 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
JAMES ALLEN.
162
LINES ON THE MASSACRE.
From realms of bondage, and a tyrant's reign,
Our godlike fathers bore no slavish chain.
To Pharaoh's face the inspired patriarchs stood,
To seal their virtue, with a martyr's blood:
But lives so precious, such a sacred seed,
The source of empires, heaven's high will decreed;
He snatch'd the saints from Pharaoh's impious hand,
And bid his chosen seek this distant land:
Thus to these climes the illustrious exiles sped,
'T was freedom prompted, and the Godhead led.
Eternal woods the virgin soil defaced,
A dreary desert, and a howling waste;
The haunt of tribes no pity taught to spare,
And they opposed them with remorseless war,
But heaven's right arm led forth the faithful train,
The guardian Godhead swept the insidious plain,
Till the scour'd thicket amicable stood,
Nor dastard ambush trench'd the dusky wood:
Our sires then earn'd no more precarious bread,
Nor 'midst alarms their frugal meals were spread.
Fair boding hopes inured their hands to toil,
And patriot virtue nursed the thriving soil,
Nor scarce two ages have their periods run,
Since o'er their culture smiled the genial sun;
And now what states extend their fair domains,
O'er fleecy mountains, and luxuriant plains!
Where happy millions their own fields possess,
No tyrant awes them, and no lords oppress;
The hand of rule, divine discretion guides,
And white-robed virtue o'er her path presides,
Each policed order venerates the laws,
And each, ingenuous, speaks in freedom's cause;
Not Spartan spirit, nor the Roman name,
The patriot's pride, shall rival these in fame;
Here all the sweets that social life can know,
From the full fount of civil sapience flow;
Here golden Ceres clothes th' autumnal plain,
And art's fair empress holds her new domain;
Here angel Science spreads her lucid wing,
And hark, how sweet the new-born muses sing;
Here generous Commerce spreads her liberal hand,
And scatters foreign blessings round the land.
Shall meagre mammon, or proud lust of sway,
Reverse these scenes—will heaven permit the day?
Shall in this era all our hopes expire,
And weeping freedom from her fanes retire?
Here shall the tyrant still our peace pursue,
From the pain'd eyebrow drink the vital dew?
Not nature's barrier wards our father's foe,
Seas roll in vain, and boundless oceans flow.
Our godlike fathers bore no slavish chain.
To Pharaoh's face the inspired patriarchs stood,
To seal their virtue, with a martyr's blood:
But lives so precious, such a sacred seed,
The source of empires, heaven's high will decreed;
He snatch'd the saints from Pharaoh's impious hand,
And bid his chosen seek this distant land:
Thus to these climes the illustrious exiles sped,
'T was freedom prompted, and the Godhead led.
Eternal woods the virgin soil defaced,
A dreary desert, and a howling waste;
The haunt of tribes no pity taught to spare,
And they opposed them with remorseless war,
But heaven's right arm led forth the faithful train,
The guardian Godhead swept the insidious plain,
Till the scour'd thicket amicable stood,
Nor dastard ambush trench'd the dusky wood:
Our sires then earn'd no more precarious bread,
Nor 'midst alarms their frugal meals were spread.
163
And patriot virtue nursed the thriving soil,
Nor scarce two ages have their periods run,
Since o'er their culture smiled the genial sun;
And now what states extend their fair domains,
O'er fleecy mountains, and luxuriant plains!
Where happy millions their own fields possess,
No tyrant awes them, and no lords oppress;
The hand of rule, divine discretion guides,
And white-robed virtue o'er her path presides,
Each policed order venerates the laws,
And each, ingenuous, speaks in freedom's cause;
Not Spartan spirit, nor the Roman name,
The patriot's pride, shall rival these in fame;
Here all the sweets that social life can know,
From the full fount of civil sapience flow;
Here golden Ceres clothes th' autumnal plain,
And art's fair empress holds her new domain;
Here angel Science spreads her lucid wing,
And hark, how sweet the new-born muses sing;
Here generous Commerce spreads her liberal hand,
And scatters foreign blessings round the land.
Shall meagre mammon, or proud lust of sway,
Reverse these scenes—will heaven permit the day?
Shall in this era all our hopes expire,
And weeping freedom from her fanes retire?
Here shall the tyrant still our peace pursue,
From the pain'd eyebrow drink the vital dew?
Not nature's barrier wards our father's foe,
Seas roll in vain, and boundless oceans flow.
Stay, Pharaoh, stay, that impious hand forbear,
Nor tempt the genius of our souls too far;
How oft, ungracious! in thy thankless stead,
'Mid scenes of death, our generous youth have bled;
When the proud Gaul thy mightiest powers repell'd,
And drove your legions trembling from the field,
We rent the laurel from the victor's brow,
And round your temples taught the wreath to grow,
Say, when thy slaughter'd bands the desert dyed,
Where lone Ohio rolls her gloomy tide,
Whose dreary banks their wasting bones inshrine,
What arm avenged them?—thankless! was it thine?
But generous valor scorns a boasting word,
And conscious virtue reaps her own reward,
Yet conscious virtue bids thee now to speak,
Though guilty blushes kindle o'er thy cheek:
If wasting wars, and painful toils at length,
Had drain'd our veins, and wither'd all our strength,
How couldst thou, cruel, form the vile design,
And round our necks the wreath of bondage twine!
And if some lingering spirit roused to strife,
Bid ruffian murder drink the dregs of life?
Shall future ages e'er forget the deed?
And shall n't for this imperious Britain bleed?
When comes the period heaven predestines must,
When Europe's glories shall be whelm'd in dust,
When our proud fleets the naval wreath shall wear,
And o'er her empires hurl the bolts of war,
Unnerved by fate, the boldest heart shall fail,
And 'mid their guards auxiliar kings grow pale;
In vain shall Britain lift her suppliant eye,
An alien'd offspring feels no filial tie,
Her tears in vain shall bathe the soldier's feet,
Remember, ingrate, Boston's crimson'd street;
Whole hecatombs of lives the deed shall pay,
And purge the murders of that guilty day.
Nor tempt the genius of our souls too far;
How oft, ungracious! in thy thankless stead,
'Mid scenes of death, our generous youth have bled;
When the proud Gaul thy mightiest powers repell'd,
And drove your legions trembling from the field,
We rent the laurel from the victor's brow,
And round your temples taught the wreath to grow,
Say, when thy slaughter'd bands the desert dyed,
Where lone Ohio rolls her gloomy tide,
Whose dreary banks their wasting bones inshrine,
What arm avenged them?—thankless! was it thine?
But generous valor scorns a boasting word,
And conscious virtue reaps her own reward,
Yet conscious virtue bids thee now to speak,
Though guilty blushes kindle o'er thy cheek:
164
Had drain'd our veins, and wither'd all our strength,
How couldst thou, cruel, form the vile design,
And round our necks the wreath of bondage twine!
And if some lingering spirit roused to strife,
Bid ruffian murder drink the dregs of life?
Shall future ages e'er forget the deed?
And shall n't for this imperious Britain bleed?
When comes the period heaven predestines must,
When Europe's glories shall be whelm'd in dust,
When our proud fleets the naval wreath shall wear,
And o'er her empires hurl the bolts of war,
Unnerved by fate, the boldest heart shall fail,
And 'mid their guards auxiliar kings grow pale;
In vain shall Britain lift her suppliant eye,
An alien'd offspring feels no filial tie,
Her tears in vain shall bathe the soldier's feet,
Remember, ingrate, Boston's crimson'd street;
Whole hecatombs of lives the deed shall pay,
And purge the murders of that guilty day.
But why to future periods look so far,
What force e'er faced us, that we fear'd to dare?
Then, canst thou think, e'en on this early day,
Proud force shall bend us to a tyrant's sway?
A foreign foe opposed our sword in vain,
And thine own troops we 've rallied on the plain,
If then our lives thy lawless sword invade,
Think'st thou, enslaved, we 'd kiss the pointed blade?
Nay, let experience speak—be this the test,
'T is from experience that we reason best.
When first thy mandate show'd the shameless plan,
To rank our race beneath the class of man,
Low as the brute to sink the human line,
Our toil our portion, and the harvest thine,
Modest but firm, we plead the sacred cause,
On nature based, and sanction'd by the laws;
But your deaf ear the conscious plea denied,
Some demon counsel'd—and the sword replied;
Your navy then our haven cover'd o'er,
And arm'd battalions trespass'd on our shore.
Through the prime streets, they march'd in war's array,
At noon's full blaze, and in the face of day:
With dumb contempt we pass'd the servile show,
While scorn's proud spirit scowl'd on every brow;
Day after day successive wrongs we bore,
Till patience, wearied, could support no more,
Till slaughter'd lives our native streets profaned,
And thy slave's hand our hallow'd crimson stain'd,
No sudden rage the ruffian soldier tore,
Or swam the pavement with his vital gore.
Deliberate thought did all our souls compose,
Till veil'd in glooms the lowery morning rose;
No mob then furious urged the impassion'd fray,
Nor clamorous tumult dinn'd the solemn day.
In full convene the city senate sate,
Our fathers' spirit ruled the firm debate;—
The freeborn soul no reptile tyrant checks,
'T is heaven dictates when the people speaks;
Loud from their tongues the awful mandate broke,
And thus inspired, the sacred senate spoke;
“Ye miscreant troops, begone! Our presence fly,
Stay, if ye dare, but if ye dare, ye die!”
“Ah! too severe,” the fearful chief replies,
“Permit one half—the other instant flies.”—
“No parle, avaunt, or by our fathers' shades,
Your reeking lives shall glut our vengeful blades,
Ere morning's light begone,—or else we swear,
Each slaughter'd corse shall feed the birds of air!”
Ere morning's light had streak'd the skies with red,
The chieftain yielded, and the soldier fled.
'T is thus experience speaks—the test forbear,
Nor show these states your feeble front of war,
But still your navies lord it o'er the main,
Their keels are natives of our oaken plain;
E'en the proud mast that bears your flag on high,
Grew on our soil, and ripen'd in our sky:
“Know then thyself, presume not us to scan,”
Your power precarious, and your isle a span.
What force e'er faced us, that we fear'd to dare?
Then, canst thou think, e'en on this early day,
Proud force shall bend us to a tyrant's sway?
A foreign foe opposed our sword in vain,
And thine own troops we 've rallied on the plain,
If then our lives thy lawless sword invade,
Think'st thou, enslaved, we 'd kiss the pointed blade?
Nay, let experience speak—be this the test,
'T is from experience that we reason best.
When first thy mandate show'd the shameless plan,
To rank our race beneath the class of man,
Low as the brute to sink the human line,
Our toil our portion, and the harvest thine,
Modest but firm, we plead the sacred cause,
On nature based, and sanction'd by the laws;
But your deaf ear the conscious plea denied,
Some demon counsel'd—and the sword replied;
Your navy then our haven cover'd o'er,
And arm'd battalions trespass'd on our shore.
Through the prime streets, they march'd in war's array,
At noon's full blaze, and in the face of day:
With dumb contempt we pass'd the servile show,
While scorn's proud spirit scowl'd on every brow;
Day after day successive wrongs we bore,
Till patience, wearied, could support no more,
165
And thy slave's hand our hallow'd crimson stain'd,
No sudden rage the ruffian soldier tore,
Or swam the pavement with his vital gore.
Deliberate thought did all our souls compose,
Till veil'd in glooms the lowery morning rose;
No mob then furious urged the impassion'd fray,
Nor clamorous tumult dinn'd the solemn day.
In full convene the city senate sate,
Our fathers' spirit ruled the firm debate;—
The freeborn soul no reptile tyrant checks,
'T is heaven dictates when the people speaks;
Loud from their tongues the awful mandate broke,
And thus inspired, the sacred senate spoke;
“Ye miscreant troops, begone! Our presence fly,
Stay, if ye dare, but if ye dare, ye die!”
“Ah! too severe,” the fearful chief replies,
“Permit one half—the other instant flies.”—
“No parle, avaunt, or by our fathers' shades,
Your reeking lives shall glut our vengeful blades,
Ere morning's light begone,—or else we swear,
Each slaughter'd corse shall feed the birds of air!”
Ere morning's light had streak'd the skies with red,
The chieftain yielded, and the soldier fled.
'T is thus experience speaks—the test forbear,
Nor show these states your feeble front of war,
But still your navies lord it o'er the main,
Their keels are natives of our oaken plain;
E'en the proud mast that bears your flag on high,
Grew on our soil, and ripen'd in our sky:
“Know then thyself, presume not us to scan,”
Your power precarious, and your isle a span.
Yet could our wrongs in just oblivion sleep,
And on each neck revived affection weep,
The brave are generous, and the good forgive,
Then say you 've wrong'd us, and our parent live;
But face not fate, oppose not heaven's decree,
Let not that curse, our mother, light on thee.
And on each neck revived affection weep,
The brave are generous, and the good forgive,
Then say you 've wrong'd us, and our parent live;
But face not fate, oppose not heaven's decree,
Let not that curse, our mother, light on thee.
THE RETROSPECT.
Her warlike sons the palm of victory bore,
Where hoary Neptune's utmost billows roar,
More far than Rome who ruled unnumber'd kings,
Where Cæsar's eagles never stretch'd their wings,
From Polar climes where daylight scarcely gleams,
To where full Phœbus pours his torrid beams,
Where gorgeous Asia spreads the sumptuous loom,
Or stately nabobs rear the princely dome,
Where arid Afric gives to foreign toil
Her pearly rivers and her golden soil,
Far as the sachem roams the loneliest wood,
Or tempts with venturous barque Ontario's flood,
To where fair Europe's vernal regions rise
In medial climates, and in temperate skies.
The British powers for seven successive years,
Had thus triumphant circled both the spheres,
O'er the whole globe their course of glory run
Whence day emerges to where sets the sun.
No waste of life pollutes the soldier's deed,
Nor wanton spoliage bids reflection bleed.
[OMITTED]
Where hoary Neptune's utmost billows roar,
More far than Rome who ruled unnumber'd kings,
Where Cæsar's eagles never stretch'd their wings,
166
To where full Phœbus pours his torrid beams,
Where gorgeous Asia spreads the sumptuous loom,
Or stately nabobs rear the princely dome,
Where arid Afric gives to foreign toil
Her pearly rivers and her golden soil,
Far as the sachem roams the loneliest wood,
Or tempts with venturous barque Ontario's flood,
To where fair Europe's vernal regions rise
In medial climates, and in temperate skies.
The British powers for seven successive years,
Had thus triumphant circled both the spheres,
O'er the whole globe their course of glory run
Whence day emerges to where sets the sun.
No waste of life pollutes the soldier's deed,
Nor wanton spoliage bids reflection bleed.
Barbarian ravage hung the pagan car,
The spoils of empires, and the waste of war,
In fields of death did Cæsar's laurels bloom,
And shamed the triumphs of imperial Rome,
Whose wreath renown'd to mightier Timur yields,
Famed for the feats of more illustrious fields.
He, half the world in one great day withstood,
And bid the rising crescent set in blood.
From tyrant power preserved the realms of Greece,
And o'er Byzantium stretched the palm of peace.
Yet conquer'd kings in chains inglorious led,
And captive queens with sordid offal fed.
Not so the Briton gleans the field of war,
Nor such the trophies of a Brunswick's car;
No frown of danger daunts his fearless eye,
Where the fight storms, and where the bravest die.
But when the thunder of the battle's o'er,
And adverse legions tempt their fate no more,
His heart humane regrets a hero's deeds,
And for the foe his generous bosom bleeds!
A sanguine spirit fires the soldier slave,
But manly pity ever warms the brave.
Say! round the circuit of this spacious earth,
What barbarous act degrades the warrior's worth?
Through the vast regions stretch'd from either pole,
What aching bosom, or what anguish'd soul?
Doth hoary age a single solace mourn,
Or from whose breasts are tender nurslings torn?
What spouse bewails the bridal bed profaned,
Or what fond youth the plighted virgin stain'd?
What hostile fires the rural works consume,
Or waste the labors of the ingenious loom?
Still the blithe swain enjoys his fleecy care,
And still the lover woos the spotless fair,
Still nuptial life connubial virtues bless,
And parent bosoms the sweet babe compress.
[OMITTED]
The spoils of empires, and the waste of war,
In fields of death did Cæsar's laurels bloom,
And shamed the triumphs of imperial Rome,
Whose wreath renown'd to mightier Timur yields,
Famed for the feats of more illustrious fields.
He, half the world in one great day withstood,
And bid the rising crescent set in blood.
From tyrant power preserved the realms of Greece,
And o'er Byzantium stretched the palm of peace.
Yet conquer'd kings in chains inglorious led,
And captive queens with sordid offal fed.
Not so the Briton gleans the field of war,
Nor such the trophies of a Brunswick's car;
No frown of danger daunts his fearless eye,
Where the fight storms, and where the bravest die.
But when the thunder of the battle's o'er,
And adverse legions tempt their fate no more,
His heart humane regrets a hero's deeds,
And for the foe his generous bosom bleeds!
A sanguine spirit fires the soldier slave,
But manly pity ever warms the brave.
Say! round the circuit of this spacious earth,
What barbarous act degrades the warrior's worth?
Through the vast regions stretch'd from either pole,
What aching bosom, or what anguish'd soul?
Doth hoary age a single solace mourn,
Or from whose breasts are tender nurslings torn?
167
Or what fond youth the plighted virgin stain'd?
What hostile fires the rural works consume,
Or waste the labors of the ingenious loom?
Still the blithe swain enjoys his fleecy care,
And still the lover woos the spotless fair,
Still nuptial life connubial virtues bless,
And parent bosoms the sweet babe compress.
Her hallow'd courts no vulgar trophy soils,
No rapined gold, nor unillustrious spoils;
Great Brunswick's eye dejected Bourborn waits,
And India's monarchs throng Augusta's gates,
Whole maps of conquest all the war reveal,
And at her side the vanquish'd princes kneel,
Till peace, fair goddess, spreads her balmy wings,
And grace benignly lifts the prostrate kings:
The kings arise, the gates of Janus close,
And Britain gives the weary world repose;
Now casts her eye through every various zone,
And counts a hundred different climes her own.
Here, right of conquest pleads a boon to fame,
And here, the sword prescribes the sovereign's claim.
Not so, endear'd by nature's kindly tie,
Beloved Columbia meets her parent's eye,
Pleased she surveys her darling's fair domains,
Her fleecy mountains, and her bearded plains,
Where peace and plenty rule with union sway,
Where Britain's genius beams politic day.
[OMITTED]
No rapined gold, nor unillustrious spoils;
Great Brunswick's eye dejected Bourborn waits,
And India's monarchs throng Augusta's gates,
Whole maps of conquest all the war reveal,
And at her side the vanquish'd princes kneel,
Till peace, fair goddess, spreads her balmy wings,
And grace benignly lifts the prostrate kings:
The kings arise, the gates of Janus close,
And Britain gives the weary world repose;
Now casts her eye through every various zone,
And counts a hundred different climes her own.
Here, right of conquest pleads a boon to fame,
And here, the sword prescribes the sovereign's claim.
Not so, endear'd by nature's kindly tie,
Beloved Columbia meets her parent's eye,
Pleased she surveys her darling's fair domains,
Her fleecy mountains, and her bearded plains,
Where peace and plenty rule with union sway,
Where Britain's genius beams politic day.
Ah! seats of Eden, nature's care in vain!
Bright as thy sons, and as thy heavens serene!
Unbless'd, amid the circling course of clime,
In spring's fair bloom, or autumn's golden prime,
Though fruits luxuriant crown the reaper's toil,
Or flowers spontaneous deck the enamel'd soil,
Though flocks and herds innumerable teem,
And silver Naiads sport in every stream,
Did Britain now a mother's aid deny,
Or Brunswick pass thee with regardless eye?
When peopling regions wear a various face,
And laws ill-system'd ask a broader base,
When thoughtful senates feel a patriot's care,
And lift to gracious George the wishful prayer,
When some ill genii, guised in friendly form,
Might dark and subtile mix the civil storm,
With specious art aerial codes prepare,
And in the senate stretch the stygian snare;
The infernal magic spell her palsied voice,
Perplex'd—confounded, 'midst a maze of choice;
Whilst all without to heights anarchial wrought,
The pomp of passion, or the pride of thought,
Till vulgar councils sit in bold debate,
And votes plebeian awe the wayward state,
Then factious fires the impassion'd heart might feel,
And rage delirious with fantastic zeal.
Till civil fury give the impious blow,
And brother's blood in mingling currents flow!
Till kindred carnage heap the humid vale,
And loathed effluvia taint the passing gale:
But days so dire no son of thine shall see,
So George resolves, and such is heaven's decree.
O! precious offspring of the queen of Isles,
Nursed in the sunbeam of thy mother's smiles.
[OMITTED]
Bright as thy sons, and as thy heavens serene!
Unbless'd, amid the circling course of clime,
In spring's fair bloom, or autumn's golden prime,
Though fruits luxuriant crown the reaper's toil,
Or flowers spontaneous deck the enamel'd soil,
Though flocks and herds innumerable teem,
And silver Naiads sport in every stream,
Did Britain now a mother's aid deny,
Or Brunswick pass thee with regardless eye?
When peopling regions wear a various face,
And laws ill-system'd ask a broader base,
When thoughtful senates feel a patriot's care,
And lift to gracious George the wishful prayer,
When some ill genii, guised in friendly form,
Might dark and subtile mix the civil storm,
168
And in the senate stretch the stygian snare;
The infernal magic spell her palsied voice,
Perplex'd—confounded, 'midst a maze of choice;
Whilst all without to heights anarchial wrought,
The pomp of passion, or the pride of thought,
Till vulgar councils sit in bold debate,
And votes plebeian awe the wayward state,
Then factious fires the impassion'd heart might feel,
And rage delirious with fantastic zeal.
Till civil fury give the impious blow,
And brother's blood in mingling currents flow!
Till kindred carnage heap the humid vale,
And loathed effluvia taint the passing gale:
But days so dire no son of thine shall see,
So George resolves, and such is heaven's decree.
O! precious offspring of the queen of Isles,
Nursed in the sunbeam of thy mother's smiles.
Henceforth no vulgar tongue profanely dare
The bench to dictate or control the bar!
On adamantine base the Judge shall stand,
And deal out justice with a fearless hand;
Each villain's heart the dread tribunals awe,
And nature's sanctions form the sageful law,
The sovereign's fiat guide the policed poise,
As life grows social, and new interests rise.
Through the mixt mazes of contingent cause
Dart the keen glance and spirit all the laws.
The state's great genius, whose magnific soul
Conducts, protects, and constitutes the whole.
The bench to dictate or control the bar!
On adamantine base the Judge shall stand,
And deal out justice with a fearless hand;
Each villain's heart the dread tribunals awe,
And nature's sanctions form the sageful law,
The sovereign's fiat guide the policed poise,
As life grows social, and new interests rise.
Through the mixt mazes of contingent cause
Dart the keen glance and spirit all the laws.
The state's great genius, whose magnific soul
Conducts, protects, and constitutes the whole.
Hail, times illustrious! blissful era, hail!
When patriot princes hold the public scale,
With eye judicious range the walks of state,
From the coarse peasant to the purpled great.
When patriot princes hold the public scale,
With eye judicious range the walks of state,
From the coarse peasant to the purpled great.
Shall base-born faction, nurtured up in crimes,
Malign the laws, or fault the halcyon times?
Against the throne uprear the factious brand,
And bid the vulgar madden round the land?
With black illusion pest the public ear,
And spread his spells infectious demon here?
Still o'er thy realms, paternal prince, preside,
The sovereign reason, and thy people's guide.
Malign the laws, or fault the halcyon times?
Against the throne uprear the factious brand,
And bid the vulgar madden round the land?
With black illusion pest the public ear,
And spread his spells infectious demon here?
Still o'er thy realms, paternal prince, preside,
The sovereign reason, and thy people's guide.
169
Aloft in air the golden standards play,
Standards erst spread to many a glorious day,
When Britain's host the illustrious Marlborough led,
When Tallard yielded, or when Berwick bled,
Standards, no hostile hand shall dare profane,
Nor e'er be trampled on the carnaged plain,
Their sacred shade the soldier's soul inspires,
Nerves his whole heart, and kindles all his fires.
The embattled war to martial music moves
Through long known vales, and oft frequented groves,
To the clift skirt coast that girds fair Albion's reign,
On whose broad margin swells the ambient main.
[OMITTED]
Standards erst spread to many a glorious day,
When Britain's host the illustrious Marlborough led,
When Tallard yielded, or when Berwick bled,
Standards, no hostile hand shall dare profane,
Nor e'er be trampled on the carnaged plain,
Their sacred shade the soldier's soul inspires,
Nerves his whole heart, and kindles all his fires.
The embattled war to martial music moves
Through long known vales, and oft frequented groves,
To the clift skirt coast that girds fair Albion's reign,
On whose broad margin swells the ambient main.
Here the big heart is seen to breathe a sigh,
And the salt tear to scald the soldier's eye;
Not that his sire betrays a parent's pangs,
Or round his neck the spoused virgin hangs;
To these, to all, he freely bids adieu,
But every fear, Columbia, is for you.
For you he braves the storm, with dauntless soul,
Sees the surge burst, or mountain billow roll,
Through the long voyage unnumber'd perils past,
Safely he makes Cape Breton's coast at last:
Ah! Lewis, start, dire dreams thy sleep invade,
Here falls thy favorite, here thy lilies fade.
A mint of cost in vain her ramparts rear'd,
And her proud walls thy best battalions guard.
Thy name, presumptuous prince, in vain she wears,
And heaves her haughty bulwarks to the stars.
Her period 's come, now shines the fated day,
When all her glories in the dust shall lay.
But ah! what havock strews her stormy shore,
And floats her flowery fields with floods of gore?
Ere the last gasp, ere the decisive groan,
When British valor wins the important town.
And the salt tear to scald the soldier's eye;
Not that his sire betrays a parent's pangs,
Or round his neck the spoused virgin hangs;
To these, to all, he freely bids adieu,
But every fear, Columbia, is for you.
For you he braves the storm, with dauntless soul,
Sees the surge burst, or mountain billow roll,
Through the long voyage unnumber'd perils past,
Safely he makes Cape Breton's coast at last:
Ah! Lewis, start, dire dreams thy sleep invade,
Here falls thy favorite, here thy lilies fade.
A mint of cost in vain her ramparts rear'd,
And her proud walls thy best battalions guard.
Thy name, presumptuous prince, in vain she wears,
And heaves her haughty bulwarks to the stars.
Her period 's come, now shines the fated day,
When all her glories in the dust shall lay.
But ah! what havock strews her stormy shore,
And floats her flowery fields with floods of gore?
Ere the last gasp, ere the decisive groan,
When British valor wins the important town.
Ye youth, who glorious to the battle bled,
And you by fate to future fame decreed,
Now from the roving corsair's ravage free,
The rich fraught vessels course the peaceful sea;
On the broad bank the fisher feels no fear,
New Albion thanks ye with a grateful tear.
[OMITTED]
And you by fate to future fame decreed,
Now from the roving corsair's ravage free,
The rich fraught vessels course the peaceful sea;
On the broad bank the fisher feels no fear,
New Albion thanks ye with a grateful tear.
“You whom the duties of the day can spare,
In manly mirth the grateful banquet share,
Nor bids your chief refrain the rustic's toil,
What generous victor stains his hands with spoil?
A deed so base may suit the armed slave,
But piteous pillage misbecomes the brave.”
The general thus, the troops in shouts reply,
The echoing plaudit thunders to the sky.
[OMITTED]
The genial supper spreads the unsullied green,
The bowl convivial crowns the festive scene.
In pleasing talk the guiltless eve they pass,
In social circles on the fragrant grass,
Till soft each eye salubrious slumbers close,
They sink unconscious in serene repose.
No dreary dream, nor morphean dozes steep
The soldiers' senses in abortive sleep.
Soon as the cheerly goddess of the morn
From her light pinion sheds the silver dawn,
Each placid brow the kind oblivion flies,
And fresh as day the invigor'd warriors rise.
In manly mirth the grateful banquet share,
170
What generous victor stains his hands with spoil?
A deed so base may suit the armed slave,
But piteous pillage misbecomes the brave.”
The general thus, the troops in shouts reply,
The echoing plaudit thunders to the sky.
[OMITTED]
The genial supper spreads the unsullied green,
The bowl convivial crowns the festive scene.
In pleasing talk the guiltless eve they pass,
In social circles on the fragrant grass,
Till soft each eye salubrious slumbers close,
They sink unconscious in serene repose.
No dreary dream, nor morphean dozes steep
The soldiers' senses in abortive sleep.
Soon as the cheerly goddess of the morn
From her light pinion sheds the silver dawn,
Each placid brow the kind oblivion flies,
And fresh as day the invigor'd warriors rise.
AN INTENDED INSCRIPTION FOR THE MONUMENT ON BEACON-HILL, IN BOSTON.
Where stretch'd your sail, beneath what foreign sky
Did lovelier landscape ever charm your eye?
Could fancy's fairy pencil, stranger! say,
E'en dipt in dreams, a nobler scene pourtray?
Did lovelier landscape ever charm your eye?
Could fancy's fairy pencil, stranger! say,
E'en dipt in dreams, a nobler scene pourtray?
Behold yon vales, whose skirts elude your view,
And mountains fading to aerial blue!
Along their bowery shades how healthy toil
Alternate sports, or tends the mellow soil.
See rural towns 'mid groves and gardens rise,
And eastward,—where the stretching ocean lies,
Lo! our fair capital sublimes the scene,
New Albion's pride, and ocean's future queen;
How o'er the tradeful port august she smiles,—
Her sea-like haven boasts an hundred isles,
When hardy commerce swell the lofty sails
O'er arctic seas, and mocks the polar gales;
Thence tides of wealth the wafting breezes bring,
And hence e'en culture feels its vital spring.
And mountains fading to aerial blue!
Along their bowery shades how healthy toil
Alternate sports, or tends the mellow soil.
See rural towns 'mid groves and gardens rise,
And eastward,—where the stretching ocean lies,
Lo! our fair capital sublimes the scene,
New Albion's pride, and ocean's future queen;
How o'er the tradeful port august she smiles,—
Her sea-like haven boasts an hundred isles,
When hardy commerce swell the lofty sails
O'er arctic seas, and mocks the polar gales;
Thence tides of wealth the wafting breezes bring,
And hence e'en culture feels its vital spring.
171
These scenes our sires from rugged nature wrought,
Since—what dire wars their patriot race have fought!
Witness yon tract, where first the Briton bled,
Driven by our youth redoubted Percy fled:
There Breed ascends, and Bunker's bleeding steeps,
Still o'er whose brow abortive victory weeps;
What trophies since! the gaze of after times,
Rear'd freedom's empire o'er our happy climes!
Since—what dire wars their patriot race have fought!
Witness yon tract, where first the Briton bled,
Driven by our youth redoubted Percy fled:
There Breed ascends, and Bunker's bleeding steeps,
Still o'er whose brow abortive victory weeps;
What trophies since! the gaze of after times,
Rear'd freedom's empire o'er our happy climes!
But hence, fond stranger, take a nobler view,
See yon shorn elm, whence all these glories grew.
Here, where the armed foe presumptuous trod,
Trampled our shrines, and even mouth'd our God,
His vengeful hand, deep as the parent root,
Lopt each grown branch, and every suckling shoot;
Because beneath her consecrated shade
Our earliest vows to liberty were paid.
High from her altar blew the heaven-caught fire,
While all our wealth o'erhung the kindling pyre.
How at the deed the nations stood aghast,
As on the pile our plighted lives we cast!
See yon shorn elm, whence all these glories grew.
Here, where the armed foe presumptuous trod,
Trampled our shrines, and even mouth'd our God,
His vengeful hand, deep as the parent root,
Lopt each grown branch, and every suckling shoot;
Because beneath her consecrated shade
Our earliest vows to liberty were paid.
High from her altar blew the heaven-caught fire,
While all our wealth o'erhung the kindling pyre.
How at the deed the nations stood aghast,
As on the pile our plighted lives we cast!
O! if an alien from our fair domains,
The blood of Britain, hapless, taint your veins,
Pace o'er that hallow'd ground with awful tread,
And tears, atoning, o'er yon relic shed;
But if, American! your lineage springs,
From sires, who scorn the pedigree of kings,
A Georgian born, you breathe the tepid air,
Or on the breezy banks of Delaware,
Or hardy Hampshire claim your haughty birth,
Revere yon root, and kiss its nurturing earth:
O be its fibres fed by flowing springs,
Whence rose our empire o'er the thrones of kings:
E'en now descend, adore the dear remain,
Where first rear'd liberty's illumin'd fane.
There all her race, while time revolves, shall come,
As pilgrims flock to Mecca's idol'd tomb.
The blood of Britain, hapless, taint your veins,
Pace o'er that hallow'd ground with awful tread,
And tears, atoning, o'er yon relic shed;
But if, American! your lineage springs,
From sires, who scorn the pedigree of kings,
A Georgian born, you breathe the tepid air,
Or on the breezy banks of Delaware,
Or hardy Hampshire claim your haughty birth,
Revere yon root, and kiss its nurturing earth:
O be its fibres fed by flowing springs,
Whence rose our empire o'er the thrones of kings:
E'en now descend, adore the dear remain,
Where first rear'd liberty's illumin'd fane.
There all her race, while time revolves, shall come,
As pilgrims flock to Mecca's idol'd tomb.
ON WASHINGTON'S VISIT TO BOSTON. 1789.
Did human eye e'er see so fair a day?
Behold thy genius, freedom, lead the way.
Rude kings of old did Russian armies wait,
And swell with barb'rous port the pomp of state.
While the proud car, bedeck'd with guilty gold,
On freedom's writhing neck triumphant roll'd.
The nobles proud, who led the gorgeous train,
Wore slavery's badge and drew a gilded chain,
While the loud shouts which pierced the troubled air,
The tongue of nations, only thrilled with fear.
The eye adoring, scarce could check its flow,
For all their trophies swell'd but human wo.
The paths of triumph thus the nations trod,
And thought the sovereign power derived from God.
Hence o'er the historic roll what hateful crimes
Were wrought, the model of succeeding times.
But now fair liberty illumes the age,
And reason tints renown's recording page,
Blots from her eye the fierce barbarian's name,
And even Cæsar blurs the page of fame.
Who wrought the wond'rous change? what power divine?
The wond'rous change, O Washington! was thine.
'T is thine own era graced the radiant page,
The fostering parent of a filial age.
Behold thy genius, freedom, lead the way.
Rude kings of old did Russian armies wait,
And swell with barb'rous port the pomp of state.
172
On freedom's writhing neck triumphant roll'd.
The nobles proud, who led the gorgeous train,
Wore slavery's badge and drew a gilded chain,
While the loud shouts which pierced the troubled air,
The tongue of nations, only thrilled with fear.
The eye adoring, scarce could check its flow,
For all their trophies swell'd but human wo.
The paths of triumph thus the nations trod,
And thought the sovereign power derived from God.
Hence o'er the historic roll what hateful crimes
Were wrought, the model of succeeding times.
But now fair liberty illumes the age,
And reason tints renown's recording page,
Blots from her eye the fierce barbarian's name,
And even Cæsar blurs the page of fame.
Who wrought the wond'rous change? what power divine?
The wond'rous change, O Washington! was thine.
'T is thine own era graced the radiant page,
The fostering parent of a filial age.
Thou too, illustrious Hancock, by his side
In every lowering hour of danger tried,
With him conspicuous o'er the beamy page,
Descend the theme of every future age.
When first the sword of early war we drew,
The king presaging fix'd his eye on you.
T was your dread finger press'd the sacred seal,
Whence rose to sovereign power the public weal.
Then, Washington! Oh dearly honor'd name,
From callow youth the favorite of fame,
When hovering navies, haughty Albion's boast,
Pour'd her dread armies o'er our trembling coast,
Your country beck'd you from the rural bower,
And nerved your mighty arm with all her power.
The tyrant saw, and sickening at the view,
In fancy bade his frantic hopes adieu.
But urged by fate, still bade his armies dare,
Blew the vain trump, and waged abortive war.
At length you drew the tyrant from his throne,
And bade his seal your course of glory crown.
In every lowering hour of danger tried,
With him conspicuous o'er the beamy page,
Descend the theme of every future age.
When first the sword of early war we drew,
The king presaging fix'd his eye on you.
T was your dread finger press'd the sacred seal,
Whence rose to sovereign power the public weal.
Then, Washington! Oh dearly honor'd name,
From callow youth the favorite of fame,
When hovering navies, haughty Albion's boast,
Pour'd her dread armies o'er our trembling coast,
Your country beck'd you from the rural bower,
And nerved your mighty arm with all her power.
The tyrant saw, and sickening at the view,
In fancy bade his frantic hopes adieu.
But urged by fate, still bade his armies dare,
Blew the vain trump, and waged abortive war.
At length you drew the tyrant from his throne,
And bade his seal your course of glory crown.
When polish'd wisdom seem'd her seats to fly,
On thee again the public cast her eye.
How rose the model from your forming hand!
The proud palladium of our happy land.
On thee again the public cast her eye.
How rose the model from your forming hand!
The proud palladium of our happy land.
Ah! gentle parent of the cradled states,
On whose fond eye an infant nation waits,
While now affection seems your steps to stay,
And swarming concourse checks your laboring way;
Perhaps among the loud acclaiming throng,
Your ear may heed the muse's transient song;
The high-born muse from adulation free,
Attunes, Oh chief! her haughty lyre to thee.
No vulgar theme could ever tempt her strain,
Perhaps the proudest of the tuneful train.
Apart from busy life her hours are led,
And her lone steps the shades of science tread.
Her years revolving roll a playful flow,
Nor ever care o'erhung the muse's brow.
From the recess where her own roses twine,
How oft her fancy drew a form like thine.
Ere morning waked she wing'd her early way
To hail the dawn of this auspicious day.
On whose fond eye an infant nation waits,
While now affection seems your steps to stay,
And swarming concourse checks your laboring way;
173
Your ear may heed the muse's transient song;
The high-born muse from adulation free,
Attunes, Oh chief! her haughty lyre to thee.
No vulgar theme could ever tempt her strain,
Perhaps the proudest of the tuneful train.
Apart from busy life her hours are led,
And her lone steps the shades of science tread.
Her years revolving roll a playful flow,
Nor ever care o'erhung the muse's brow.
From the recess where her own roses twine,
How oft her fancy drew a form like thine.
Ere morning waked she wing'd her early way
To hail the dawn of this auspicious day.
| Specimens of American poetry | |