyrants point the artillery of the press,
Loud, o'er the gorgeous canopy of state,
It falls, like Erie; and it strikes, like Fate;
Wide as La Plata, as the Andes high,
Its thunders echo, and its lightnings fly;
To heaven appealed, ascends the dread decree;
The tyrant falls—America is free!
Not Cordé's dagger deeper cleft the heart;
Not tower-armed elephant, nor bursting mine,
The battering aries, nor the blazing line,
With deadlier prowess spread their fatal rage,
Than Type, indignant for an injured age.
When patriots, leagued a nation to redress,
At tyrants point the artillery of the press,
Loud, o'er the gorgeous canopy of state,
It falls, like Erie; and it strikes, like Fate;
Wide as La Plata, as the Andes high,
Its thunders echo, and its lightnings fly;
To heaven appealed, ascends the dread decree;
The tyrant falls—America is free!
Long may our nation guard the rights, she boasts;
Green be the tombs where sleep her patriot hosts.
May war-worn Scipio reap the field, he gained,
Nor see his laurels stripped, his honour stained!
Ne'er may a warrior's urn reproach the brave,
Ungrateful Rome, thou can'st not rob my grave!
Green be the tombs where sleep her patriot hosts.
May war-worn Scipio reap the field, he gained,
Nor see his laurels stripped, his honour stained!
Ne'er may a warrior's urn reproach the brave,
Ungrateful Rome, thou can'st not rob my grave!
By smiling Peace, and fruitful vallies blest,
By freemen loved, by distant climes caressed,
Columbia rules a brave and generous land,
And scatters blessings, where her laws command.
What though no wave Pactolian laves her shore,
Nor gleam her caverns with Peruvian ore;
Rich is the soil, through which her rivers run,
And all her diamonds ripen in the sun.
Let torrid climes in sterile caves infold
Their gleaming vineyards of luxuriant gold;
Let India boast the philosophick churl,
Who starves an oyster, to create a pearl.
Thee happier wealth, Columbia, Fate has given,
Nor gleans from famine what descends from heaven.
Thy native mines nor rod nor art require,
To dig by magick, nor to purge by fire;
And chymick skill, thy glittering veins to trace,
Resigns thy bosom, to survey thy face.
By freemen loved, by distant climes caressed,
Columbia rules a brave and generous land,
And scatters blessings, where her laws command.
169
Nor gleam her caverns with Peruvian ore;
Rich is the soil, through which her rivers run,
And all her diamonds ripen in the sun.
Let torrid climes in sterile caves infold
Their gleaming vineyards of luxuriant gold;
Let India boast the philosophick churl,
Who starves an oyster, to create a pearl.
Thee happier wealth, Columbia, Fate has given,
Nor gleans from famine what descends from heaven.
Thy native mines nor rod nor art require,
To dig by magick, nor to purge by fire;
And chymick skill, thy glittering veins to trace,
Resigns thy bosom, to survey thy face.
Beneath the shade, which Freedom's oak displays,
Their votive shrine Apollo's offspring raise.
With youthful Fancy, or with matron Taste,
They cull the meadow, or explore the waste;
Each tract, they culture, verdant life perfumes;
With Judgment ripens, or with Genius blooms.
Their votive shrine Apollo's offspring raise.
With youthful Fancy, or with matron Taste,
They cull the meadow, or explore the waste;
Each tract, they culture, verdant life perfumes;
With Judgment ripens, or with Genius blooms.
In strength of scene, delights a Ramsay's page;
With classick truth, a Belknap charms the age;
In cloudless splendour, modest Minot shines;
And Bunker flames, in Allen's glowing lines.
By sister arts and kindred powers allied,
The Trumbulls rise, the lyre's and pencil's pride;
And every muse has carved Philenia's name,
On every laurel in the grove of Fame.
With classick truth, a Belknap charms the age;
In cloudless splendour, modest Minot shines;
And Bunker flames, in Allen's glowing lines.
By sister arts and kindred powers allied,
The Trumbulls rise, the lyre's and pencil's pride;
And every muse has carved Philenia's name,
On every laurel in the grove of Fame.
170
From Harvard's fount, by native springs supplied,
Presiding Science rolls her copious tide.
Blest seat of letters, to thy sacred walls
This festive day my fond remembrance calls!
In Life's broad road, whate'er my path may be,
Full oft shall Memory turn to gaze on thee;
Still, like some faithful ghost, delight to dwell,
And hover o'er the spot, she loved so well!
Presiding Science rolls her copious tide.
Blest seat of letters, to thy sacred walls
This festive day my fond remembrance calls!
In Life's broad road, whate'er my path may be,
Full oft shall Memory turn to gaze on thee;
Still, like some faithful ghost, delight to dwell,
And hover o'er the spot, she loved so well!
A lurking moth in every art we find,
That braves the weakness of the human mind.
Born in the pore, it burrows through the heart,
And kills the oak, whose leaf it could not start.
That braves the weakness of the human mind.
Born in the pore, it burrows through the heart,
And kills the oak, whose leaf it could not start.
In yon drear garret, Faction's dark recess,
Her nightly dæmons load the groaning press.
With cobwebs hung, she rubs her sleepless eyes,
While Norfolk spiders weave her half-spun lies.
Her motley brood by law, nor gospel tied,
Whom honour cannot bind, nor reason guide,
The dregs of nature and of vice compose;
For Envy these creates, and Folly those.
In tricks expert, or buzzing on the wing,
Like apes, they mimick, or, like insects, sting!
And still another useless proof supply—
The sun that warms a monkey, breeds a fly!
Her nightly dæmons load the groaning press.
With cobwebs hung, she rubs her sleepless eyes,
While Norfolk spiders weave her half-spun lies.
Her motley brood by law, nor gospel tied,
Whom honour cannot bind, nor reason guide,
The dregs of nature and of vice compose;
For Envy these creates, and Folly those.
In tricks expert, or buzzing on the wing,
Like apes, they mimick, or, like insects, sting!
And still another useless proof supply—
The sun that warms a monkey, breeds a fly!
For place or power, while demagogues contend,
Whirled in their vortex, sinks each humbler friend.
See Crispin quit his stall, in Faction's cause,
To cobble government, and soal the laws!
See Frisseur scent his dust, his razor set,
To shave the treaty, or to puff Genet!
In doubtful mood, see Mulciber debate,
To mend a horse-shoe, or to weld the state!
The whip's bold knight, in barn, his truck has laid,
To spout in favour of the carrying trade!
While Staytape runs, from hissing goose, too hot,
To measure Congress for another coat;
And still, by rule of shop, intent on pelf,
Eyes the spare cloth, to cabbage for himself!
Whirled in their vortex, sinks each humbler friend.
See Crispin quit his stall, in Faction's cause,
To cobble government, and soal the laws!
171
To shave the treaty, or to puff Genet!
In doubtful mood, see Mulciber debate,
To mend a horse-shoe, or to weld the state!
The whip's bold knight, in barn, his truck has laid,
To spout in favour of the carrying trade!
While Staytape runs, from hissing goose, too hot,
To measure Congress for another coat;
And still, by rule of shop, intent on pelf,
Eyes the spare cloth, to cabbage for himself!
Envy, that fiend, who haunts the great and good,
Not Cato shunned, nor Hercules subdued.
On Fame's wide field, where'er a covert lies,
The rustling serpent to the thicket flies;
The foe of Glory, Merit is her prey;
The dunce she leaves, to plod his drowsy way.
Of birth amphibious, and of Protean skill,
This green-eyed monster changes shape at will;
Like snakes of smaller breed, she sheds her skin;
Strips off the serpent, and turns—Jacobin.
Not Cato shunned, nor Hercules subdued.
On Fame's wide field, where'er a covert lies,
The rustling serpent to the thicket flies;
The foe of Glory, Merit is her prey;
The dunce she leaves, to plod his drowsy way.
Of birth amphibious, and of Protean skill,
This green-eyed monster changes shape at will;
Like snakes of smaller breed, she sheds her skin;
Strips off the serpent, and turns—Jacobin.
Each hero's seat her lawless steps invade,
From George's banks, to Vernon's laurel shade.
E'en to thy brow, immortal Freedom's Sire!
Her pagan hands, in sacrilege, aspire!
Can'st thou, great Chief, her thankless sons forgive,
Who owe to thee the soil, on which they live?
These senseless reptiles, who, with Slander's bane,
The bright medallion of thy life would stain,
Yield to the glories of thy deathless name,
The noblest tribute ever paid by fame.
The beams of Phœbus shower their brightest blaze,
When Heaven is shadowed by the clouds they raise:
And the proud pyramids, that propped the sky,
Whose spires were scarcely kenned by mortal eye;
Whose height the loftiest strides of Art surpassed,
Were measured only by the shade they cast.
From George's banks, to Vernon's laurel shade.
E'en to thy brow, immortal Freedom's Sire!
Her pagan hands, in sacrilege, aspire!
Can'st thou, great Chief, her thankless sons forgive,
Who owe to thee the soil, on which they live?
These senseless reptiles, who, with Slander's bane,
The bright medallion of thy life would stain,
Yield to the glories of thy deathless name,
The noblest tribute ever paid by fame.
172
When Heaven is shadowed by the clouds they raise:
And the proud pyramids, that propped the sky,
Whose spires were scarcely kenned by mortal eye;
Whose height the loftiest strides of Art surpassed,
Were measured only by the shade they cast.
Oh, Washington! thou here, patriot, sage!
Friend of all climates; pride of every age!
Were thine the laurels, every soil could raise,
The mighty harvest were penurious praise.
Well may our realms thy Fabian wisdom boast;
Thy prudence saved, what bravery had lost.
Yet e'er hadst thou, by Heaven's severer fates,
Like Sparta's hero at the Grecian straits,
Been doomed to meet, in arms, a world of foes,
Whom skill could not defeat, nor walls oppose;
Then had thy breast, by danger ne'er subdued,
The mighty buckler of thy country stood;
Proud of its wounds, each piercing spear would bless,
Which left Columbia's foes one javelin less;
Nor felt one pang, but, in the glorious deed,
Thy little band of heroes, too, must bleed;
Nor throbbed one fear, but, that some poisoned dart
Thy breast might pass, and reach thy country's heart!
Friend of all climates; pride of every age!
Were thine the laurels, every soil could raise,
The mighty harvest were penurious praise.
Well may our realms thy Fabian wisdom boast;
Thy prudence saved, what bravery had lost.
Yet e'er hadst thou, by Heaven's severer fates,
Like Sparta's hero at the Grecian straits,
Been doomed to meet, in arms, a world of foes,
Whom skill could not defeat, nor walls oppose;
Then had thy breast, by danger ne'er subdued,
The mighty buckler of thy country stood;
Proud of its wounds, each piercing spear would bless,
Which left Columbia's foes one javelin less;
Nor felt one pang, but, in the glorious deed,
Thy little band of heroes, too, must bleed;
Nor throbbed one fear, but, that some poisoned dart
Thy breast might pass, and reach thy country's heart!
By Heaven ordained, ne'er in the sea of Fame
Shall sit the disk of thy resplendent name;
But, like yon Arctick star, forever roll,
In ceaseless orbit, round the glowing pole.
Shall sit the disk of thy resplendent name;
But, like yon Arctick star, forever roll,
In ceaseless orbit, round the glowing pole.
373
Could Faustus live, by gloomy Grave resigned;
With power extensive, as sublime his mind,
Thy glorious life a volume should compose,
As Alps immortal, spotless as its snows.
The stars should be its types—its press the age;
The earth its binding—and the sky its page.
In language set, not Babel could o'erturn;
On leaves impressed, which Omar could not burn;
The sacred work in Heaven's high dome should stand,
Shine with its suns, and with its arch expand;
'Till Nature's-self the Vandal torch should raise,
And the vast alcove of Creation blaze!
With power extensive, as sublime his mind,
Thy glorious life a volume should compose,
As Alps immortal, spotless as its snows.
The stars should be its types—its press the age;
The earth its binding—and the sky its page.
In language set, not Babel could o'erturn;
On leaves impressed, which Omar could not burn;
The sacred work in Heaven's high dome should stand,
Shine with its suns, and with its arch expand;
'Till Nature's-self the Vandal torch should raise,
And the vast alcove of Creation blaze!
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |