The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys Late Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of Madrid |
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 | The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys |  |
ADDRESS TO THE ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
PREFACE.
Perhaps the following little poem may be considered with the more indulgence by the public after it shall be known, that it was actually written at a period when the army was in the field, and the author so far engaged in the duties of his profession, as to have but little leisure for subjects of literature or amusement. And it will not be necessary to demonstrate to those who have the least knowledge of a military life, how unfavourable such a state is to poetical contemplation. This, it is presumed, may pertinently be urged in excuse for the slighter errors and inaccuracies of the performance: and the design must, in some measure, atone for any of a different complexion.
To inspire our countrymen, now in arms, or who may hereafter be called into the field, with perseverance and fortitude, through every species of difficulty and danger, to continue their exertions for the defence of their country, and the preservation of its liberties, is the object of this address.
For this purpose it was imagined no considerations could be more effectual than the recollection of the past, and the
Although the author entertains the most sanguine expectations of the gratitude and liberality with which the continent will reward those who have literally borne the heat and burden of the day of war, he has not insisted on those pecuniary or slighter considerations; but has attempted to turn the attention to the future grandeur, happiness and glory of the country for which we are now contending. The kinds already granted to the army, first suggested the idea of a military settlement on the Ohio, or some of those western regions, whose beauties can never be sufficiently displayed, much less exaggerated by description. The mild temperature and serenity of the air, the salubrity of the climate, the fertility of the soil, the luxuriance of its products, the extent of territory, and the amazing inland navigation which those boundless lakes and immeasurable rivers will open, cannot fail, one day, to render that garden of the world equal to the representation given of it in the conclusion of the poem. The possession of such a country (rescued from the hand of invasion), in a perfect state of freedom and security, will be a glorious compensation for all our toils and sufferings, and a monument of the most unparalleled bravery and patriotism
While the American army was encamped at Peek's-Kill, and the enemy occupied the heights of New-York and Charleston.
ARGUMENT.
The armies which are addressed designated, and the subject proposed —Great-Britain commences hostility against her Colonies —the Colonies arm—contrast of the two armies—battle of Bunker's-Hill —a Commander in Chief appointed to the American armies—his character—augmentation of the American forces— reinforcements to those of Britain—peculiarly affecting circumstances which attended the deaths of Brown, Scammel and Laurens—eulogïum of the American troops—anticipation that their meritorious services and sufferings will be consigned to immortality—apostrophe to Britain on the cruelty practised upon prisoners, and its effects in exciting such indignation in the Americans as will tend to the emancipation of their country —view of the successes of the American arms at Trenton, Princeton, Saratoga, Stony-Point, in the Southern States, and at York-Town—tribute of gratitude to the French King and nation—still the Americans are to rely on their own resources for the establishment of independence—apostrophe to independence —Britain obliged to relinquish her ideas of conquest— dawn of peace—invocation to peace—address to the armies on the happiness to be expected from it—invitation for them to settle in the western country—its beauties and advantages described —enjoyments resulting from the friendship of those who were in arms together—character of Americans in different ages—improvements of every kind in America—prayer to the Supreme Being that its felicity may become complete and perpetual.
Priscus, et neglecta redire virtus
Audet; apparetque beata pleno
Copia cornu.
Hor.
Ye martial bands! Columbia's fairest pride!
To toils inur'd, in dangers often try'd—
Ye gallant youths! whose breasts for glory burn,
Each selfish aim and meaner passion spurn:
Ye who, unmov'd, in the dread hour have stood,
And smil'd, undaunted, in the field of blood—
Who greatly dar'd, at Freedom's rapt'rous call,
With her to triumph, or with her to fall—
Now brighter days in prospect swift ascend;
Ye sons of fame, the hallow'd theme attend;
The past review; the future scene explore,
And Heav'n's high King with grateful hearts adore!
What time proud Albion, thund'ring o'er the waves,
Frown'd on her sons, and bade them turn to slaves—
When, lost to honour, virtue, glory, shame,
When nought remain'd of Britain but the name—
The parent state—a parent now no more—
Let loose the hirelings of despotic power,
Urg'd to keen vengeance their relentless ire,
And hop'd submission from their sword and fire.
Roll down the skies, and round th' horizon spread,
With thunders fraught, the black'ning tempest sails,
And bursts tremend'ous o'er Peruvian vales:
So broke the storm, on Concord's fatal plain;
There fell our brothers, by fierce ruffians slain—
Inglorious deed! to wild despair then driv'n,
We, suppliant, made our great appeal to heav'n.
Then the shrill trumpet echo'd from afar,
And sudden blaz'd the wasting flame of war;
From State to State, swift flew the dire alarms,
And ardent youths, impetuous, rush'd to arms:
“To arms” the matrons and the virgins sung,
To arms, their sires, their husbands, brothers sprung.
No dull delay—where'er the sound was heard,
Where the red standards in the air appear'd,
Where, through vast realms, the cannon swell'd its roar,
Between th' Acadian and Floridian shore.
Now join'd the crowd, from their far distant farms,
In rustic guise, and unadorn'd in arms:
Not like their foes, in tinsel trappings gay,
And burnish'd arms that glitter'd on the day;
Who now advanc'd, where Charlestown rear'd its height,
In martial pomp, and claim'd the awful sight;
And proudly deem'd, with one decisive blow,
To hurl destruction on the routed foe.
Not so—just heav'n had fix'd the great decree,
And bade the sons of freemen still be free;
Bade all their souls with patriot ardour burn,
And taught the coward fear of death to spurn;
The threats of vengeance and of war to brave,
To purchase freedom, or a glorious grave.
Long rag'd the contest on th' embattled field;
Nor those would fly, nor these would tamely yield—
Till Warren fell, in all the boast of arms,
The pride of genius and unrivall'd charms,
His country's hope!—full soon the gloom was spread:
Oppress'd with numbers, and their leader dead,
Slow from the field the sullen troops retir'd;
Behind, the hostile flame to heav'n aspir'd.
Th' imperious Britons, on the well-fought ground,
No cause for joy or wanton triumph found,
Felt the deep wounds, and mourn'd their vet'rans slain.
Nor less our woes. Now darkness gather'd round;
The thunder rumbled, and the tempest frown'd;
When lo! to guide us through the storm of war,
Beam'd the bright splendour of Virginia's star.
O first of heroes, fav'rite of the skies,
To what dread toils thy country bade thee rise!
“Oh rais'd by heav'n to save th' invaded state!”
(So spake the sage long since thy future fate)
'Twas thine to change the sweetest scenes of life
For public cares—to guide th' embattled strife;
Unnumber'd ills of ev'ry kind to dare,
The winter's blast, the summer's sultry air,
The lurking dagger, and the turbid storms
Of wasting war, with death in all his forms.
Nor aught could daunt. Unspeakably serene,
Thy conscious soul smil'd o'er the dreadful scene.
This alludes to expressions made use of by president Davies, in a sermon preached at Hanover, in Virginia, during the war of 1755.
And raptur'd thousands to his standard came.
His martial skill our rising armies form'd;
His patriot zeal their gen'rous bosoms warm'd;
His voice inspir'd, his godlike presence led.
The Britons saw, and from his presence fled.
Soon reinforc'd from Albion's crowded shore,
New legions came, new plains were drench'd in gore;
And scarce Columbia's arm the fight sustains,
While her best blood gush'd from a thousand veins.
Then thine, O Brown! that purpled wide the ground,
Pursued the knife through many a ghastly wound.
Ah hapless friend! permit the tender tear
To flow e'en now, for none flow'd on thy bier,
Where cold and mangled, under northern skies,
To famish'd wolves a prey thy body lies;
Which erst so fair and tall in youthful grace,
Strength in thy nerves, and beauty in thy face,
Stood like a tow'r, till struck by the swift ball;
Then what avail'd (to award th' untimely fall)
The taste refin'd, the breast with friendship warm'd,
(That friendship which our earliest years begun)
Or what the laurels that thy sword had won,
When the dark bands from thee, expiring, tore
Thy long hair mingled with the spouting gore?
Nor less, brave Scammel, frown'd thine angry fate,
(May deathless shame that British deed await!)
On York's fam'd field, amid the first alarms,
Ere yet fair vict'ry crown'd the allied arms,
Fell chance betray'd thee to the hostile band,
The hapless victim of th' assassin hand!
Lo! while I tell the execrable deed,
Fresh in his side the dark wound seems to bleed;
That small red current still for vengeance cries,
And asks, “Why sleeps the thunder in the skies?”
On him, ye heav'ns, let all your vengeance fall,
On the curst wretch who wing'd th' insidious ball.
But thou, blest shade, be sooth'd! be this thy praise,
Ripe were thy virtues, though too few thy days!
Be this thy fame, through life of all approv'd,
To die lamented, honour'd, and belov'd.
And see, far south, where yonder hearse appears,
An army mourning, and a land in tears!
There Laurens, passing to an early tomb,
Looks like a flow'r just with'ring in its bloom.
Thy father's pride, the glory of our host!
Thy country's sorrow, late thy country's boast!
O Laurens! gen'rous youth! twice hadst thou bled;
Could not the ball with devious aim have sped?
And must thy friends, now peace appears so near,
Weep the third stroke that cuts a life so dear;
That blots the prospect of our rising morn,
And leaves thy country, as thy sire, forlorn?
Companions lov'd! long as the life-blood flows,
Or vital warmth in this fond bosom glows,
While there I cherish your remembrance dear,
Oft will I drop the tributary tear.
But what avails to trace the fate of war
Through fields of blood, and point each glorious scar?
Why should the strain your former woes recall,
The tears that wept a friend or brother's fall,
He dauntless rush'd, too prodigal of life?
Enough of merit has each honour'd name,
To shine, untarnish'd, on the rolls of fame;
To stand th' example of each distant age,
And add new lustre to th' historic page:
For soon their deeds, illustrious, shall be shown
In breathing bronze, or animated stone,
Or where the canvass, starting into life,
Revives the glories of the crimson strife.
Ye sons of genius, who the pencil hold,
Whose master strokes, beyond description bold,
Of other years and climes the hist'ry trace,
Can ye for this neglect your kindred race?
Columbia calls—her parent voice demands
More grateful off'rings from your filial hands.
And soon some bard shall tempt the untry'd themes,
Sing how we dar'd, in Fortune's worst extremes;
What cruel wrongs th' indignant patriot bore,
What various ills your feeling bosoms tore,
What boding terrors gloom'd the threat'ning hour,
When British legions, arm'd with death-like pow'r,
Bade desolation mark their crimson'd way,
And lur'd the savage to his destin'd prey;
When fierce Germania her battalions pour'd,
And Rapine's sons, with wasting fire and sword,
Spread death around: where'er your eyes ye turn'd,
Fled were the peasants, and the village burn'd.
How did your hearts for others' suff'rings melt!
What tort'ring pangs your bleeding country felt!
What! when you fled before superior force,
Each succour lost, and perish'd each resource!
When nature, fainting from the want of food,
On the white snow your steps were mark'd in blood!
When through your tatter'd garbs you met the wind,
Despair before, and ruin frown'd behind!
When nought was seen around, but prospects drear,
Th' insulting foe hung dreadful on your rear,
And boastful ween'd, that day to close the scene,
And quench your name, as though it ne'er had been.
Why, Britain, rag'd thine insolence and scorn?
Why burst thy vengeance on the wretch forlorn?
Chill'd with keen frost, in prison glooms confin'd;
Of hope bereft, by thy vile minions curst,
With hunger famish'd, and consum'd with thirst,
Without one friend—when death's last horror stung,
Roll'd the wild eye, and gnaw'd the anguish'd tongue.
Why, Britain, in thine arrogance and pride,
Didst thou heav'n's violated laws deride,
Mock human mis'ry with contemptuous sneers,
And fill thy cup of guilt with orphans' tears?
The widow's wailing, and the wretch's groan,
Rise in remembrance to th' eternal throne,
While the red flame, through the broad concave driv'n,
Calls down the vengeance of insulted heav'n.
And didst thou think, by cruelty refin'd,
To damp the ardour of the heav'n-born mind,
With haughty threats to force the daring train
To bow, unnerv'd, in slav'ry's galling chain;
Make countless freemen—then no longer free,
Shrink at thy frown, and bend the servile knee?
And couldst thou dream? then wake, dissolve thy charms,
Rous'd by their wrongs, see desp'rate hosts in arms!
No fear dismays, nor danger's voice appals,
While kindred blood for sacred vengeance calls:
Their swords shall triumph o'er thy vaunted force,
And curb the conqu'ror in his headlong course.
What spoils of war, thy sons, Columbia, claim'd!
What trophies rose, where thy red ensigns flam'd!
Where the great chief, o'er Del'ware's icy wave,
Led the small band, in danger doubly brave;
On high designs, and ere the dawning hour,
Germania's vet'ran's own'd the victor's pow'r;
Or on the muse's plain, where round thy tomb,
O gallant Mercer! deathless laurels bloom;
Or where, anon, in northern fields renown'd,
The tide of slaughter stain'd the sanguine grounds
When the bold freemen, gath'ring from afar,
Foil'd the proud foe, and crush'd the savage war:
On that brave band their country's plaudit waits,
And consecrates to fame the name of Gates.
Nor less the valour of the impetuous shock,
Which seiz'd the glorious prize on Hudson's rock,
Pluck'd the proud standard from the vanquish'd wall.
Now turn your eyes, where southern realms are seen,
From ruin rescu'd, by th' immortal Greene:
See toils of death, where many a hero bleeds,
Till rapid vict'ry, to defeat, succeeds.
On num'rous plains, whose streams, unknown to song,
Till this great æra, roll'd obscure along,
Their names shall now, to fame familiar grown,
Outlast the pile of monumental stone.
Or see on fair Virginia's strand arise,
The column pointing to the fav'ring skies;
Inscrib'd with deeds the fed'rate arms have done,
And grav'd with trophies from Britannia won:
Here stand the conqu'ring bands; the vanquish'd throng
Through the long lines in silence move along:
The stars and lilies, here in laurels drest,
And there, dark shrouds the banner'd pride invest:
These twice twelve banners once in pomp unfurl'd,
Spread death and terror round the southern world:
In various colours from the staff unroll'd,
The lion frown'd, the eagle flam'd in gold;
Hibernia's harp, reluctant, here was hung,
And Scotia's thistle there spontaneous sprung:
These twice twelve flags no more shall be display'd,
Save in the dome where warlike spoils are laid:
Since, where the fathers in high council meet,
This hand has plac'd them prostrate at their feet.
So beam the glories of the victor band!
And such the dawning hope that cheers our land!
Since Gallia's fire, intent on cares of state,
Sublimely good, magnanimously great!
Protector of the rights of human kind,
Weigh'd the dread contest in his royal mind,
And bade his fleets o'er the broad ocean fly,
To succour realms beneath another sky!
Since his blest troops, in happiest toils allied,
Have fought, have bled, have conquer'd by your side:
The mingled stream, in the same trench that flow'd,
Cements the nations by their heroes' blood.
Yet still, Columbians, see what choice remains,
Ignoble bondage and inglorious chains,
For which you dare to die, or wish to live.
On the drawn sword your country's fate depends:
Your wives, your children, parents, brothers, friends,
With all the tender charities of life,
Hang on the issue of the arduous strife.
To bolder deeds, and vict'ry's fierce delights,
Your country calls, and heav'n itself invites.
Charm'd by their potent voice, let virtue's flame,
The sense of honour, and the fear of shame,
The thirst of praise, and freedom's envied cause,
The smiles of heroes, and the world's applause,
Impel each breast, in glory's dread career,
Firm as your rock-rais'd hills, to persevere.
Now the sixth year of independence smiles,
The glorious meed of all our warlike toils;
Auspicious pow'r, with thy broad flag unfurl'd,
Shed thy stern influence on our western world!
With thy congenial flame our hearts inspire,
With manly patience and heroic fire,
The rudest shock of fortune's storm to bear:
Each ill to suffer; every death to dare;
To rush undaunted in th' advent'rous van,
And meet the Britons, man oppos'd to man;
With surer aim repel their barb'rous rage;
Shield the poor orphan, and the white-hair'd sage;
Defend the matron, and the virgin's charms,
And vindicate our sacred rights with arms.
This the great genius of our land requires,
This the blest shades of our illustrious sires,
This the brave sons of future years demand,
Cheers the faint heart, and nerves the feeble hand;
This sacred hope, that points beyond the span
Which bounds this transitory life of man,
Where glory lures us with her bright renown,
The hero's triumph, and the patriot's crown;
The fair reward to suff'ring virtue giv'n,
Pure robes of bliss, and starry thrones in heav'n.
Chang'd are the scenes; now fairer prospects rise,
And brighter suns begin to gild our skies.
Sees nought remain, save impotence and pride:
His golden dreams of fancied conquest o'er,
(And Gallia thund'ring round his native shore,
Iberia aiding with Postosi's mines,
While brave Batavia in the conflict joins)
Reluctant turns, and, deep involv'd in woes,
In other climes prepares for other foes.
Anon, the horrid sounds of war shall cease,
And all the western world be hush'd in peace:
The martial clarion shall be heard no more,
Nor the loud cannon's desolating roar:
No more our heroes pour the purple flood,
No corse be seen with garments roll'd in blood;
No shivering wretch shall roam without a shed;
No pining orphans raise their cry for bread;
No tender mother shriek at dreams of woe,
Start from her sleep, and see the midnight foe;
The lovely virgin, and the hoary sire,
No more behold the village flame aspire,
While the base spoiler, from a father's arms,
Plucks the fair flower, and riots on its charms.
E'en now, from half the threaten'd horrors freed,
See from our shores the less'ning sails recede:
See the red flags, that to the wind unfurl'd,
Wav'd in proud triumph round the vanquish'd world,
Inglorious fly; and see their haggard crew,
Despair, rage, shame, and infamy pursue.
Hail, heav'n-born Peace! thy grateful blessings pour
On this glad land, and round the peopled shore:
Thine are the joys that gild the happy scene,
Propitious days, and festive nights serene;
With thee gay Pleasure frolics o'er the plain,
And smiling Plenty leads thy prosp'rous train.
Then oh, my friends! the task of glory done,
Th' immortal prize by your bold efforts won;
Your country's saviours, by her voice confess'd,
While unborn ages rise and call you blest—
Then let us go where happier climes invite,
To midland seas, and regions of delight;
Seek brighter plains and more indulgent skies;
Where fair Ohio rolls his amber tide,
And nature blossoms in her virgin pride;
Where all that beauty's hand can form to please,
Shall crown the toils of war with rural ease.
The shady coverts and the sunny hills,
The gentle lapse of ever-murm'ring rills,
The soft repose amid the noon-tide bow'rs,
The evening walk among the blushing flow'rs,
The fragrant groves that yield a sweet perfume,
And vernal glories in perpetual bloom,
Await you there; and heav'n shall bless the toil,
Your own the produce, as your own the soil.
No tyrant lord shall grasp a thousand farms,
Curse the mild clime, and spoil its fairest charms:
No blast severe your ripening fields deform,
No vollied hail-stones, and no driving storm:
No raging murrain on your cattle seize,
And nature sicken with the dire disease.
But golden years, anew, begin their reigns,
And cloudless sunshine gild salubrious plains.
Herbs, fruits and flow'rs shall clothe th' uncultur'd field,
Nectareous juice the vine and orchard yield;
Rich dulcet creams the copious goblets fill,
Delicious honey from the trees distil;
The garden smile, spontaneous harvests spring,
The vallies warble, and the woodlands ring.
Along the meads, or near the shady groves,
There sport the flocks, there feed the fatt'ning droves;
There strays the steed, through bloomy vales afar,
Who erst mov'd lofty in the ranks of war.
There, free from envy, cank'ring care and strife,
Flow the calm pleasures of domestic life:
There mutual friendship soothes each placid breast,
Blest in themselves, and in each other blest.
From house to house the social glee extends,
For friends in war, in piece are doubly friends:
Their children taught to emulate their sires,
Catch the warm glow, and feel the kindred fires,
Grow with their years, and ripen into love:
Nor long the blushing pair in secret sigh,
And drink sweet poison from the love-sick eye;
Blest be their lot, when in his eager arms
Th' enamour'd youth folds the fair virgin's charms;
On her ripe lip imprints the burning kiss,
And seals with hallow'd rites the nuptial bliss.
Then festal sports the ev'ning hours prolong,
The mazy dance, and the sweet warbling song:
Then each endearment wakes the ravish'd sense
To pure delights, and raptures most intense:
And the pleas'd parent tells his list'ning son,
What wond'rous deeds, by him, in youth, were done.
No sights of woe, no tort'ring fears annoy
The sweet sensations of the heart-felt joy:
Nor shall the savages of murd'rous soul,
In painted bands dark to the combat roll,
With midnight orgies, by the gloomy shade,
On the pale victim point the reeking blade;
Or cause the hamlet, lull'd in deep repose,
No more to wake, or wake to ceaseless woes:
For your strong arm the guarded land secures,
And freedom, glory, happiness, are yours!
So shall you flourish in unfading prime,
Each age refining through the reign of time;
A nobler off'spring crown the fond embrace,
A band of heroes, and a patriot race:
Not by soft Luxury's too dainty food,
Their minds contaminated with their blood:
But like the heirs our great forefathers bred,
By freedom nurtur'd, and by temp'rance fed;
Healthful and strong, they turn'd the virgin soil,
The untam'd forest bow'd beneath their toil:
At early dawn they sought the mountain chace,
Or rous'd the Indian from his lurking place;
Curb'd the mad fury of those barb'rous men,
Or dragg'd the wild beast struggling from his den:
To all the vigour of that pristine race,
New charms are added, and superior grace.
Then cities rise, and spiry towns increase,
With gilded domes, and every art of peace.
Rear the green blade, and nurse the tender flow'r;
Make the fair villa in full splendours smile,
And robe with verdure all the genial soil.
Then shall rich Commerce court the fav'ring gales,
And wond'ring wilds admire the passing sails;
Where the bold ships the stormy Huron brave,
Where wild Ontario rolls the whit'ning wave,
Where fair Ohio his pure current pours,
And Mississippi laves th' extended shores.
Then oh, blest land! with genius unconfin'd,
With polish'd manners, and th' illumin'd mind,
Thy future race on daring wing shall soar,
Each science trace, and all the arts explore;
Till bright religion, beck'ning to the skies,
Shall bid thy sons to endless glories rise.
As round thy clime celestial joy extends,
Thy beauties ripen, and thy pomp ascends;
Farther and farther still, thy blessings roll,
To southern oceans and the northern pole;
Where now the thorn, or tangled thicket grows,
The wilderness shall blossom as the rose;
Unbounded deserts unknown charms assume,
Like Salem flourish, and like Eden bloom.
And oh, may heav'n! when all our toils are past,
Crown with such happiness our days at last:
So rise our sons, like our great sires of old,
In Freedom's cause, unconquerably bold;
With spotless faith, and morals pure, their name
Spread through the world, and gain immortal fame.
And thou Supreme! whose hand sustains this ball,
Before whose nod the nations rise and fall,
Propitious smile, and shed diviner charms
On this blest land, the queen of arts and arms;
Make the great empire rise on Wisdom's plan,
The seat of bliss, and last retreat of man.
A POEM ON THE HAPPINESS OF AMERICA.
PREFACE TO THE NINTH EDITION OF THE POEM ON THE HAPPINESS OF AMERICA.
This Poem having passed through eight editions in little more than four years, without having been accompanied with any introduction or preface, the writer hopes he shall escape every uncandid imputation, in offering, with this edition, his acknowledgments for the flattering reception it has met with from the public, together with some of the motives which originally engaged him in this performance.
The writer is happy that he has chosen a subject more interesting almost any other to the feelings of his countrymen, and that the topics introduced in its discussion have not proved unsatisfactory to those for whose entertainment the work was designed. To these causes, rather than to its intrinsic value as a composition, he attributes the distinguished regard with which it has been honoured.
The United States of America, when first assuming their place as a nation among the nations of the earth, presented a momentous and awful spectacle to mankind; for the political welfare of the species seemed, in some sort, involved in the event. The theatre was vast, the plot new, the parts important, and the conduct
Since this Poem was written, by the establishment of a general government, and the concurrence of fortunate events, scenes of happienss have been realized in this country, which were considered by some altogether chimerical. And the prospects which are now expanding before our view, seem peculiarly calculated to excite us to greater exertions, not only for promoting the national prosperity, but even for producing such examples in civil policy, as will tend essentially to the amelioration of the human lot.
ARGUMENT.
The characters to whom the poem is addressed, and the subject of it—peace—dissolution of the army—General Washington's farewell advice and retirement—apostrophe to him—the happiness of the Americans considered as a free and agricultural people—articles which contribute to their felicity during the different seasons—winter's amusements, which produce a digression concerning the late war and the author—the pleasures which succeeded the horrors of war—invocation to connubial love—description of the female sex and character, marriage and domestic life in America—the present state of society there —the face of the country at and since the period of its discovery —the pleasant prospects exhibited by the progress of agriculture and population—eulogy of agriculture—address to Congress —the genius of the western world invoked to accelerate our improvements—a treaty of commerce proposed with Great-Britain —superior advantages for a marine—America called upon to employ her sons on discoveries in the carrying trade, fishing, whaling and commerce.
A land enrich'd with sweetest dews of heav'n!
Ye, who possess Columbia's virgin prime,
In harvests blest of ev'ry soil and clime!
Ye happy mortals, whom propitious fate
Reserv'd for actors on a stage so great!
Sons worthy sires of venerable name,
Heirs of their virtue and immortal fame,
Heirs of their rights still better understood,
Declar'd in thunder, and confirm'd in blood:
Ye chosen race, your happiness I sing,
With all the joys the cherub peace can bring,
When your tall fleets shall lift their starry pride,
And sail triumphant o'er the bill'wy tide.
The song begins where all our bliss began,
What time th' Almighty check'd the wrath of man,
Distill'd, in bleeding wounds, the balm of peace,
And bade the rage of mortal discord cease.
Then foes, grown friends, from toils of slaughter breath'd,
Then war-worn troops their blood-stain'd weapons sheath'd:
Then our great Chief to Vernon's shades withdrew,
And thus, to parting hosts, pronounc'd adieu:
“Farewell to public care, to public life:
“Now peace invites me from the deathful strife.
“And oh my country, may'st thou ne'er forget
“Thy bands victorious, and thy honest debt!
“If aught which proves to me thy freedom dear,
“Gives me a claim to speak, thy sons shall hear:
“On them I call—Compatriots dear and brave,
“Deep in your breasts these warning truths engrave:
“Thence flow your blessings, there your glory lies.
“Beware the feuds whence civil war proceeds;
“Fly mean suspicions; spurn inglorious deeds;
“Shun fell corruption's pestilential breath,
“To states the cause, and harbinger of death.
“Fly dissipation, in whose vortex whirl'd,
“Sink the proud nations of the elder world.
“Avoid the hidden snares that pleasure spreads,
“To seize and chain you, in her silken threads;
“Let not the lust of gold nor pow'r enthral;
“Nor list the wild ambition's frantic call.
“Stop, stop your ears to discord's curst alarms,
“Which, rousing, drive a mad'ning world to arms:
“But learn, from others' woes, sweet peace to prize,
“To know your bliss, and where your treasure lies—
“Within the compass of your little farms,
“Lodg'd in your breasts, or folded in your arms:
“Blest in your clime, beyond all nations blest,
“Whom oceans guard, and boundless wilds invest.
“Nor yet neglect the native force which grows,
“Your shield from insult, and your wall from foes;
“But early train your youth, by mimic fights,
“To stand the guardians of their country's rights.
“By honour rul'd, with honesty your guide,
“Be that your bulwark, and be this your pride;
“Increase the fed'ral ties; support the laws;
“Guard public faith; revere religion's cause.
“Thus rise to greatness—by experience find,
“Who live the best, are greatest of mankind.
“And ye, my faithful friends, (for thus I name
“My fellow lab'rers in the field of fame)
“Ye, who for freedom nobly shed your blood,
“Dy'd ev'ry plain, and purpled ev'ry flood,
“Where havock heap'd of arms, and men the wreck,
“From Georgia's stream to walls of proud Quebec;
“To these stern toils the peaceful scene succeeds,
“The eyes of nations watch your future deeds:
“Go act, as citizens, in life's retreat,
“Your parts as well, and make your fame complete:
“Accept th' effusions of a grateful heart!
“Where'er you go, may milder fates pursue,
“Receive my warmest thanks, my last adieu!”
The Hero spoke—an awful pause ensu'd:
Each eye was red, each face with tears bedew'd;
As if the pulse of life suspended stood,
An unknown horror chill'd the curdling blood:
Their arms were lock'd; their cheeks irriguous met,
By thy soft trickling dews, affection! wet.
Words past all utt'rance mock'd the idle tongue,
While petrified in final gaze they clung.
The bands retiring, sought their ancient farms,
With laurels crown'd—receiv'd with open arms.
Now citizens, they form'd no sep'rate class,
But spread, commixing, through the gen'ral mass:
Congenial metals, thus, by chymic flame,
Dissolve, assimilate, and grow the same.
Swords turn'd to shares, and war to rural toil,
The men who sav'd, now cultivate the soil.
In no heroic age, since time began,
Appear'd so great the majesty of man.
His task complete, before the sires august
The hero stood, and render'd up his trust.
But who shall dare describe that act supreme,
And fire his numbers with the glowing theme?
Who sing, though aided with immortal pow'rs,
The towns in raptures, and the roads in flow'rs,
Where'er he pass'd? What monarch ever knew
Such acclamations, bursts of joy so true?
What scenes I saw! how oft, surpris'd I felt,
Through streaming eyes, my heart, dilated, melt!
Scenes that no words, no colours can display,
No sculptur'd marble, and no living lay:
Yet shall these scenes impress my mem'ry still,
Nor less the festal hours of Vernon's hill;
Nor that sad moment when 'twas mine to part,
As the last heart string severs from the heart.
“The vessel waits—I see the beck'ning crew—
“Me now to foreign climes new duties guide,
“O'er the vast desert of th' Atlantic tide.
“'Tis thine, blest sage, while distant thunders roll,
“Unmov'd thy calm serenity of soul,
“'Tis thine, whose triumphs bade the combat cease,
“To prove how glorious are the works of peace;
“To lure rich commerce up thy native bay;
“Make freighted barks beyond the mountains stray;
“Make inland seas through op'ning channels glide;
“Monongahela wed Potowmac's tide:
“New states, exulting, see the flitting sails
“Waft joy and plenty round the peopled vales.”
General Washington is actually occupied in opening the falls of Potowmack and James' Rivers, the noble object of which is to extend the navigation through the interior parts of America. Posterity will judge whether this is not one of the great works of peace, worthy the consistency and dignity of his character.
On conquest, blood, or usurpation built:
But we, taught wisdom by their woes and crimes,
Fraught with their lore, and born to better times;
Our constitutions form'd on freedom's base,
Which all the blessings of all lands embrace;
Embrace humanity's extended cause,
A world our empire, for a world our laws.
Thrice happy race! how blest were freedom's heirs,
Blest if they knew what happiness is theirs,
Blest if they knew to them alone 'tis given,
To know no sov'reign but the law and heav'n!
That law for them, and Albion's realms alone,
On sacred justice elevates her throne,
Regards the poor, the fatherless protects,
The widow shields, the proud oppressor checks!
Blest if they knew, beneath umbrageous trees,
To prize the joys of innocence and ease,
Of peace, of health, of temp'rance, toil, and rest,
And the calm sunshine of the conscious breast.
For them, the spring his annual task resumes,
Invests in verdure, and adorns in blooms
Earth's parent lap, and all her wanton bow'rs,
In foliage fair, with aromatic flow'rs.
And winnow blossoms from each floating spray:
In bursting buds the embryo fruits appear,
The hope and glory of the rip'ning year!
The mead that courts the scythe, the pastur'd vale,
And garden'd lawn, their breathing sweets exhale;
On balmy winds a cloud of fragrance moves,
And floats the odours of a thousand groves.
For them, young summer sheds a brighter day,
Matures the germe with his prolific ray;
With prospects cheers, demands more stubborn toil,
And pays their efforts from the grateful soil.
The lofty maize its ears luxuriant yields;
The yellow harvests gild the laughing fields,
Extend o'er all th' interminable plain,
And wave in grandeur like the boundless main.
For them, the flock o'er green savannas feeds:
For them, high prancing, bound the playful steeds:
For them, the heifers graze sequester'd dales,
Or pour white nectar in the brimming pails:
To them, what time the hoary frosts draw near,
Ripe autumn brings the labours of the year.
To nature's sons, how fair th' autumnal ev'n,
The fading landscape, and impurpl'd heav'n,
As from their fields they take their homeward way,
And turn to catch the sun's departing ray!
What streaming splendours up the skies are roll'd,
Whose colours beggar Tyrian dyes and gold!
Till night's dun curtains, wide o'er all display'd,
Shroud shad'wy shapes in melancholy shade.
Then doubling clouds the wintry skies deform;
And, wrapt in vapour, comes the roaring storm,
With snows surcharg'd, from tops of mountains sails,
Loads leafless trees, and fills the whiten'd vales.
Then desolation strips the faded plains;
Then tyrant death o'er vegetation reigns:
The birds of heav'n to other climes repair,
And deep'ning glooms invade the turbid air.
Nor then, unjoyous, winter's rigours come,
But find them happy and content with home;
Their gran'ries fill'd—the task of culture past—
Warm at their fire, they hear the howling blast,
Rave idly loud, and at their window beat:
Safe from its rage, regardless of its roar,
In vain the tempest rattles at the door—
The tame brute shelter'd, and the feather'd brood
From them, more provident, demand their food.
'Tis then the time from hoarding cribs to feed
The ox laborious, and the noble steed:
'Tis then the time to tend the bleating fold,
To strow with litter, and to fence from cold.
The cattle fed—the fuel pil'd within—
At setting day the blissful hours begin:
'Tis then, sole owner of his little cot,
The farmer feels his independent lot;
Hears with the crackling blaze that lights the wall,
The voice of gladness and of nature call,
Beholds his children play, their mother smile,
And tastes with them the fruit of summer's toil.
From stormy heav'n's the mantling clouds unroll'd,
The sky is bright, the air serenely cold.
The keen north-west, that heaps the drifted snows,
For months entire o'er frozen regions blows:
Man braves his blast, his gelid breath inhales,
And feels more vig'rous as the frost prevails.
Th' obstructed path, beneath the frequent tread,
Yields a smooth crystal to the flying steed.
'Tis then full oft, in arts of love array'd,
The am'rous stripling courts his future bride;
And oft, beneath the broad moon's paler day,
The village pairs ascend the rapid sleigh;
With jocund sounds impel th' enliven'd steed—
Say ye, who know their joys, the lulling speed,
At ev'ry bridge the tributary kiss;
Can courtly balls exceed their rustic bliss?
But diff'rent ages diff'rent joys inspire,
Where friendly circles crowd the social fire:
For there the neighbours, gath'ring round the hearth,
Indulge in tales, news, politics, and mirth;
Nor need we fear th' exhausted fund should fail,
While garrulous old age prolongs the tale,
Whose locks are whiten'd with the frosts of age,
While life's low burning lamp renews its light,
With tales heroic shall beguile the night;
Shall tell of battles fought, of feats achiev'd,
And suff'rings ne'er by human heart conceiv'd;
Shall tell th' adventures of his early life,
And bring to view the fields of mortal strife;
What time the matin trump to battle sings,
And on his steed the horseman swiftly springs,
While down the line the drum, with thund'ring sound,
Wakes the bold soldier, slumb'ring on the ground;
Alarm'd he starts; then sudden joins his band,
Who, rang'd beneath the well-known banner, stand:
Then ensigns wave, and signal flags unfurl'd,
Bid one great soul pervade a moving world;
Then martial music's all-inspiring breath,
With dulcet symphonies, leads on to death;
Lights in each breast the living beam of fame,
Kindles the spark, and fans the kindled flame:
Then meets the stedfast eye, the splendid charms
Of prancing steeds, of plumed troops and arms:
Reflected sun-beams, dazzling, gild afar
The pride, the pomp, and circumstance of war;
Then thick as hail-stones, from an angry sky,
In vollied show'rs, the bolts of vengeance fly;
Unnumber'd deaths, promiscuous, ride the air,
While, swift descending, with a frightful glare,
The big bomb bursts; the fragments scatter'd round,
Beat down whole bands, and pulverize the ground.
Then joins the closer fight on Hudson's banks;
Troops strive with troops; ranks, bending, press on ranks;
O'er slipp'ry plains the struggling legions reel;
Then livid lead and Bayonne's glittering steel,
With dark-red wounds their mangled bosoms bore;
While furious coursers, snorting foam and gore,
Bear wild their riders o'er the carnag'd plain,
And, falling, roll them headlong on the slain.
To ranks consum'd, another rank succeeds;
Fresh victims fall; afresh the battle bleeds;
And nought of blood can staunch the open'd sluice,
Till night, o'ershad'wing, brings a grateful truce.
Thus will the vet'ran tell the tale of wars,
Disclose his breast, to count his glorious scars;
Make freezing horror creep through all their veins;
Or oft, at freedom's name, their souls inspire
With patriot ardour and heroic fire.
I too, perhaps, should heav'n prolong my date,
The oft-repeated tale shall oft relate;
Shall tell the feelings in the first alarms,
Of some bold enterprize th' unequall'd charms;
Shall tell from whom I learnt the martial art,
With what high chiefs I play'd my early part;
With Parsons first, whose eye, with piercing ken,
Reads through their hearts the characters of men;
Then how I aided, in the foll'wing scene,
Death-daring Putnam—then immortal Greene—
Then how great Washington my youth approv'd,
In rank preferr'd, and as a parent lov'd,
(For each fine feeling in his bosom blends
The first of heroes, sages, patriots, friends)
With him what hours on warlike plans I spent,
Beneath the shadow of th' imperial tent;
With him how oft I went the nightly round,
Through moving hosts, or slept on tented ground;
From him how oft (nor far below the first
In high behests and confidential trust)
From him how oft I bore the dread commands,
Which destin'd for the fight the eager bands:
With him how oft I pass'd th' eventful day,
Rode by his side, as down the long array
His awful voice the columns taught to form,
To point the thunders, and to pour the storm.
But, thanks to heav'n! those days of blood are o'er,
The trumpet's clangour, the loud cannon's roar:
No more advance the long extended lines,
Front form'd to front—no more the battle joins
With rushing shock—th' unsufferable sound
Rends not the skies—nor blood distains the ground—
Nor spread through peaceful villages afar,
The crimson flames of desolating war.
No more this hand, since happier days succeed,
Waves the bright blade, or reins the fiery steed.
No more for martial fame this bosom burns,
Now white-rob'd peace to bless a world returns;
Unnumber'd blessings for unnumber'd woes.
Revolving seasons thus by turns invite
To rural joys and conjugal delight—
Oh, thou sweet passion, whose blest charm connects
In heav'n's own ties, the strong and feebler sex!
Shed thy soft empire o'er the willing mind,
Exhalt, adorn, and purify mankind!
All nature feels thy pow'r. The vocal grove
With air-borne melody awakes to love;
To love the boldest tenants of the sky,
To love the little birds, extatic fly;
To love submit the monsters of the main,
And ev'ry beast that haunts the desert plain:
But man alone the brightest flame inspires,
A spark enkindled from celestial fires.
Hail, hallow'd wedlock! purest, happiest state,
Thy untry'd raptures let my song relate:
Give me, ere long, thy mysteries to prove,
And taste, as well as sing, the sweets of love!
Ye blooming daughters of the western world,
Whose graceful locks by artless hands are curl'd,
Whose limbs of symmetry, and snowy breast,
Allure to love, in simple neatness drest;
Beneath the veil of modesty, who hide
The boast of nature, and of virgin pride—
(For beauty needs no meretricious art
To find a passage to the op'ning heart)
Oh, make your charms ev'n in my song admir'd,
My song immortal by your charms inspir'd.
Though lavish nature sheds each various grace,
That forms the figure, or that decks the face—
Though health, with innocence, and glee the while,
Dance in their eye, and wanton in their smile—
Though mid the lily's white, unfolds the rose,
As on their cheek the bud of beauty blows,
Spontaneous blossom of the transient flush,
Which glows and reddens to a scarlet blush;
What time the maid, unread in flames and darts,
First feels of love the palpitating starts,
Her bosom heaving with the bounding tide—
Though sweet their lips, their features more than fair—
Though curls luxuriant of untortur'd hair
Grow long, and add unutterable charms,
While ev'ry look enraptures and alarms;
Yet something still, beyond th' exterior form,
With goodness fraught, with animation warm,
Inspires their actions, dignifies their mien,
Gilds ev'ry hour, and beautifies each scene.
'Tis those perfections of superior kind,
The moral beauties which adorn the mind;
'Tis those enchanting sounds mellifluous hung,
In words of truth and kindness, on their tongue,
'Tis delicacy gives their charms new worth,
And calls the loveliness of beauty forth:
'Tis the mild influence beaming from their eyes,
Like vernal sun-beams round cœrulian skies;
Bright emanations of the spotless soul,
Which warm, and cheer, and vivify the whole!
Here the fair sex an equal honour claims,
Wakes chaste desire, nor burns with lawless flames:
No eastern manners here consign the charms
Of beauteous slaves to some loath'd master's arms:
No lovely maid in wedlock e'er was sold
By parents base, for mercenary gold;
Nor forc'd the hard alternative to try,
To live dishonour'd, or with hunger die.
Here, uncontroul'd, and foll'wing nature's voice,
The happy lovers make th' unchanging choice;
While mutual passions in their bosoms glow,
While soft confessions in their kisses flow,
While their free hands in plighted faith are giv'n,
Their vows, accordant, reach approving heav'n.
Nor here the wedded fair in splendour vie
To shine the idols of the public eye;
Nor place their happiness, like Europe's dames,
In balls and masquerades, in plays and games;
Each home-felt bliss exchang'd for foreign sports,
A round of pleasures, or th' intrigues of courts;
Nor seek of government to guide the plan,
And wrest his bold prerogatives from man.
Nor taught the wanton eye to roll by rule,
Nor how to prompt the glance, the frown, the smile,
Or practice all the little arts of guile—
What though not taught the use of female arms,
Nor cloth'd in panoply of conqu'ring charms,
Like some fine garnish'd heads—th' exterior fair,
In paints, cosmetics, powder, borrow'd hair:
Yet theirs are pleasures of a diff'rent kind,
Delights at home, more useful, more refin'd;
Theirs are th' attentions, theirs the smiles that please,
With hospitable cares and modest ease:
Their youthful taste, improv'd by finer arts,
Their minds embellish'd, and refin'd their hearts—
'Tis theirs to act, in still sequester'd life,
The glorious parts of parent, friend, and wife:
What nameless grace, what unknown charm is theirs,
To soothe their partners, and divide their cares,
Calm raging pain, delay the parting breath,
And light a smile on the wan cheek of death!
No feudal ties the rising genius mar,
Compel to servile toils or drag to war;
But free each youth, his fav'rite course pursues,
The plough paternal, or the sylvan muse;
For here exists, once more, th' Arcadian scene,
Those simple manners, and that golden mean:
Here holds society its middle stage,
Between too rude and too refin'd an age:
Far from that age, when not a gleam of light
The dismal darkness cheer'd of Gothic night,
From brutal rudeness of that savage state—
As from refinements which o'erwhelm the great,
Those dissipations which their bliss annoy,
And blast and poison each domestic joy.
What though for us, the pageantry of kings,
Crowns, thrones, and sceptres, are superfluous things;
What though we lack the gaudy pomp that waits
On eastern monarchs, or despotic states;
Yet well we spare what realms despotic feel,
Oppression's scourge, and persecution's wheel.
Invite the curious to these western climes;
No virtuoso, with fantastic aim,
Here hunts the shadow of departed fame:
No piles of rubbish his attention call,
Nor mystic obelisk, or storied wall:
No ruin'd statues claim the long research:
No sliding columns and no crumbling arch;
Inscriptions, half effac'd, and falsely read,
Or cumbrous relics of th' unletter'd dead:
Yet here I rove untrodden scenes among,
Catch inspiration for my rising song;
See nature's grandeur awfully unfold,
And, wrapt in thought, her works sublime behold!
For here vast wilds, which human foot ne'er trod,
Are mark'd with footsteps of a present God:
His forming hand, on nature's broadest scale,
O'er mountains, mountains pil'd, and scoop'd the vale;
Made sea-like streams in deeper channels run,
And roll'd through brighter heav'ns his genial sun.
In vain of day, that rolling lucid eye
Look'd down in mildness from the smiling sky;
In vain, the germe of vegetation lay,
And pin'd in shades, secluded from the day;
In vain, this theatre for man so fair,
Spread all its charms for beasts or birds of air;
Or savage tribes, who, wand'ring through the wood,
From beasts and birds obtain'd precarious food:
Till great Columbus rose, and, led by heav'n,
Call'd worlds to view, beneath the skirts of ev'n.
Now other scenes in these blest climes prevail:
The sounds of population fill the gale:
The dreary wastes, by mighty toils reclaim'd,
Deep marshes drain'd, wild woods and thickets tam'd:
Now fair Columbia, child of heav'n, is seen
In flow'r of youth, and robes of lovely green,
Than virgin fairer, on her bridal morn,
Whom all the graces, all the loves adorn.
Here planters find a ceaseless source of charms
In clearing fields, and adding farms to farms:
'Tis independence prompts their daily toil,
And calls forth beauties from the desert soil:
When sturdy toil, through darken'd wilds immense,
First pours the day-beams on the op'ning glade,
And glebes embrown'd with everlasting shade!
Here equal fortunes, ease, the ground their own,
Augment their numbers with increase unknown.
Here hamlets grow. Here Europe's pilgrims come,
From vassall'd woes to find a quiet home.
The eye no view of waning cities meets,
Of mould'ring domes, of narrow, fetid streets;
Of grey-hair'd wretches, who ne'er own'd a shed,
And beggars dying for the want of bread:
But oft, in transport, round th' horizon roves,
O'er mountains, vallies, towns, and stately groves;
Then dwells, best pleas'd, on cultivated plains,
Steeds, flocks, and herds, commix'd with lab'ring swains.
Hail, agriculture! by whose parent aid
The deep foundations of our states are laid;
The seeds of greatness by thy hand are sown;
These shall mature with thee and time alone;
But still conduct us on thy sober plan,
Great source of wealth, and earliest friend of man.
Ye rev'rend fathers! props of freedom's cause,
Who rear'd an empire by your sapient laws,
With blest example give this lesson weight,
“That toil and virtue make a nation great!”
Then shall your names reach earth's remotest clime,
Rise high as heav'n, and brave the rage of time—
His list'ning sons the sire shall oft remind,
What parent sages first in Congress join'd:
The faithful Hancock grac'd that early scene,
Great Washington appear'd in godlike mien,
Jay, Laurens, Clinton, skill'd in ruling men,
And he who, earlier, held the farmer's pen.
'Twas Lee, illustrious, at the father's head,
The daring way to independence led.
The self-taught Sherman urg'd his reasons clear,
And all the Livingstons to freedom dear:
What countless names in fair procession throng,
With Rutledge, Johnson, Nash, demand the song!
And chiefly ye, of human kind the friends,
On whose high task my humbler toil attends:
The sum of human happiness increase!
Adams, the sage, a patriot from his youth,
Whose deeds are honour, and whose voice is truth;
Undying Franklin, on the hill of fame,
Who bids the thunders spread his awful name;
And Jefferson, whose mind with space extends,
Each science woos, all knowledge comprehends,
Whose patriot deeds and elevated views
Demand the tribute of a loftier muse:
Though Randolph, Hosmer, Hanson sleep in death,
Still these great patriots draw the vital breath:
And can a nation fail in peace to thrive,
Where such strong talents, such high worth survive?
Rous'd at the thought, by vast ideas fir'd,
His breast enraptur'd, and his tongue inspir'd,
Another bard, in conscious genius bold,
Sings the new world now happier than the old.
In other bards awake the dormant flame!
Bid vivid colours into being start,
Men grow immortal by the plastic art!
Bid columns swell, stupendous arches bend,
Proud cities rise, and spires sublime ascend!
Bid music's pow'r the pangs of woe assuage!
With nobler views inspire th' enlighten'd age!
In freedom's voice pour all thy bolder charms,
Till reason supersede the force of arms,
Till peaceful streamers in each gale shall play,
From orient morning to descending day.
In mortal breasts shall hate immortal last!
Albion! Columbia! soon forget the past!
In friendly intercourse your int'rests blend!
From common sires your gallant sons descend;
From free-born sires in toils of empire brave—
'Tis yours to heal the mutual wounds ye gave;
Let those be friends whom kindred blood allies,
With language, laws', religion's holiest ties!
Yes, mighty Albion! scorning low intrigues,
With young Columbia form commercial leagues:
More potent realms than Carthage leagu'd with Tyre.
Where lives the nation, fraught with such resource,
Such vast materials for a naval force?
Where grow so rife, the iron, masts, and spars,
The hemp, the timber, and the daring tars?
Where gallant youths, inur'd to heat and cold,
Through every zone, more hardy, strong, and bold?
Let other climes of other produce boast;
Let gold, let diamonds, grow on India's coast:
Let flaming suns from arid plains exhale
The spicy odours of Arabia's gale:
Let fragrant shrubs, that bloom in regions calm,
Perfumes expiring, bleed ambrosial balm:
Let olives flourish in Hesperia's soil,
Ananas ripen in each tropic isle:
Let Gallia gladden in her clust'ring vines;
Let Spain exult in her Peruvian mines:
Let plains of Barb'ry boast the generous steed,
Far-sam'd for beauty, strength, and matchless speed:
But men, Columbia, be thy fairer growth,
Men of firm nerves, who spurn at fear and sloth;
Men of high courage, like their sires of old,
In labour patient, as in dangers bold!
Then wake, Columbia! daughter of the skies,
Awake to glory, and to greatness rise!
Arise and spread thy virgin charms abroad,
Thou last, thou fairest offspring of a God;
Extend thy view where future blessings lie,
And ope new prospects for th' enraptur'd eye!
See a new æra on this globe begun,
And circling years in brighter orbits run;
See the fair dawn of universal peace,
When hell-born discord through the world shall cease!
Commence the task assign'd by heaven's decree,
From pirate rage to vindicate the sea!
Bid thy live oaks, in southern climes that grow,
And pines, that shade the northern mountain's brow,
In mighty pomp descending on the main,
With sails expanded, sweep the watery plain:
And bound thy labours with the walks of day.
Bid from the shore a philanthropic band,
The torch of science glowing in their hand,
O'er trackless waves extend their daring toils,
To find and bless a thousand peopled isles;
Not lur'd to blood by domination's lust,
The pride of conquest, or of gold the thirst;
Not arm'd by impious zeal with burning brands,
To scatter flames and ruin round their strands;
Bid them to wilder'd men new lights impart,
Heav'n's noblest gifts, with every useful art.
Bid thy young sons, whom toil for glory forms,
New skill acquiring, learn to brave the storms,
To ev'ry region thy glad harvest bear—
Where happy nations breathe a milder air;
Or where the natives feel the scorching ray,
And pant and faint beneath a flood of day;
Or through those seas where mounts of ice arise,
Th' eternal growth of hyperborean skies,
Where feeble rayless suns obliquely roll,
Or one long night invests the frozen pole.
Then bid thy northern train, who draw the line,
In ocean's caverns find a richer mine
Than fam'd Potosi's or Goleonda's ore,
Or all the treasures of the Asian shore.
Bid them with hooks delusive ply the flood,
And feed whole kingdoms with the finny brood.
And bid thy youths, whose brawny limbs are strung
For bolder toils, pursue those toils unsung—
Pursue through foreign seas, with vent'rous sail,
The dreadful combat of th' enormous whale:
Lo, where he comes, the foaming billows rise!
See spouted torrents cloud the misty skies;
See in the skiff the bold harpooner stand,
The murd'ring iron in his skilful hand:
From him alone th' attentive youths await
A joyful vict'ry, or a mournful fate:
His meas'ring eye the distance now explores,
His voice now checks, and now impels the oars:
Stillness and horror hover o'er the deep:
Now nigh he kens a vulnerable part,
And hurls with deadly aim the barbed dart;
The wounded monster, plunging through th' abyss,
Makes uncoil'd cords in boiling waters hiss;
And oft the boat, drawn headlong down the wave,
Leads trembling seamen to their wat'ry grave;
And oft, when rising, on his back upborne,
Is dash'd on high, in countless pieces torn.
But now afar see ocean's monarch rise,
O'er troubled billows see how fast he flies,
And drags the feeble skiff along the flood,
Lash'd into foam, and colour'd red with blood!
At length subsides the elemental strife,
His rage exhausted with his ebbing life;
As tow'rs a rock on some sky-circled plain,
So looms his carcase o'er the dusky main.
Elate, the victors urge the added toil,
Extract the bone, and fill their ship with oil.
Fraught with the germe of wealth, our seamen roam
To foreign marts, and bring new treasures home;
From either Ind' and Europe's happier shore,
Th' assembled produce crowds the merchant's store:
From east to west the fruits and spices sweet,
On our full boards in rich profusion meet;
Canary isles their luscious vintage join;
In crystal goblets flows the amber wine;
European artists send their midnight toil
For crude materials of our virgin soil;
For us, in tissue of the silken loom,
The lilacs blush, the damask roses bloom;
For us in distant mines the metals grow,
Prolific source of pleasure, care, and woe!
Ne'er may our sons for heaps of useless wealth,
Exchange the joys of freedom, peace, or health,
But make e'en riches to their weal conduce,
And prize their splendour by their public use!
A POEM ON THE FUTURE GLORY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
ADVERTISEMENT.
America, after having been concealed for so many ages from the rest of the world, was probably discovered, in the maturity of time, to become the theatre for displaying the illustrious designs of Providence, in its dispensations to the human race. These States arose from the condition of colonies to that of an independent nation, at an epocha, and under circumstances singularly favourable for improvement. Previous to our revolution, though refinements and luxuries had made but little progress, useful education had been cultivated with care, valuable inventions had been multiplied, and arts and sciences were in a flourishing state. In giving a scope to the exertion of their faculties, the inhabitants of the United States had, perhaps, fewer obstacles to impede their proficiency than the people of any other country. There existed among them no privileged orders, no predominant religion, no discouragement to industry, and no exclusion from office. Wide was the field that was opened before them for the range of the human mind. They possessed the advantage of having in view the whole history of mankind, to warn them against the dangers, and to save them from the calamities to which other nations had been exposed. The examples of the wise, the brave, and the good were not wanting to awaken their emulation. They had an opportunity of profiting in every thing, by the experience of all who had preceded them.
Since the conclusion of our revolutionary war, the extraordinary prosperity of the United States has surpassed the most sanguine expectation. If the past is to furnish any criterion for forming a judgment of the future, we are undoubtedly destined, as a nation, to advance with large and rapid strides towards the summit of national aggrandisement. Fully persuaded of the magnitude of the blessings which await us there, the writer wishes to impress the same conviction on the minds of his fellow citizens. Because, he thinks, a confidence in the future felicity and glory of their country will operate usefully in nourishing principles and producing actions sublime and splendid as their destinies. He doubts not then that he shall be pardoned by his countrymen for thus venturing to explore for them the field of futurity; and he hopes the critics will not be offended by the excursion, when they recollect that it has ever been reputed poetic ground; for they cannot but remember the poet and the prophet have been considered so intimately blended together, that a common name (at least in one language)
When the author composed the description of the process of industry in creating a navy, not one armed vessel belonged to the government, or any individual in the United States. It will be seen from the schedule to which reference has been made, what a number of vessels of war (exclusive of armed merchantmen) the little intervening time has produced. From thence the uncommon capacity of a country possessed of such resources, with such exertion for building, aptitude for navigating, and enterprize for employing its navigation, may be readily calculated. Nor less important data have we for calculating the great changes indicative of activity, energy, and perseverance, which must succeed upon the land.
There are now several independent States (which have been admitted as members of the union) established in those very western regions, which the author, in a poem written during the course of our revolution, predicted would be speedily settled under the most happy auspices, and where, at the time when the prediction was published, there existed not one single white inhabitant. The contemplation of such numerous and unparalleled instances of prosperity cannot fail to furnish our citizens with increasing motives of praise and adoration to the Omnipotent, who has thus distinguished them by his mercies. And such instances ought not less to silence the scoffs of those foreigners who affected to believe that nothing but degradation and misery would result from our independence. If they still entertain similar sentiments, let them examine the documents which attest the rapid growth of our population and improvement. Or, if it be practicable, let them take a nearer view of the sources of our augmenting wealth and strength. Whoever shall live a few years longer, may doubtless behold, on that continent, still greater progress in whatever can adorn or console human nature. Who can hesitate to believe we are now competent to the defence of our country in every conceivable crisis? Should the United States be attacked, the writer is firmly persuaded that he would see himself associated with nearly one million of his countrymen in arms, determined to maintain their rights, or perish in the attempt.
| Years. | Population. | Improved Lands, part of 640 millions of Acres. | Militia. | NAVY. Vess. | NAVY. Guns. | Seamen. | Exports. Dollars. | Tonnage. Merchant Vessels. | Receipts, Revenues, &c. |
| 1774 | 2,486,000 | 20,860,000 | 421,300 | 15,000 | 6,100,000 | 198,000 | |||
| 1784 | 3,250,000 | 21,500,000 | 541,666 | 18,000 | 10,150,000 | 250,000 | |||
| 1790 | 3,930,000 | 30,000,000 | 654,000 | 25,000 | 16,000,000 | 486,890 | |||
| 1791 | 4,047,900 | 31,000,000 | 677,650 | 28,000 | 18,399,202 | 502,698 | 4,771,342 | ||
| 1792 | 4,169,337 | 32,000,000 | 694,889 | 30,090 | 21,005,568 | 567,698 | 8,772,458 | ||
| 1793 | 4,294,417 | 33,500,000 | 715,736 | 33,060 | 26,011,788 | 627,570 | 6,450,195 | ||
| 1794 | 4,423,249 | 34,000,000 | 737,208 | 39,900 | 33,043,725 | 628,617 | 9,439,855 | ||
| 1795 | 4,555,946 | 34,550,000 | 759,324 | 45,000 | 47,855,556 | 747,964 | 9,515,758 | ||
| 1796 | 4,692,624 | 35,100,000 | 782,104 | 51,500 | 67,064,097 | 831,900 | 8,740,529 | ||
| 1797 | 4,833,402 | 35,600,000 | 805,567 | 3 | 124 | 60,200 | 51,294,710 | 876,921 | 8,758,780 |
| 1798 | 4,978,404 | 36,100,000 | 829,734 | 13 | 360 | 62,300 | 61,327,411 | 898,329 | 10,161,097 |
| 1799 | 5,127,756 | 36,300,000 | 854,626 | 42 | 950 | 63,500 | 78,665,522 | 920,000 | 12,777,487 |
By authentic documents it appears that the true amount of our national debt, on the first of January, 1791, was 74,185,596 dollars 82 cents; and on the first of Jan. 1800, 70,212,718 dollars 16 cents. By which it is demonstrated that our debt has been diminished 3,972,878 dollars 66 cents, notwithstanding all the embarrassments to which our principal source of revenue has been exposed, and the expensive preparations for defence.
ARGUMENT.
Address to my soul to explore the future fortunes of the United States, which are destined to experience many trials and adversities in our progress to national felicity and glory—our commerce interrupted by the Algerines—sensation produced by it in the Americans—invocation for powers of expression to excite them to revenge—a view of the miseries of the prisoners, which terminates in an anathema on the perpetrators of such cruelties— friends of the captives and ruined merchants, how affected— exhortation to arm unless an equitable peace can be obtained— apostrophe to the tributary powers—resolution to be taken by us—our resources hinted, from a glance at the last war—Great-Britain and Algiers contrasted—prayer to the Supreme Being —an army raised—a navy formed—naval combat with the corsairs—their defeat—their woe—utter destruction of their country—return and rejoicings of the victors—when depredations shall be committed by the piratical privateers of other nations, the American Government is to assume an attitude of defence—in the mean time is exhibited a view of our danger from anarchy—establishment of a more efficient government— true liberty extended through the west—improvement in fortifications, highways, and inland navigation—the new city of Washington built for the permanent residence of the Federal Government—our country an asylum for the oppressed of all nations—Columbia congratulated on her natural and moral blessings, which are the harbingers of freedom to other countries —wars which must first arise, together with the horrors of the French Pentarchy—this epocha succeeded by a prospect of peace, and the amelioration of the human condition, until the consummation of all things.
Ethereal efflux of th' eternal mind!
Rise, in immortal youth and vigour fresh,
Expand thy vision unobscur'd by fresh;
On rapture's plume, with boundless flight, explore
Our prospect opening and our bliss in store!
What though our state, in untried prime, appears
A freighted vessel on the flood of years;
Though unknown perils, tempests, foes and shelves
Surround, and factions rise amidst ourselves;
Though worlds combin'd, or adverse fates annoy,
What but disunion can our bliss destroy?
Though many a dubious day and dismal scene,
Ere our probation cease, must intervene;
Beyond these glooms what brighter days appear,
Where dawns on mortals heav'n's millennial year!
In western wilds what scenes of grandeur rise,
As unborn ages crowd upon my eyes!
A better æra claims its destin'd birth,
And heav'n descending dwells with man on earth.
While our brave youth through various seas afar,
In toils of peace inure their nerves for war,
See what dark prospect interrupts our joy!
What arm presumptuous dares our trade annoy?
Great God! the rovers who infest thy waves
Have seiz'd our ships, and made our freemen slaves:
And hark! the cries of that disastrous band
Float o'er the main, and reach Columbia's strand—
And circling echoes propagate the sound,
From smooth Saluda, fed with silver rills,
Up the Blue-Ridge, o'er Alleghanean hills,
To where Niagara tremendous roars,
As o'er white-sheeted rocks his torrent pours;
(The dreadful cataract whole regions shakes
Of boundless woods, and congregated lakes!)
To farthest Kennebeck, adown whose tide
The future ships, unfashion'd, monstrous glide,
On whose rough banks, where stood the savage den,
The axe is heard, and busy hum of men—
But hark! their labours and their accents cease,
A warning voice has interdicted peace;
Has spread through cities, gain'd remotest farms,
And fir'd th' indignant States with new alarms:
The sickly flame in ev'ry bosom burns,
Like gloomy torches in sepulchral urns.
Why sleep'st thou, Barlow, child of genius? why
See'st thou, blest Dwight, our land in sadness lie?
And where is Trumbull, earliest boast of fame?
'Tis yours, ye bards, to wake the smother'd flame—
To you, my dearest friends! the task belongs
To rouse your country with heroic songs;
For me, though glowing with conceptions warm,
I find no equal words to give them form:
Pent in my breast, the madd'ning tempest raves,
Like prison'd fires in Ætna's burning caves;
For me why will no thund'ring numbers roll?
Why, niggard language, dost thou balk my soul?
Come thou sweet feeling of another's woe,
That mak'st the heart to melt, the eye to flow!
Deep-stinging sensibility of wrong,
Aid indignation, and inspire my song!
Teach me curst slav'ry cruel woes to paint,
Beneath whose weight our captur'd freemen faint!
Teach me in shades of Stygian night to trace,
In characters of hell, the pirate race!
Teach me, prophetic, to disclose their doom—
A new-born nation trampling on their tomb!
What mortal terrors all my senses seize,
Possess my heart, and life's warm current freeze?
What visionary forms before me swim?
Where am I? Heav'ns! what mean these dol'rous cries?
And what these horrid scenes that round me rise?
Heard ye the groans, those messengers of pain?
Heard ye the clanking of the captive's chain?
Heard ye your free-born sons their fate deplore,
Pale in their chains and lab'ring at the oar?
Saw ye the dungeon, in whose blackest cell,
That house of woe, your friends, your children dwell?
Or saw ye those, who dread the tort'ring hour,
Crush'd by the rigours of a tyrant's pow'r?
Saw ye the shrinking slave, th' uplifted lash,
The frowning butcher, and the redd'ning gash?
Saw ye the fresh blood where it bubbling broke,
From purple scars, beneath the grinding stroke?
Saw ye the naked limbs writh'd to and fro,
In wild contortions of convulsing woe?
Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate roll'd,
Thrill through your veins and freeze with death-like cold,
Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole,
Your manly breasts, and harrow up the soul!
Some guardian pow'r in mercy intervene,
Hide from my dizzy eyes the cruel scene!
Oh, stop the shrieks that tear my tortur'd ear!
Ye visions, vanish! dungeons, disappear!
Ye fetters, burst! ye monster fierce, avaunt!
Infernal furies on those monsters haunt!
Pursue the foot-steps of that miscreant crew,
Pursue in flames, with hell-born rage pursue!
Shed such dire curses as all utt'rance mock,
Whose plagues astonish and whose horrors shock!
Great maledictions of eternal wrath,
Which, like heav'n's vial'd vengeance, singe and scathe,
Transfix with scorpion stings the callous heart,
Make blood-shot eye-balls from their sockets start!
For balm, pour brimstone in their wounded soul;
Then ope, perdition! and ingulf them whole!
How long will heav'n restrain its bursting ire,
Nor rain blue tempests of devouring fire?
How long shall widows weep their sons in vain,
The prop of years, in slav'ry's iron chain?
The sounding shore, and call her absent love;
With wasting fears and sighs his lot bewail,
And seem to see him in each coming sail?
How long the merchant turn his failing eyes,
In desperation, on the seas and skies,
And ask his captur'd ships, his ravish'd goods,
With frantic ravings, of the heav'ns and floods?
How long, Columbians dear! will ye complain
Of wrongs unpunish'd on the midland main?
In timid sloth shall injur'd brav'ry sleep?
Awake! awake! avengers of the deep!
Revenge! revenge! the voice of nature cries;
Awake to glory, and to vengeance rise!
To arms! to arms! ye bold, indignant bands!
'Tis Heav'n inspires, 'tis God himself commands:
Save human nature from such deadly harms,
By force of reason, or by force of arms.
Oh ye great pow'rs, who passports basely crave
From Afric's lords, to sail the midland wave—
Great fallen pow'rs, whose gems and golden bribes
Buy paltry passports from these savage tribes!
Ye, whose fine purples, silks, and stuffs of gold,
(An annual tribute) their dark limbs infold—
Ye, whose mean policy for them equips,
To plague mankind, the predatory ships—
Why will ye buy your infamy so dear?
Is it self-int'rest, or a dastard fear?
Is it because you meanly think to gain
A richer commerce on the th' infested main?
Is it because you meanly wish to see
Your rivals chain'd, yourselves ignobly free?
Who gave commission to these monsters fierce
To hold in chains the humbled universe?
Would God, would nature, would their conqu'ring swords,
Without your meanness, make them ocean's lords?
What! do ye fear? nor dare their pow'r provoke?
Would not that bubble burst beneath your stroke?
And shall the weak remains of barb'rous rage,
Insulting, triumph o'er th' enlighten'd age?
Do ye not feel confusion, horror, shame,
To bear a hateful, tributary name?
And break the fetters from the human race?
Then, though unaided by these mighty pow'rs,
Ours be the toil; the danger, glory ours:
Then, oh my friends! by heav'n ordain'd to free
From tyrant rage, the long-infested sea—
Then let us firm, though solitary, stand,
The sword and olive-branch in either hand:
An equal peace propose with reason's voice,
Or rush to arms, if arms should be their choice.
Stung by their crimes, can aught your vengeance stay?
Can terror daunt you? or can death dismay?
The soul enrag'd, can threats, can tortures tame,
Or the dank dungeon quench th' ethereal flame?
Have ye not once to heav'n's dread throne appeal'd,
And has not heav'n your independence seal'd?
What was the pow'r ye dar'd that time engage,
And brave the terrors of its hostile rage?
Was it not Britain, great in warlike toils,
The first of nations, as the queen of isles?
Britain, whose fleets, that rul'd the briny surge,
Made navies tremble to its utmost verge;
Whose single arm held half the world at odds,
Great nurse of sages, bards and demi-gods!
But what are these, whose threat'nings round you burst?
Of men the dregs, the feeblest, vilest, worst:
These are the pirates from the Barb'ry strand,
Audacious miscreants, fierce, yet feeble band!
Who, impious, dare (no provocation giv'n)
Insult the rights of man—the laws of heav'n!
Wilt thou not rise, eh God, to plead our cause,
Assert thine honour, and defend thy laws!
Wilt thou not bend the highest heav'ns to hear
The pris'ner's cry, and stop the falling tear!
Wilt thou not strike the guilty race with dread,
On impious realms thy tenfold fury shed!
Oh thou Most High, be innocence thy care,
Oh, make thy red right arm of vengeance bare!
Resume, in wrath, the thunders thou hast hurl'd
To blight the tenants of the nether world!
Lead forth our arms, and crush the sons of pride!
And could that gallant race, of glorious name,
Whose infant deeds, immortaliz'd by fame,
Fix'd freedom's reign beyond the western waves,
Consent their sons and brothers shall be slaves?
But not for this—in Albion's angry hour
Ye dar'd the vengeance of unfeeling pow'r;
In many a field repell'd the stronger foe,
And rose to greatness from the depth of woe:
But not for this—the flame of freedom ran
From breast to breast, and man electriz'd man;
Your senate walls, with patriot thunders rung,
And “death or independence” fir'd each tongue.
But hark, the trump through every region blown,
Sounds from cold Lawrence to the burning zone;
Thy cause, humanity! that swells its breath,
Wakes in each bosom cool contempt of death.
By rumbling drums from distant regions call'd,
Men, scorning pirate rage, start unappall'd:
With eye-balls flaming, checks of crimson flush,
From rice-green fields and fir-clad mountains rush
High-mettled youths—unus'd to sights of slain,
Of hostile navies, or the stormy main,
Enrag'd, they leave unfinish'd furrows far,
To dare the deep, and toil in fields of war.
From dreams of peace the sleeping vet'rans wake,
Their rattling arms, with grasp indignant, shake;
Those arms, their pride, their country's gift, what day
To independence they had op'd the way;
Frowning wide ruin, terrible they rise,
Like battling thunders bursting from the skies.
From Erie's inland vales, unnam'd in song,
In native fierceness pour the hunter throng:
Beneath their rapid march realms roll behind;
Their uncomb'd locks loose floating on the wind:
Coarse their worn garbs—they place their only pride
In the dread rifle, oft in battle tried:
With aim unbalk'd, whose leaden vengeance sings,
Sure as the dart the king of terror flings.
Such light-arm'd youths the gallant Fayette led—
Ere Steuben brought the Prussian lore from far,
Or Knox created all the stores of war.
Through tented fields impetuous ardour spreads—
Rous'd by the trump the coursers rear their heads,
Snuff in the tainted gale the nitrous grain,
Responsive neigh, and prance the wide champaign.
At the conclusion of the war, Congress gave to the soldiers of the continental army the arms with which they had defended their country.
And rouse in freedom's cause the fearless age,
With martial heat each colder bosom warm,
String the tough nerve and brace the brawny arm.
Now preparation forms the gleaming blade,
In moulds capacious pond'rous deaths are made.
In crowded docks th' incessant labour glows—
The tool resounds—the wond'rous structure grows—
Let not th' uplifted arm its toil relax!
Give me the music echoing to the axe;
Chim'd with the caulker's stroke that stops each chink,
While beat in time the hammer'd anvils clink;
As oft the boatswain's call with piping shrill,
And sailors' simple song the pauses fill.
Give me to see the pitchy blazes curl,
The ropes dark rise and canvass white unfurl.
Prop'd on the stocks stupendous war-ships stand,
Raise their huge bulks and darken all the strand;
Till tow'ring fleets, from diff'rent harbours join'd,
Float on the pinions of the fav'ring wind;
Tall groves of masts, like mountain forests, rise,
Wav'd high in air the starry streamer flies:
To prosp'rous gales the canvass wide unfurl'd,
Bears the rous'd vengeance round the wat'ry world.
See ocean whitens with innum'rous sails—
Be still, ye storms! breathe soft, ye friendly gales!
See where Columbia's mighty squadron runs
To climes illum'd by other stars and suns;
Gains the deep strait; ascends the midland wave,
Of ancient fleets th' unfathomable grave!
When freedom's ardent chiefs, with eager eye,
Dim through the mist the corsair force descry;
Whose sails slow rising skirt the distant heav'n,
Like shad'wy vapours of ascending ev'n—
There growing moons, that guide Barbaric wars.
Th' obstructions clear'd—obliquely on the gales—
With open ports—half furl'd the flapping sails—
Near and more near, athwart the bill'wy tide,
In terrors arm'd, the floating bulwarks glide;
Tier pil'd o'er tier the sleeping thunder lies,
Anon to rend the shudd'ring main and skies.
Ere yet they shut the narrow space between,
Begins the prelude of a bloodier scene—
With sudden touch deep-throated engines roar,
Pierce heav'n's blue vault and dash the waves to shore;
Then madd'ning billows mock the fearful sound,
While o'er their surface globes of iron bound;
Unknown concussions rolling o'er their heads,
Far fly the monsters round their coral beds.
The battle closes—fiercer fights begin—
And hollow hulls reverberate the din:
The green waves blacken as the tempest lours,
Chain-bolts and langrage rain in dreadful show'rs;
Ship dash'd on ship upheaves the flashing flood,
The black sides wrapt in flame, the decks in blood:
From both the lines now smoke, now flames aspire,
Now clouds they roll, now gleam a ridge of fire:
On hostile prows Columbia's heroes stand,
Conqu'ring 'mid death, or dying sword in hand;
Promiscuous cries, with shouts confus'dly drown'd
In the wild uproar, swell the dol'rous sound:
And naught distinct is heard, and naught is seen
Where wreaths of vapour hov'ring intervene;
Save when black grains expand imprison'd air,
The thunder wake and shoot a livid glare;
Then ghastly forms are seen by transient gleams,
The dead and wounded drench'd in purple streams.
Now helmless ships in devious routes are driv'n,
The cordage torn, the masts to atoms riv'n:
Now where they glow with curling waves of fire,
In one explosion total crews expire.
Here barks relinquis'd, burnt to ocean's brink,
Half veil'd in crimson clouds, begin to sink.
Here yawning gulfs absord th' o'erloaded boat:
There red-hot balls, that graze the waters, hiss,
And plunge the gallies down the dread abyss.
Here shatter'd limbs, there garments dipt in blood,
With mingling crimson stain the foughten flood;
While Afric's pirates, shrinking from the day,
By terror urg'd, drag wounded hulks away.
As when two adverse storms, impetuous driv'n
From east and west, sail up the azure heav'n,
In flaming fields of day together run,
Explode their fires and blot with night the sun—
The eastern cloud, its flames expir'd at last,
Flies from the light'ning of the western blast:
So fled the corsair line the blighting stroke
Of freedom's thunder—so their battle broke—
As if by heav'n's own arm subdu'd at length,
Their courage chill'd, and wither'd all their strength.
Oh, then let vict'ry stimulate the chace,
To free from shameful chains the human race;
To drive these pirates from th' insulted waves,
To ope their dungeons to despairing slaves;
To snatch from impious hands, and break the rod
Which erst defac'd the likeness of a God:
Then seize th' occasion, call the furious gales,
Crack bending oars, stretch wide inflated sails;
On rapid wings of wind the tempest bear,
Make death's deep tubes with lurid lightnings glare;
Like evanescent mists dispel their hosts,
And with destruction's besom sweep their coasts!
Woe to proud Algiers; to your princes woe!
Your pride is perish'd with your youths laid low—
Woe to ye people! woe, distress, and fears!
Your hour is come to drink the cup of tears:
A ghastly paleness gathers on your cheeks,
While mem'ry haunts your cars with captive shrieks;
Then stifled conscience wak'ning dares to cry,
“Think on your crimson crimes, despair and die!”—
Then ruin comes, with fire, and sword, and blood,
And men shall ask, “where once your cities stood?”
Unwonted glooms the silent coasts surprize;
The heav'ns with sable clouds are overcast,
And death-like sounds ride on the hollow blast:
The rank grass rustling to the passing gale;
Ev'n now of men the cheerful voices fail:
No busy marts appear, no crowded ports,
No rural dances, and no splendid courts;
In halls, so late with feasts and music crown'd,
No revels sport, nor mirthful cymbals sound.
Fastidious pomp! how are thy pageants fled!
How sleep the haughty in their lowly bed!
Their cultur'd fields to desolation turn'd,
The buildings levell'd and th' enclosures burn'd.
Where the fair garden bloom'd, the thorn succeeds,
'Mid noxious brambles and envenom'd weeds.
O'er fallow plains no vagrant flocks are seen,
To print with tracks or crop the dewy green.
The Plague, where thousands felt his mortal stings,
In vacant air his shafts promiscuous flings;
There walks in darkness, thirsting still for gore,
And raves, unsated, round the desert shore—
The sandy waste, th' immeasurable heath,
Alone are prowl'd by animals of death.
Here tawny lions guard their gory den;
There birds of prey usurp the haunts of men;
Through dreary wilds a mournful echo calls,
From mould'ring tow'rs and desolated walls.
Where the wan light through broken windows gleams,
The fox looks out, the boding raven screams;
While trembling travellers in wild amaze,
On wrecks of state and piles of ruin gaze.
The direful signs which mark the day of doom
Shall scarcely scatter such portentous gloom—
When, rock'd the ground, convuls'd each roaring flood,
The stars shall fall, the sun be turn'd to blood,
The globe itself dissolve in fluid fire,
Time be no more, and man's whole race expire.
Thus hath thy hand, great God! through ev'ry age,
When ripe for ruin, pour'd on man thy rage:
So didst thou erst on Babylon let fall
The plagues thy hand inscrib'd upon the wall;
To cow'ring eagles, drunk with human blood;
Seal in thy wrath imperial Salem's doom,
And sweep her millions to a common tomb.
But let us turn from objects that disgust,
The ghosts of empires and of men accurst:
Turn we from sights that pain the feeling breast,
To where new nations populate the west:
For there, anon, shall new auroras rise,
And, streaming, brighten up th' Atlantic skies;
Back on the solar path, with living ray,
Heav'n's own pure splendours pour a tide of day.
And, lo! successful from heroic toils,
With glory cover'd and enrich'd with spoils;
With garlands waving o'er these spoils of war,
The pomp preceded by th' imperial star;
'Mid shouts of joy from liberated slaves,
In triumph ride th' avengers of the waves.
And see, they gain Columbia's happy strand,
Where anxious crowds in expectation stand.
See raptur'd thousands hail the kindred race,
And court the heroes to their fond embrace:
In fond embraces strain'd the captive clings,
And feels and looks unutterable things.
See there the widow finds her long-lost son,
See in each others' arms the lovers run;
With joy tumultuous their swol'n bosoms glow,
And one short moment pays for years of woe!
While grateful sports and festal songs proclaim,
Their joys domestic, and their distant fame.
Soon shall our sails, in commerce unconfin'd,
Whiten each sea and swell in every wind.
Then should far other pirates rove the main,
To plunder urg'd by sateless lust of gain;
Rise, fathers of our councils! trade protect,
Make warring pow'rs our neutral rights respect;
To vengeance rous'd by many a corsair-crime,
Resume in wrath an attitude sublime;
And make, as far as heav'n's dread thunder rolls.
Our naval thunder shake the sea-girt poles.
Ere heav'n shall seal the finish'd book of fate.
Full soon the sons of anarchy will urge
The sister-states to dissolution's verge;
Rending the feeble ties with frantic hand,
No hope of safety for our suff'ring land;
Till Washington, with fed'ral patriots rise,
And draw more close th' indissoluble ties;
To constituted pow'rs new strength afford,
Nor war, nor feuds, nor time shall break the triple cord.
There freedom make her holy voice be heard;
No anarchists enjoy their pop'lar dreams,
Agrarian laws! disorganizing schemes!
No proud aristocrats imperious lour,
Or cringing minions court a despot's pow'r.
Then see strong bulwarks towns Atlantic guard,
O'er wastes, late trackless, wide high-ways prepar'd;
Canals protract th' interminable tide,
While loaded barks through levell'd mountains glide;
To nameless wilds new charms by culture giv'n,
And a new city rise the type of heav'n.
On broad Potowmac's bank then spring to birth,
Thou seat of empire and delight of earth!
Of Washington assume the glorious name,
Immortal pledge of union and of fame!
Hail site sublime! unconscious of thy doom,
Thou future city burst the shapeless gloom,
From long oblivion wake—unrivall'd rise—
And spread thy destin'd beauties to the skies!
Through rows of goodly trees with umbrage fair,
And streams, whose freshness cools the summer air;
From where the Tiber's tide thy margin laves,
To where Potowmac rolls his sea-like waves,
I see thy spacious streets their walks extend,
The domes rise beauteous and the arches bend—
I see thy portals proud, adorn'd with art,
Where thronging nations enter and depart—
I see Columbia's delegated sires
Intent on high debate—awful!—serene!—
Nor Greece nor Rome beheld an equal scene.
Where the first magistrate of freemen dwells,
In simple state the noble pile excels.
Nor less those courts a deep attention draw,
Where rest enshrin'd, as oracles of law,
The judges of the land—thence right shall reign,
Nor they the sword of justice bear in vain.
There stands thy fountain, science! early plann'd
To pour a flood of blessings round the land—
Since him who tastes thy salutary wave,
No force or fraud can make in mind a slave.
To our new empire, lo! what crowds repair,
Walk in its light and in its blessings share;
For there th' oppress'd a place of refuge find,
The last asylum for distrest mankind.
Columbia, hail! exult thou happy state!
Large in thy limits, in thy produce great;
The harvests thine that rise by countless rills.
And thine the cattle on ten thousand hills.
Rejoice, Columbia! fair in charms of youth,
Firm in thy trust—th' eternal rock of truth—
Shrink not from trials, nor to suff'rings yield,
The Lord, thy God, will guard thee with his shield—
Of thy high destinies the call attend,
That bids thy sway with time and nature end;
Thy splendours grow with each increasing year,
And distant nations guide in freedom's great career.
Forerunners of this period wars shall rise,
And scenes of horror new beneath the skies—
A monster-pow'r usurp the mighty void
Of thrones subverted and of states destroy'd:
The fruitful parent of unnumber'd woes,
Nor less destructive to his friends than foes;
With grasp fraternal when he stops the breath,
Gloomy as night and terrible as death!
No beast more fell, with rage and vengeance swell'd,
Th' Apocalypse in Patmos' isle beheld.
And strives to soar with five times fifty wings;
Five heads the monster rears with serpent eyes,
And opes his mouths with boasts and blasphemies:
Where'er he moves he blasts the conquer'd land,
And deals destruction with unsparing hand;
Surrounding monarchs paralys'd with awe,
Crouch the weak knee, receive th' unrighteous law:
While Rome's high pontiff from his sev'n hills hurl'd,
In consternation leaves the papal world.
To save Columbia from that monster-pow'r,
Behold how heav'n prepares a shelt'ring tow'r!
As some hoar mound of adamantine rock,
Of mingling elements resists the shock;
What time the storm of angry heav'n is hurl'd,
One sweeping deluge on the wasted world:
So fix'd firm Adams stands—a flint his face—
'Mid floods of wrath a shelter for our race.
Then see, like reptiles in their native dung,
New broods of monsters from the monster sprung;
Voracious revel in their sire's decay,
Suck his heart's blood, and perish with their prey!
This prediction was written and seen by a number of the author's friends long before the first deportation and changes of the French Directory.
That promis'd bliss with liberty to man;
From tyrant force too strong to be withstood,
Corruption, terror, ruin, fire and blood;
A Pow'r shall rise to bid the Discord cease,
And join all nations in the leagues of Peace.
To cure the pangs that nerve-torne nations feel,
A bleeding world with better balm to heal;
Come, emanation from the King of Kings,
Religion! come, with healing on thy wings!
O'er wilds of western waves ascend our strand,
Send forth thy saving virtues round our land!
Remit thy influence mild through every clime!
Wide as existence, durable as time,
And man adore th' UNUTTERABLE NAME!
Then happier days, by hallow'd bards foretold,
Shall far surpass the fabled age of gold;
The human mind its noblest pow'rs display,
And knowledge, rising to meridian day,
Shine like the lib'ral sun; th' illumin'd youths
By fair discussion find immortal truths.
Why turns th' horizon red? the dawn is near:
Infants of light, ye harbingers appear;
With ten-fold brightness gild the happier age,
And light the actors o'er a broader stage!
This drama closing—ere th' approaching end,
See heav'n's perennial year to earth descend.
Then wake, Columbians! fav'rites of the skies,
Awake to glory, and to rapture rise!
Behold the dawn of your ascending fame
Illume the nations with a purer flame;
Progressive splendours spread o'er ev'ry clime!
Then wrapt in visions of unfolding time,
Pierce midnight clouds that hide his dark abyss,
And see, in embryo, scenes of future bliss!
See days, and months, and years, there roll in night,
While age succeeding age ascends to light;
Till your blest offspring, countless as the stars,
In open ocean quench the torch of wars:
With God-like aim, in one firm union bind
The common good and int'rest of mankind;
Unbar the gates of commerce for their race,
And build the gen'ral peace on freedom's broadest base.
A POEM ON THE INDUSTRY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE REGENT OF PORTUGAL.
SIRE,
In the long conflict which terminated by severing the ties that attached the ancient colonies, now the United States of America, to the mother country, Great-Britain, the Portuguese government, equitable in its policy to the former, and faithful to its alliance with the latter, could only have been expected to preserve a strict neutrality. Some time after the conclusion of that war, it was my destiny to have been employed on a public mission to her most Faithful Majesty, for the purpose of cementing and consolidating the friendship of our two governments and nations. Commercial and friendly relations, I will dare to say mutually beneficial, of an enlarged and valuable nature were formed. To have been the the first Minister from the Unites States of America to Portugal; to have been instrumental in opening an extensively advantageous intercourse between the inhabitants of the two countries; to have never been involved in any unpleasant discussion; and to have enjoyed the uninterrupted favour of the Royal Family of Braganza, when accredited as a diplomatic agent near its chief for more than seven years, are circumstances which will continue to be remembered, with conscious pleasure, to the latest period of my life. And never shall I hesitate to acknowledge, with manly gratitude, the liberal and amicable conduct of the cabinet of Lisbon towards the United States as a nation, and myself as their representative. Nor ought my acknowledgments to be expressed with less deference or cordiality for the distinguished treatment which I experienced in the particular audience recently accorded by the Prince Regent of Portugal to me, in my private character, when he signified his great satisfaction at being presented with the following Poem.
The Poem, which treats of the national industry of the United States, was composed on the delightful banks of the Tagus, while I was thus honourably occupied on a public mission, and when my days were pleasantly passed in the enjoyment of health, happiness,
Actuated by a lively sense of such enviable distinction, I offer sthe tribute of sincerity in inscribing this Poem as a testimony of respect for a “just Prince;” an appellation which I had the most satisfactory reasons for applying when I took leave of the Court of Lisbon, in 1797, and which has since been confirmed by almost innumerable titles. If, Sire, I have ever wished for a capacity of paying a still larger tribute of honour where it is most due, it was that your princely and personal virtues might be as advantageously known to the remotest posterity as to the existing generation.
With these sentiments of your munificent public and exemplary private conduct,
ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
The main scope of the author's principal productions in verse, has been to indicate to his fellow-citizens, in a connected manner, the measures best calculated for increasing and prolonging the public felicity. He deemed the success of our revolution the broad basis on which this superstructure was to be built. The first thing to be done was to establish our independence; the second to prepare the national mind to profit by our unusual advantages for happiness; and the next to exhibit in perspective those numberless blessings which Heaven has lavished around us, and which can scarcely be lost but by our own folly or fault. Having attempted to furnish his countrymen with some seasonable arguments and reflections on these subjects, in his “Address to the Armies,” in his “Poem on the Happiness of America,” and in the “Prospect of the Future Glory of the United States,” he proposes now to show the prodigious influence of national industry in producing public and private riches and enjoyments.
One of the primary objects of a good government is to give energy and extent to industry, by protecting the acquisitions and avails of their labour to the governed. This industry is the cause of the wealth of nations. It hastens their advancement in the arts of peace, and multiplies their resources for war. Under such a safeguard, mankind, engaged in any lawful and productive profession, will advance, at the same moment, their own interest and that of the commonwealth. Universal prosperity must ensue. With us, the successful issue has been the best panegyric of such a system. Could industry become generally fashionable and prevalent, indigence, and the calamities that flow from it, would be confined within very narrow channels. With a few exceptions, such as are offered by the bee, the ant, and the beaver, social toil, which accomplishes works truly astonishing for their contrivance and magnitude, distinguishes the human race from every species of the animal creation. A reciprocation of wants and aids, as it were, rivets man to his fellows. What isolated person can perform for himself every act which his helpless and feeble state requires? By a combination of well-directed efforts, what miracles of improvement, what prodigies in refinement, may be effected! The expediency, and even the necessity of concerted and persevering
The influence of industry is not less efficacious in procuring personal advantage and fruition for individuals. It commonly gives health of body and serenity of mind, together with strength of resolution and consistency of character. It thus furnishes a kind of moral force for overcoming the sluggishness of matter, which constantly inclines to repose. Influenced by a desire of being free from humiliating dependence and degrading penury, every man, who is not visited by sickness or prevented by disaster, will be enabled, in his youthful days, to provide a plentiful subsistence for his old age; so that, in the last stages of infirmity and decrepitude, distress and mendicity will seldom, if ever, be seen. Such is now the condition of the people of the United States of America. To flatter the idle and worthless, by perpetually declaiming on the duty of the industrious and wealthy to dispense largely their contributions and charities, is the insidious language often used in Europe by many vociferous demagogues and revolutionary scribblers. To prevent poverty as much as possible, by presenting employment to protected and provident industry, is the high office of a wise and just government. In our country that policy has been successful beyond all former example. The traveller may journey thousands of miles without meeting a single beggar. And herein a striking difference will be remarked between our country and most of the countries in the world.
That industry is capable of speedily changing a dreary wilderness into a cheerful habitation for men, the history of the progress of society in the United States of America has sufficiently proved. It is at present generally understood, that an unequalled share of happiness is enjoyed by the inhabitants of this newly discovered continent. This is, perhaps, chiefly attributable (under the benediction of Providence) to their singularly favourable situation for cultivating the soil. May we not fairly calculate that this effect will continue co-existent with the cause; namely, the abundance and cheapness of land? An almost unlimited space of excellent territory remains to be settled. Freehold estates may be purchased upon moderate terms. Agriculture will probably, for a succession of ages, be the chief employment of the citizens of the United States.
Notwithstanding the beauties and pleasures of rural life have so frequently been happily described in poetry, it was presumed
This Poem was proposed to be so constructed as to permit sentiment to be mingled with description, without appearing misplaced. The author makes no excuse for having bestowed a portion of his mortal duration, not immediately claimed by business or duty, in recommending to his countrymen that industry, which, he conceives, would most effectually promote their temporal happiness. In this, as in every thing not unlawful, he feels himself a free agent, accountable for his actions to his conscience and his God. Yet it would be an unworthy affectation to pretend a total insensibility to the opinion of others, or, more properly speaking, to that of the enlightened and virtuous part of the community. However sensible he might be to their favourable decision, he must be allowed to be more ambitious of deserving than obtaining it. Consciousness of an upright endeavour to serve, and a reasonable solicitude to please, those to whom this address is offered, may satisfy himself. No one more sincerely or fervently desires their attainment of felicity. If any thing produced or done by him shall have been obviously calculated for that object, he will have performed the most pleasing task which he could have imposed on himself.
ARGUMENT.
The Genius of Culture invoked—prodigious effect of toil in changing the face of nature—state of our country when it was first settled by our ancestors—their manly efforts crowned with success—contrast between North and South-America—the latter remarkable for mines, as the former is for agriculture —in what manner labour embellishes the land—different branches of cultivation recommended—the fabrication of maple-sugar dwelt upon, as having a gradual tendency to the abolition of slavery—commerce to succeed—strong propensities of the people of the United States for extensive navigation —effeminate nations are always in danger of losing their independence—several specified which have experienced the debilitating consequences of sloth—its destructive influence on states—Congress called upon to encourage industry in the United States; and Washington, as President, to protect manufactures —machinery for diminishing the operations of manual labour—the loom—wool—sheep—flax and hemp—remonstrance against suffering our manufacturing establishments to be frustrated by an unreasonable predilection for foreign fabrics— the fair sex invited to give the example of encouraging home manufactures—their province in the United States—their influence on civilized society—deplorable condition of savage life—moral effect of industry on constitution and character— bold and adventurous spirit of our citizens—prepared by hardiness to distinguish themselves on the ocean and in war— allusion to our contest with Britain—happiness of our present peaceful situation—the Poem is concluded with the praises of Connecticut as an agricultural State.
Can clothe with beauty ev'n the dreary waste;
Teach me to sing, what bright'ning charms unfold,
The bearded ears, that bend with more than gold;
How empire rises, and how morals spring,
From lowly labour, teach my lips to sing;
Exalt the numbers with thy gifts supreme,
Ennobler of the song, my guide and theme!
Thou, toil! that mak'st, where our young empire grows,
The wilderness bloom beauteous as the rose,
Parent of wealth and joy! my nation's friend!
Be present, nature's rudest works to mend;
With all the arts of polish'd life to bless,
And half thy ills, Humanity! redress.
On this revolving day, that saw the birth
Of a whole nation glad th' astonished earth;
Thee I invoke to bless the recent reign
Of independence—but for thee how vain
Each fair advantage liberty has giv'n,
And all the copious bounties show'r'd by heav'n?
Hail, mighty pow'r! whose vivifying breath
Wakes vegetation on the barren heath;
Thou changest nature's face; thy influence such,
Dark deserts brighten at thy glowing touch;
Creation springs where'er thy plough-share drives,
And the dead grain, an hundred fold, revives.
Thy voice, that dissipates the savage gloom,
Bade in the wild unwonted beauty bloom:
Our great fore-fathers dar'd the desert main:
O'er waves no keel had cut they found the shore,
Where desolation stain'd his steps with gore,
Th' immense of forest! where no tree was fell'd,
Where savage-men at midnight orgies yell'd;
Where howl'd round burning pyres each ravening beast,
As fiend-like forms devour'd their bloody feast,
And hoarse resounded o'er the horrid heath,
The doleful war-whoop, or the song of death.
Soon our progenitors subdu'd the wild,
And virgin nature, rob'd in verdure, smil'd.
They bade her fruits, through rifted rocks, from hills
Descend, misnam'd innavigable rills:
Bade houses, hamlets, towns, and cities rise,
And tow'rs and temples gild Columbian skies.
Success thence crown'd that bold, but patient band,
Whose undegen'rate sons possess the land;
Their great fore-fathers' principles avow,
And proudly dare to venerate the plough.
Where slaughter's war-dogs many a tribe destroy'd,
Not such the race who fill'd the southern void:
For them unbidden harvests deck the soil,
For them in mines unhappy thousands toil,
Where Plata's waves o'er silvery sands are roll'd,
Or Amazonia's path is pav'd in gold.
There suns too fiercely o'er the surface glow,
And embryon metals form and feed below;
Where, shut from day, in central caverns deep,
Hopeless of freedom, wretches watch and weep;
Compell'd for gold to rip the womb of earth,
And drag the precious mischief into birth.
Yet where those vertic suns intensely shine,
Whose fires the metals more than men refine,
To drain their limbs of strength the climate serves,
And not our vigour strings their slacken'd nerves.
While all your gains the social pact secures,
Columbians! say, what happiness is yours?
Say, ye who, not as tenants, till the soil,
The joys that freemen find in rural toil?
Exists a hardier or a happier race?
Ye bid your glebes with future germs rejoice,
And seeds that sleep inhum'd strait hear your voice.
How change the prospects at your blithe command!
Where weeds and brambles stood now flowrets stand.
How blooms the dell, as spreads the rippling rill,
While mottled cattle top the moving hill!
Bid marshall'd maize the tassell'd flag unfold,
And wheat-ears barb their glistening spears with gold:
In northern plains the orchard's produce glow,
Or with its beverage pure the press o'erflow:
In southern climes, beneath a fervid sky,
Savannas, green with rice, refresh the eye;
There, from th' adopted stranger-tree, despoil
The branch that cheers for peace, the fruit with oil.
O'er fens, reform'd, let verdant grass succeed
The blue-ting'd indigo—pestiferous weed!
Where dun, hoed fields, afford subsistence scant
For those who tend Tobago's luxury plant,
Bid other crops with brighter hues be crown'd,
And herb for beast, and bread for man abound.
With little fingers let the children cull,
Like flakes of snow, the vegetable wool;
Or nurse the chrysalis with mulberry leaves,
The worm whose silk the curious artist weaves:
Let buzzing bees display the winnowing wing,
Seek freshest flowers, and rifle all the spring:
Let brimming pails beside the heifers stand,
With milk and honey flow the happy land;
And turn the wildest growth to human use,
Ambrosial sugar find from maple-juice!
Thou, dulcet tree, imbue the flowing song
With thy distilling drops, untried too long!
Thee, dancing round in many a mazy ring,
The rustic youths and sylvan maids shall sing.
In sacch'rine streams thou pour'st the tide of life,
Yet grow'st still stronger from th' innocuous knife;
Thy sap, more sweet than Hybla's honey, flows,
Health for the heart-sick—cure of slavery's woes—
Then, as th' unfailing source, balsamic, runs,
Dispense that cordial, hope, for Afric's sons!
Of conscious guilt th' insufferable sting;
From eyes untaught to weep the tear should start,
And mercy melt the long obdur'd of heart.
See naked negroes rear the sugar'd reeds!
Behold! their flesh beneath their driver bleeds!
And hear their heart-heav'd groans! then say, how good,
How sweet, the dainties drugg'd with human blood!
Though night's dark shades o'ercast th' ill-favour'd race,
Nor transient flushes change the vacant face;
Though nature ne'er transforms their woolly hair
To golden ringlets, elegantly fair!
Yet has not God infus'd immortal powers,
The same their organs and their souls as ours?
Are they not made to ruminate the sky?
Or must they perish like the beasts that die?
Perish the thought that men's high worth impairs,
Sons of Omnipotence, and glory's heirs!
Come, ye who love the human race divine,
Their bleeding bosoms bathe with oil and wine,
Bind up their wounds—then bless the dulcet tree,
Whose substituted sweets one slave may free;
Till new discoveries more man's wrath assuage,
And heav'n restrain the remnant of his rage.
The recent invention in Prussia of extracting sugar from the Beterave, or Beet, it is to be hoped will be followed by useful results. This, indeed, may be expected from the report of a committee to the National Institute of France. It is a well known fact, that many families in the new settlements of the United States are entirely supplied with sugar manufactured from maple-cap.
Fell scourge of mortals, reason's foulest shame!
Fly, fiend infernal! to thy Stygean shore,
And let thy deeds defile my song no more.
Heav'ns! still must men, like beasts, be bought and sold,
The charities of life exchang'd for gold!
Husbands from wives, from parents children torn,
In quivering fear, with grief exquisite, mourn!
No, soon shall commerce, better understood,
With happier freight promote the mutual good.
Whate'er the seasons in succession bring;
What summer ripens and what autumn yields,
Th' immeasurable growth of fertile fields!
Our rapid fleets to realms that want convey,
And new-born stars in wond'ring skies display.
Ev'n now innumerous ships, their flags unfurl'd,
With flying canvass cloud the wat'ry world;
Commercing, steer beneath the burning line,
Near icy mountains, on the polar brine;
From cheerless cliffs, where not a blossom blows,
Whose wild craggs whiten in eternal snows,
To where the smooth Pacific Ocean smiles,
Cheer'd by the fragrance of the spicy isles.
Not thus enervate nations tempt the seas,
By luxury lull'd in soft voluptuous ease;
Thence sloth begets servility of soul,
Degrades each part, contaminates the whole;
And taints in torpid veins the thickening blood,
Like the green mantle on a mire of mud.
Where convents deal the poor their daily broth,
See charity herself encourage sloth!
Though helpless some, more lazy join the troop,
And healthful beggars swell the shameless groupe.
Will heav'n benignant on those nations smile,
Where sloth and vice are less disgrace than toil?
With opiates drunk, in indolence reclin'd,
Unbrac'd their sinews, and debauch'd their mind,
Can crowds, turn'd cowards, self-esteem retain,
Or long unspoil'd of freedom's gifts remain?
'Tis by the lofty purpose, desperate deed,
Of men who dare for liberty to bleed,
By long endurance, fields with crimson stain'd,
That independence won, must be maintain'd.
Where art thou, Athens! thy high spirit lost!
Where, Sparta! that defied all Asia's host!
And where (in dust her mould'ring trophies hurl'd)
Imperial Rome, the mistress of the world!
How Lusitania, queen of diamond mines,
(Her glorious Gamas dead) a widow pines!
And will not grave Iberia learn, at length,
In toil, not gold, consists a nation's strength?
Thy cank'ring breath, that checks and kills their growth?
If sloth to dissolution yields the prey,
Take but the cause, we take th' effect away.
Sages, conven'd from delegating states,
Who bear the charge of unborn millions' fates;
From early systems states their habits take,
And morals more than climes a difference make:
Then give to toil a bias, aid his cause
With all the force and majesty of laws;
So shall for you long generations raise,
The sweetest incense of unpurchas'd praise!
Thou, Washington, by heav'n for triumphs nurs'd,
In war, in peace, of much lov'd mortals first!
In public as in private life benign,
Still be the people heav'n's own care and thine!
While thou presid'st, in useful arts direct,
Create new fabrics and the old protect.
Lo! at thy word, subdued for wond'ring man,
What mighty elements advance the plan;
While fire and wind obey the Master's call,
And water labours in his forceful fall!
Teach tiny hands with engin'ry to toil,
Cause failing age o'er easy tasks to smile;
Thyself that best of offices perform,
The hungry nourish and the naked warm;
With gladness picture rescued beauty's eye,
And cheek with health's inimitable dye;
So shall the young, the feeble find employ,
And hearts with grief o'erwhelm'd emerge to joy.
First let the loom each lib'ral thought engage,
Its labours growing with the growing age;
Then true utility with taste allied,
Shall make our homespun garbs our nation's pride.
See wool, the boast of Britain's proudest hour,
Is still the basis of her wealth and pow'r!
From her the nations wait their wintry robe,
Round half this idle, poor, dependant globe.
Shall we, who foil'd her sons in fields of fame,
In peace add noblest triumphs to her name?
Become the vassals of her wiser plan?
Then, rous'd from lethargies—up! men! increase,
In every vale, on every hill, the fleece!
And see the fold, with thousands teeming, fills
With flocks the bleating vales and echoing hills.
Ye harmless people! man your young will tend,
While ye for him your coats superfluous lend.
Him nature form'd with curious pride, while bare,
To fence with finery from the piercing air:
This fleece shall draw its azure from the sky,
This drink the purple, that the scarlet dye;
Another, where immingling hues are giv'n,
Shall mock the bow with colours dipt in heav'n:
Not guarded Colchis gave admiring Greece
So rich a treasure in its golden fleece.
Oh, might my guidance from the downs of Spain,
Lead a white flock across the western main;
Fam'd like the bark that bore the Argonaut,
Should be the vessel with the burden fraught!
Clad in the raiment my Merinos yield,
Like Cincinnatus fed from my own field;
Far from ambition, grandeur, care and strife,
In sweet fruition of domestic life;
There would I pass with friends, beneath my trees,
What rests from public life, in letter'd ease.
Ye farmers sow your fields with hemp and flax:
Let these the distaff for the web supply,
Spin on the spool, or with the shuttle fly.
But what vile cause retards the public plan?
Why fail the fabrics patriot zeal began?
Must nought but tombs of industry be found,
Prostrated arts expiring on the ground?
Shall we, of gewgaws gleaning half the globe,
Disgrace our country with a foreign robe?
Forbid it int'rest, independence, shame,
And blush that kindles bright at honour's flame!
Our innate springs and energies of soul;
To you, Columbian dames! my accents call,
Oh, save your country from the threaten'd fall!
Will ye, blest fair! adopt from every zone
Fantastic fashions, noxious in your own?
At wintry balls in gauzy garments drest,
Admit the dire destroyer in your breast?
Oft when nocturnal sports your visage flush,
As gay and heedless to the halls ye rush,
Then death your doom prepares: cough, fever, rheum,
And pale consumption nip your rosy bloom.
Hence many a flow'r in beauty's damask pride,
Wither'd, at morn, has droop'd its head and died.
While youthful crimson hurries through your veins,
No cynic bard from licit joys restrains;
Or bids with nature hold unequal strife,
And still go sorrowing through the road of life.
Nor deem him hostile who of danger warns,
Who leaves the rose, but plucks away its thorns.
This, it is wished, may be received as a useful warning by young persons against exposing themselves, when too thinly clad, to the winter air. Many deaths have been occasioned by imprudencies of this nature.
Your sex from skill in household cares dispense.
Yet those where fortune smiles, whom fancy warms,
May paint historic or ideal forms;
Teach the fair flow'r on lucid lawn to spring,
The lute to languish or the tongue to sing.
With letters, arts, botanic, chemic skill,
Some shall their leisure hours delighted fill;
While some, for studies more sublime design'd,
Expatiate freely o'er the world of mind:
Another class on boldest wing shall soar,
The wand'ring stars and ways of heav'n explore;
Still skill'd not less in captivating arts,
To move our passions and to mend our hearts.
While tiptoe spirits buoy each graceful limb,
See down the dance the lovely fair-one swim;
Her own neat needle-work improves her bloom,
Cloth'd in the labours of Columbia's loom:
Angelic goodness, loveliness and grace;
And hopes, in bridal bow'rs, to meet those charms,
Bliss to his soul and rapture in her arms!
Then, oh, ye fair! refin'd each grosser sense,
'Gainst delicacy shun the least offence.
What though not call'd to mix in cares of state,
To brave the storm of battle or debate;
Yet in our revolution greatly brave,
What high examples to our sex ye gave?
And still 'tis yours with secret, soft controul,
To hold a gentler empire o'er the soul;
In polish'd states to make, with sweet behest,
The hero happy and the patriot blest;
To charm their anxious hours with cheering smiles,
Relieve their suff'rings and reward their toils.
And are there men, with civil bliss at strife,
Who lavish wanton praise on savage life?
Is licence freedom? Can the general good
Bid each barbarian quench revenge in blood?
While wrongs, ev'n fancied, set his soul on fire,
Can judgment cool unite with burning ire?
Or numb'd in apathy, can that alone
Afford the fond endearments I have known?
See the rude Indian, reason's dictates braves,
And treats the females as his abject slaves:
He, round his hearth, no circle calls, at ev'n,
To share the sweetest pleasures under heav'n.
Regard yon desert, dark and drear, where roam
Hordes who ne'er knew a comfortable home:
On them no peaceful arts their influence shed,
But fierce as panthers on the mountains bred,
They prowl for prey. For them the hunted wood
Now yields redundant, now penurious food—
Regorg'd or famish'd oft—a miscreant crew—
If few their wants, their comforts still more few!
Ah! when will virtue's evangelic flame
The frigid wildness of their tempers tame?
Till that bright hour, no hope beyond the sky—
Forlorn they live, and like the brute they die!
Of savage life so spring the bitter fruits,
For savage indolence the man imbrutes.
The limbs expand, the bosom feels new fire.
Unwearied industry pervades the whole,
Nor lends more force to body than to soul.
Hence character is form'd, and hence proceeds
Th' enlivening heat that fires to daring deeds:
Then animation bids the spirit warm,
Soar in the whirlwind and enjoy the storm.
For our brave tars what clime too warm, too cold,
What toil too hardy, or what task too bold?
O'er storm-vex'd waves our vent'rous vessels roll,
Round artic isles or near th' antartic pole;
Nor fear their crews the fell tornado's ire,
Wrapp'd in a deluge of Caribbean fire.
The wonders of the deep they see, while tost
From earth's warm girdle to the climes of frost:
Full soon to bid the battle's thunder roar,
And guard with wooden walls their native shore.
What like rough effort fortifies each part,
With steel the limbs and adamant the heart!
What gives our seamen steadiness of soul,
When bursting thunders rend the redd'ning pole,
When down the black'ning clouds, in streams that bend
Athwart the tall shrouds, livid fires descend,
When howling winds in wild gyrations fly,
And night sits frantic on the scowling sky?
What makes the patriot scorn the menac'd blow,
His courage rising as the dangers grow!
What bade our bands—to shield the commonweal—
Bare their bold bosoms to the lifted steel;
What time Virginia's light, with steady ray,
Led through the darksome gloom our desp'rate way;
When Britain, like a night-storm, hovering, hurl'd
The red-wing'd vengeance on the western world!
Lo! in that western world how chang'd the scene!
There peace now shines uncloudedly serene;
While, red with gore, through Europe's realms afar,
Sails the dread storm of desolating war.
In Lusitania's clime, while we behold
The orange gleam with vegetating gold;
And the glad vintage purples on the vine;
Where sleeps on beds of rose the moon-light calm,
Honey'd the dew and steep'd the air in balm!
Where wild-heath blooms perfume the passing gales,
And Tagus whitens with unnumber'd sails;
Say, shares my friend, my fond desires that rise
For distant scenes beneath the western skies?
Say, canst thou love those scenes in lonely pride,
The beauteous shores that bound th' Atlantic tide;
Where hills and vales, and villages and farms,
In lovely landscapes blend their mingled charms?
(With thee my soul collecting all her strength)
New raptures seize, with patriot pride elate,
To sing the charms that grace my native state.
Hail favour'd state! Connecticut! thy name
Uncouth in song, too long conceal'd from fame;
If yet thy filial bards the gloom can pierce,
Shall rise and flourish in immortal verse.
Inventive genius, imitative pow'rs,
And, still more precious, common-sense, is ours;
While knowledge useful, more than science grand,
In rivulets still o'erspreads the smiling land.
Hail, model of free states! too little known,
Too lightly priz'd for rural arts alone:
Yet hence from savage, social life began,
Compacts were fram'd and man grew mild to man.
Thee, Agriculture! source of every joy,
Domestic sweets and bliss without alloy;
Thee, friend of freedom, independence, worth,
What raptur'd song can set conspicuous forth?
Thine every grateful gift, my native soil!
That ceaseless comes from agricultural toil:
This bids thee, dress'd, with added charms appear,
And crowns with glories, not its own, the year.
Though, capp'd with cliffs of flint, thy surface rude,
And stubborn glebe the slothful race exclude;
Though sultry summer parch thy gaping plains,
Or chilling winter bind in icy chains;
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime,
Clothe arid earth in green, for glooms supply
The brightest beauties to th' astonish'd eye.
What though for us no fields Arcadian bloom,
Nor tropic shrubs diffuse a glad perfume;
No fairy regions picturesque with flow'rs,
Elysian groves, or amaranthine bow'rs,
Breathe sweet enchantment—but still fairer smile,
Once savage wilds now tam'd by tut'ring toil.
The rolling seasons saw with rapture strange,
The desert blossom and the climate change.
Roll on, thou sun! and bring the prospect bright,
Before our ravish'd view in liveliest light.
Arise in vernal pride, ye virgin plains!
With winning features which no fiction feigns.
Arise, ye laughing lawns! ye gladd'ning glades!
Poetic banks! and philosophic shades!
Awake, ye meads! your bosoms ope, ye flow'rs!
Exult, oh earth! and heav'n descend in show'rs!
Where the dun forest's thickest foliage frown'd,
And night and horror brooded o'er the ground;
While matted boughs impenetrably wove
The sable curtains of th' impervious grove;
Where the swart savage fix'd his short abode,
Or wound through tangled wilds his thorny road;
Where the gaunt wolves from crag-roof'd caverns prowl'd,
And mountains echoed as the monsters howl'd;
Where putrid marshes felt no solar beams,
And mantling mire exhal'd mephitic steams;
See, mid the rocks, a Paradise arise,
That feels the fostering warmth of genial skies!
While gurgling currents lull th' enchanted soil,
The hill-tops brighten and the dingles smile.
Then hail for us, ye transatlantic scenes,
Soul-soothing dwellings! sight-refreshing greens!
And chiefly hail, thou state! where virtue reigns,
And peace and plenty crown the cultur'd plains.
Nor lacks there aught to soothe the pensive mind,
Its taste on nature form'd, by truth refin'd:
Beyond the glitter and the gloss of art.
Not wanting there the fountain's bubbling tide,
Whence flows the narrow stream and river wide,
With gladsome wave to drench the thirsty dale,
Or waft through wond'ring woods the flitting sail.
Not wanting there the cottage white-wash'd clean,
Nor town with spires that glimmer o'er the green:
Nor rich variety's uncloying charm,
The steeds that prance, the herds that graze the farm;
The flocks that gambol o'er the dark-green hills,
The tumbling brooks that turn the busy mills;
The clover pastures deck'd with dappled flow'rs,
Spontaneous; gardens gay with roseate bow'rs;
The tedded grass in meadows newly shorn,
The pensile wheat-heads and stiff Indian corn;
The grafts with tempting fruit, and thick-leav'd groves,
Where timid birds conceal their airy loves;
Along th' umbrageous walk, enamour'd meet
The artless pairs, in courtship chaste as sweet,
In wedlock soon to join—hail, sacred rite!
Delicious spring! exhaustless of delight!
No poor, for wealth withheld, accuses heav'n,
Nor rich, insulting, spurns the bounties giv'n.
No wretched outcast—happy, till beguil'd—
Pollution's sister, and affliction's child!
Shivering and darkling strays through wintry streets,
And lures (for bread) to brothels all she meets;
Or tir'd and sick, with faint and fearful cry,
At her betrayer's door lies down to die.
No scenes of woe the pleasing prospect blight,
And no disgusting object pains the sight;
For calm content, the sunshine of the soul,
With bright'ning ease, embellishes the whole.
'Tis rural innocence, with rural toll,
Can change the frown of fortune to a smile.
Ah, let the sons of insolence deride
The simple joys by humble toil supplied:
Not him whose breast with false refinement pants,
Factitious pleasures, artificial wants,
Such scenes delight—nor boasts that state a claim,
For man's or nature's grandest works, to fame.
Th'instructed few with higher reverence deem:
For o'er its moral part a lustre shines,
That all around enlivens and refines.
'Twas there the joys of wedded love began,
And health and happiness there dwelt with man:
The city's palaces though man has made,
The country's charming views a God display'd—
Still the best site from art derives new charms,
In villas fair and ornamented farms.
There, while our freemen share thy blessings, health!
In that blest mean dividing want from wealth;
How sweet their food appears! how lightsome seems
Their daily labour! and how bright their dreams!
Not inexpert to till or guard their farms,
Patient in toil, but terrible in arms,
When stung by wrong, and fir'd with patriot rage,
They in the battle's brunt with hosts engage!
What Rome, once virtuous, saw, this gives us now—
Heroes and statesmen, awful from the plough.
And ye, compatriots! who for freedom fought,
Preserve that prize your toil and blood have bought.
(Fraternal troop long tried by storms of fate,
Surviving soldiers of my native state,
From me your cherish'd image ne'er shall part,
'Till death's cold hand shall wring it from my heart!)
Heav'ns! how your fields were heap'd with kindred slain,
While many a stream ran crimson to the main!
Where a new Thames distain'd with carnage flow'd,
How the sea redden'd to receive the load?
How Danb'ry's burning turrets dimm'd the day,
How Fairfield, Norwalk, dark in ashes lay?
Ye tearless saw your coasts to deserts turn'd,
Your substance pillag'd, and your buildings burn'd;
Your flocks and herds become th' invaders' spoil,
And the fair harvest ravish'd from the soil.
Ye saw th' infuriate foe, with impious ire,
Consume Jehovah's hallow'd fanes in fire.
What Gothic rage assail'd the muses' seat,
And hunted science in her lov'd retreat?
Her courts polluted and her shrine prophan'd!
'Twas then th' obstrep'rous drum, th' ear-tinkling fife,
Pierc'd the still shades of academic life;
There Tryon left on ruins, mark'd with flame,
A dread memorial of his hated name.
Mr. Beers, a respectable inhabitant of New-Haven, was killed when standing peaceably at his own door, contiguous to Yale-College.
While population adds improvements vast;
For population doubles still our force,
Ere thrice eight annual suns complete their course.
How teems the fresh mould with luxuriant green!
There, not a vestige of the war is seen;
And ev'n late blazing towns that blush'd with gore,
Smile brighter far and lovelier than before.
Not so for man will life's once faded spring,
Return more sweet and fairer blossoms bring.
No more will friendship's buried hopes return!
Say, mem'ry! mourning o'er each hero's urn,
Where now the dreams that cheer'd my youth in vain,
And where my youthful friends in battle slain?
See, vernal blooms, as soon as born, decay,
And each wing'd moment bear some flow'r away!
So fly the years that charm'd in early life,
So fade the laurels won in martial strife.
Ye vanish'd scenes! ye visionary toys!
Delusive hopes! and transitory joys!
Adieu!—but, virtue! cheer our little lives,—
For, from the wreck, religion still survives.
Religious zeal our ancestors that warm'd,
With passions cool'd, their temp'rate habits form'd:
Hence in that state is seen (sight passing strange!)
Choice free and frequent, yet no lust of change.
The foreigner admires of bliss the cause,
In fair elections and the reign of laws;
And joys to find on shores long waste and wild,
A race in manners undebauch'd, yet mild;
Between too rude and polish'd life, a stage
That claims new actors for a golden age.
And order guarantees for freedom's heirs.
Say, in what state, so soon imbib'd the youth
Th' eternal principles of right and truth?
Where education such instruction spread?
Where on the mind such influence morals shed?
Where modesty with charms so fair appear'd?
So honour'd age, and virtue so rever'd?
Thou fount of learning where I drank, thou Yale!
Fount of religion and of knowledge, hail!
There, happy parents! bid our thirsting youth
Quaff copious immortality and truth;
While Dwight, with soaring soul, directs their way
To the full well of life, in climes of endless day.
Rejoice in strength of youth! rejoice, sweet band!
To rise the hope and glory of our land.
First shall the legates in th' Almighty's name,
Like seers whose lips were touch'd with living flame,
Announce the WORD from HEAV'N sublime, refin'd,
And bring mild consolations to the mind;
Of future being the glad tidings bear,
And God's high will with holy zeal declare!
Ye champions, prompt to check the course of fate,
And give man's days their longest, healthiest date;
Go forth, the sick-man's sleepy couch to smooth,
With potent drugs the pang of anguish soothe;
The dart of death avert—his victim save—
And rescue thousands from th' untimely grave!
For this, from nature's mixture, chemic art
Extracts the healing from the pois'nous part.
And where our woods contain salubrious pow'rs,
In life-prolonging roots, and barks, and flow'rs;
Ye botanists! with sapient toil explore
Our continent's interminable store,—
A boundless field! ne'er view'd by human eye,
Where vegetation lives alone to die.
There search the sylvan world with eager view,
And call by name each plant that sips the dew;
From the proud pine, his lofty head who shrouds
In misty regions mid condensing clouds,
Or humble hyssop springing by the wall.
Ye advocates for justice thence proceed,
With pow'rful voice for innocence to plead;
Not warp'd by favour, flatt'ry, gold or awe,
The firm support and ornament of law!
Hence oft elect from your enlighten'd band,
Judges and senators shall rule the land.
With fancy vivid as with judgment strong,
Our pride in genius, as our first in song,
Thy intellectual stores, blest Dwight! impart,
And taste correct for every finer art:
Bid wisdom's higher lore with ethics giv'n,
For greatness form the race, belov'd of heav'n:
Bring to their breasts her energies divine,
The grovelling thought to raise, the gross refine!
Bid bards melodious charm the listening throng,
Thrill'd with the raptures of ecstatic song;
Bid, while the spark of animation warms,
Imagination body finest forms;
Creative artists paint our martial strife,
And wake the slumb'ring marble into life!
Or should the hollow brass be heard to roar,
And hostile navies hover round our shore,
Then bid our youth along th' extended coast,
Their country's bulwark, and their country's boast,
Horrent in arms, an iron rampart stand,
To shield from foes th' inviolable land!
Ere ye begin to tread life's wider stage,
In manhood's prime, dear, interesting age!
Attend a time-taught bard, to toils inur'd,
With those bold chiefs whose blood your rights secur'd:
Ye junior patriots, listen! learn, my friends!
How much your lot on industry depends:
For God, a God of order, ne'er design'd
Equal conditions for the human kind.
Equality of rights your bliss maintains,
While law protects what honest labour gains.
Your great exertions by restraint uncheck'd,
Your gen'rous heat undamp'd by cold neglect;
Where wealth, and pow'r, and honour yield the prize.
Yet should dark discord's clouds your land o'ercast,
Lost is your freedom and your empire past.
Be union yours! To guard your union, heav'n
The general government, in trust, has giv'n:
Then, when ere long your fathers sleep in dust,
Preserve, like vestal fire, that sacred TRUST!
A POEM ON THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. IN CELEBRATION OF THE TWENTY-THIRD ANNIVERSARY OF THE INDEPENDENCE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
TO HIS MAJESTY LOUIS, KING OF ETRURIA, HEREDITARY PRINCE OF PARMA, INFANT OF SPAIN, &c. &c. &c.
SIRE,
I avail myself of the opportunity of a ship sailing from New-York for Leghorn, to transmit my thanks for the flattering manner in which your Majesty has communicated to me, in your letter, dated at Florence, the 15th of February last, how much you should be gratified by receiving the dedication of my poem “on the Love of Country.” For presenting that work on a subject, by which all nations are affected, although as here treated, it is particularly applicable to my countrymen, I did not apologize. Sentiments of true policy, and principles of pure morality, ought to be equally acceptable in all regions of the earth, and with all descriptions of its inhabitants. Or if any difference is to be allowed, I will be bold to assert, such sentiments and principles claim the peculiar protection of well informed and beneficent potentates, because peculiarly great are their faculties for doing good, and extensive their spheres of action.
Your modesty, Sire, must permit me to say, that your patronage of those fine arts and elegant letters which have rendered the names of the former chief magistrates at Florence for ever famous, would afford the most ample theme for eulogium on this occasion; and the interest which your Majesty so kindly takes in my welfare, removed, as I am, at such an immense distance from your royal residence, could not fail to furnish increasing motives for indulging my inclination to celebrate the splendid and amiable qualities which so eminently unite in your character as a monarch and a man. But a fear of trespassing on the more precious distribution of your time, confines me simply to professing my sensibility of your favours, and offering my prayers for the felicity of your august person and family. May yours and theirs be the continued blessings of that Being “by whom kings reign and princes decree justice!”
While I thus make an effort to convey the proofs of my grateful feelings, by a vehicle so frail as this paper, across the vast Atlantic Ocean, from the lately obscure nursery of infant improvements in the new world, to the long celebrated cradle of reviving literature in the old, deign, oh King! to accept them as the pledges of the perfect respect, entire devotion, and, if I might be permitted a reciprocal expression, “the sentiments of sincere attachment,” with which
The learned reader will readily recollect the circumstances which render this expression singularly appropriate to Florence. Others must be referred to the histories of the revival of arts and letters in Europe.
Ayant eu le plaisir de recevoir vôtre lettre de congé de Madrid du 15 de Janvier, je profite de cette occasion, pour vous en temoigner ma reconnaissance, ainsi que celle de ma femme, qui m' en charge avec bien de l'exactitude. Les félicitations que vous nous offréz sur les heureux événements qui nous ont signalé l'anneé derniere, ne peuvent pas certainement manquer de nous étre vraiment agréables; et bien surs que vous vœux seront toujours les mêmes pour nous, et que vous ne nous oublieréz jamais.
Vous connaisséz trop mon attachement pour toutes les productions litteraires, pour ne pas voir quel plaisir j'aurai à accepter la dedication de vôtre poême sur l'amour de la Pàtrie; je vous prie donc de vouloir bien me faire ce plaisir, et ne jamais douter de la sincere reconnaissance que je vous en conserverai.
Je vous desire en Amerique tous les bonheurs, et félicitès possibles, et que vous puissiéz souhaiter; et je vous prie aussi de dire bien de choses à vôtre femme, de ma part. J'espere que cette lettre vous trouverà déjà en Amerique, et que vous auréz déjà fini le voyage de mer, qui ne laisse pas d'être long, et dangereux. Malgré célà, ce serait une bien grande satisfaction pour moi, si je pouvais un jour, voir ces beaux pays de l'Amerique, mais je crains bien de n'avoir jamais ce plaisir. En attendant je vous prie de me conserver toujours vôtre amitié et attachement; n'oubliéz jamais mon pauvre cabinet d'histoire naturelle, quand la nature offrira quelque chose de particulier; et soyéz bien persuadé des sentiments de vrai, et sincere attachement avec lequel je suis, et serai toujours,
TRANSLATION.
Having had the pleasure to receive your farewell letter from Madrid, of the 15th of January, I profit of this occasion
You know too well my fondness for all literary productions, not to perceive what pleasure I shall have in accepting the Dedication of your poem on the Love of Country: I pray you then to be pleased to afford me that gratification, and never to doubt the sincere thankfulness which I shall always preserve.
I desire for you in America all the prosperities and felicities possible, and which you can wish; and I entreat you to say a great many things to your wife on my part. I hope this letter will find you in America, and that you will already have finished the sea-voyage, which cannot but be long and dangerous. Notwithstanding that, it would be a great satisfaction if I could, one day, see those fine regions of America; but I fear much I shall never have that pleasure. In the mean time I pray you to retain for me for ever your friendship and attachment; never forget my poor cabinet of natural history when nature shall present any thing extraordinary; and be fully persuaded of the sentiments of true and sincere attachment, with which I am, and shall ever be,
ORIGINAL PREFACE On the first Publication of the two following Poems, which were written when the Author was Minister in Spain.
Should more defects or imperfections of style be discerned, in such poems of this collection as have never before been printed, than were expected, the writer may be permitted to allege his long absence from his country in mitigation of the severity of animadversion. Since the summer after our revolutionary war was ended (the time of his first leaving this land of his nativity) he has remained abroad, with some intermissions, nearly fourteen years. During the greater part of that period, and particularly for more than eleven of the last years, he has heard very little of his native language spoken, either in his own family, or the societies which he frequented. Almost the whole of his longest productions in verse were composed in Europe. The poems “on the Happiness of America,” and “the Future Glory of the United States,” were written principally in Paris and London; that “on our Industry” in Lisbon; and those “on the Love of Country,” and “the Death of General Washington,” in Madrid.
In conformity to the plan which has been prosecuted in the preceding sheets, it is hoped that the systematic intention of suggesting means for securing the blessings of our revolution, and enlarging the limits of our felicity, will be discovered in the two subsequent poems; the one containing a dissertation on, and the other an exemplification of, real Patriotism.
While the author resided in Spain, in the course of the late European war, he was too incessantly engaged in protecting or reclaiming the ships and cargoes of his fellow citizens concerned in navigation and commerce, to have much leisure for belles lettres.
Whether a poet composes from enthusiasm or with meditation, the art of animating and keeping alive the curiosity of his readers is certainly least of all to be neglected. Nothing can compensate for the want, for without it his works will not be read. To create an interest, is to command attention. To make descriptions or reflections not merely entertaining, but even intelligible, perspicuity is indispensably requisite. But without distinct perceptions, clear ideas could not exist for communication. We cannot give to others that which we have not ourselves. Without luminous comprehension, and lucid order, what can be expected but obscurity and confusion? Without spirit and intelligence, what but apathy and tediousness? He who feels not his subject strongly, can never rouse the sensibility of his readers. The writer has endeavoured to prevent his mental images, whatever they were, from being distorted by abstract phraseology, or disguised
The same diffidence of the writer in hazarding an opinion on his own productions, and confidence in the candour of his readers, which induce him to offer his hitherto unpublished poems with these remarks and explanations, preclude him from presuming to anticipate their judgment. An avowal of his objects and motives, as developed in the history of his compositions, will, perhaps, serve to diminish the rigour and annihilate the asperity of criticism.
The writer, during the first absence from his country, as Minister, addressed to the Department of State 150 dispatches; and during his second absence 300. While residing in a diplomatic character at Madrid, he passed 324 offices to the first Ministers of State of his Catholic Majesty, and 25 to the Ministers of Finance. He was honoured with 311 answers, or communications, from the former, and 17 from the latter. In addition to which he was engaged in some correspondence with the other Ministers of State and the high tribunals.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
To make use of poetry for strengthening patriotism, promoting virtue, and extending happiness, is to bring it back to its primitive exalted employments. The author of the poem on the Love of Country will not suppress his predilection for consecrating to such pursuits whatever poetical talents he may possess. With this view, he imagines he cannot select a more pertinent occasion, or a more suitable subject, than to celebrate the anniversary of the independence of his country, by inculcating sentiments of patriotism not inconsistent with our obligations of benevolence to the rest of mankind. He considers it of much importance to the promotion of human felicity, that the line which separates true from false patriotism should be accurately marked.
In almost every nation and age, savage or civilized, remarkable military exploits, and signal national deliverances, have been celebrated with songs of exultation and gratitude. The sublime and pathetic effusions of Moses, Deborah, and David, as well as the patriotic and heroic poems of the Greek and Latin writers; the monotonous notes or wild warblings of the bards in several countries where civilization had made but little progress; and the rude war songs, or mournful elegies of the aborigines of America, are proofs of this assertion.
What festival, ancient or modern, has been observed more generally or more cordially, than that of the birth of our nation, on the fourth day of July? This unanimity was produced, not by the peremptory commands or fulsome recommendations of a directorial government, but by the concurrent feelings of a free people. What event ought to be more deeply impressed on the public memory? What day can give a more instructive lesson? Or what occasion can be better calculated than this spontaneous solemnity, to inspire Americans with that love of country and force of union, by which alone the liberty and independence of the nation can be long maintained?
It is pleasant to reflect, that on the same day, in all parts of the world where a few Americans are assembled, they are in the habit of rejoicing together with decent hilarity, and of cherishing those social sentiments which were so feelingly participated in their common toils, sufferings and dangers. At home or abroad, what breast is not then as it were electrified by sympathetic recollections? Where is the cold-blooded wretch to be found, who disgraces the American name (if he be a native of that continent), by not feeling the sacred flame of patriotism kindling with redoubled ardour, from the mingled remembrance and emotion which this festival forces on his mind?
The author, in thus paying his tribute to the day, flatters himself he shall not be reproached for having sacrificed any interest, neglected any duty, or betrayed any trust. For he takes a becoming pride in asserting, that, in indulging his taste for poetry, he has never suspended his attention to the public service; and that no letter or application on business which ever came to him from any of his countrymen, in any quarter of the globe (and they have been extremely numerous), has ever been neglected at the moment, or remained unanswered longer than was inevitably necessary. In whatever point of light his poetical dispositions or literary acquirements may be considered, he is not a little desirous of preserving the reputation of an honest man, who has never ceased to act in every office he has filled, with diligence, zeal, and fidelity. He has ever taught by precept, and he hopes he has not counteracted the doctrine by example, that there can be no happiness without virtue, no liberty without morality, and no good public character without being at the same time a good private character. With the profession of such principles, accompanied by the most earnest wishes for their political and individual prosperity, he commits this work to the indulgence of his countrymen.
ARGUMENT.
Love of country, the subject proposed—prevalence of it, even in the most unfavourable climates and dangerous circumstances —reasons why the citizens of the United States ought to be particularly influenced by it—patriotism not incompatible with philanthropy—address to the Deity to be enabled to celebrate worthily that love by which the world was made for man— creation—man—his dignity inferred from his strange and complicated, but elevated nature—immortality of the soul—sympathy —affected sensibility—false philosophy—existence of a Supreme Being demonstrable from his works—superiority of nature to art, and of man to all the other mundane works of God—from the nobleness of his qualities and conceptions, man ought to despise pseudo-patriotism—conquerors—good sovereigns —every species of tyrannical government to be avoided— union recommended as necessary to preserve our liberty—our peculiar advantages for maintaining our independence—execration of discord and ambition—firmness of our government— determination of citizens of all ages and descriptions to repel invasion, or perish in the attempt—motives to animate the rising generation deduced from our struggle for independence—a review of its origin—the patriotic manner in which the American people were affected at the commencement of our revolution —arrival of the British and foreign troops—their chiefs— preparations to resist the foe—eulogium of the principal officers of the American army—happy termination of the war— the revision of these interesting scenes excites an ardent desire in the author to revisit his native country—indescribable sensations produced by love of country—concluding wish.
Demands the tribute of my annual lay;
Protector of that gift of God Supreme,
Thou, Love of Country! be this day my theme.
Hail sacred Love of Country! mystic tie!
That binds us to our native soil and sky!
Indissolubly binds through each extreme
Of noxious climes. The native braves the beam
Where darts the crimson sun, with downward ray,
O'er tropic isles, insufferable day.
Beneath cold Zembla's clouds, the last of men
Pent with his wife and children in his den,
Six wintry months, while hail and thunder pour
O'er rocks of ice, the elemental roar,
While sweeping tempests ride night's raven wings,
Still to his frozen cave more closely clings.
Nor where dire earthquakes sleep by Lisbon's rock,
Thy sons, oh Tagus! who once felt the shock,
Fly ere again the sleeping vengeance wake,
And low in dust the rebuilt city shake.
Nor yet Vesuvio's brow, with cinders bright,
Pouring red lavas through the noon of night,
Can make the peasant from his home retire,
And shun betimes the falling flood of fire.
Although the author had his residence for several years in Lisbon, it was on that high part of the city called Buenos Ayres, where no damage has ever been done by earthquakes. Near the river Tagus, the buildings which have more than once been destroyed, may probably hereafter experience a similar fate.
For you the lot in pleasant places cast,
No common share of happiness affords—
Your rights asserted by your conqu'ring swords,
A government of your own choice possest,
With morals (surest pledge of freedom) blest;
Columbians! show ye love your favour'd lot,
By strong attachment to your natal spot.
Still Love of Country, on no narrow plan,
Exists consistent with the love of man.
In little circles love begins, not ends,
With parents, brothers, kindred, neighbours, friends:
As wave on wave, on circles circles press,
Our nation next we love, nor nature less:
Though still Columbia—best of parent names!—
The dearest proofs of filial fondness claims;
Man's general good this pref'rence not impedes,
Nor checks the soul from philanthropic deeds.
Illume my subject! tune my voice to sing!
Oh, thou who rid'st upon the whirlwind's wing,
(Majestic darkness!) or, in glory's beam,
Dwell'st inapproachable with light supreme!
If sweet philanthropy employs my care,
Hear, thou! on high th' undissipated pray'r!
Inspire my tongue to sing the wond'rous plan,
A world created for thy image, man.
Through realms of darkness, dreary, unenjoy'd,
Where anarchy and uproar rul'd the void,
Forth went th' eternal word, and far was driv'n
Primeval night before the pow'r of heaven—
What time he bade th' abyss with light rejoice,
Confusion fled and chaos heard his voice:
Th' Almighty fiat mark'd the spacious round,
Concent'ring land and water learn'd their bound;
This ball emergent from th' oblivious flood,
The great Creator saw and call'd it good.
Celestial beings view'd with vast delight,
A new-born star rise twinkling on their sight,
And as 'mid worlds of light the wonder hung,
Each sister orb with unknown music rung.
For whom such pomp ineffable display'd?
What made the rolling spheres with music ring,
And sons of God symphonious concerts sing?
'Twas man's inexplicable, doubtful form,
Sprung from non-entity—a God—a worm—
The high-born spirit, native pure of day—
The body gross, but animated clay—
With parts so pure, so gross—enigma strange!
Alive, though dead—the same, though seen to change—
'Twas God's last work that fir'd angelic quires,
Gave worlds to space and themes to heav'nly lyres.
What though to death a prey, this earthy crust
Dissolves and moulders with its mother dust;
Th' inserted part a graff divine appears,
From heav'n translated to this vale of tears—
Not long in alien air to waste its bloom,
Nor shall the grave the falling shoot inhume;
More beauteous rising from the deathful strife,
Immortal offspring of the tree of life!
Thou child of heav'n and earth! a stream divine
From the first fountain feeds your veins and mine.
Oh man, my brother! how, by blood allied,
Swells in my breast the sympathetic tide?
Shall I not wish thee well, not work thy good,
Deaf to th' endearing cries of kindred blood?
What! shall my soul, involv'd in matter dense,
(Obdur'd this bosom and benum'd each sense),
Lose, grateful sympathy! thy genial ray,
Quench'd in the dampness of this crust of clay?
No, give me, heav'n! affections quick, refin'd,
The keen emotions that entrance the mind—
What youthful bards, what ardent heroes feel,
The lover's rapture and the patriot's zeal;
The zeal that aims humanity to bless,
Oh, let me feel, and, what I feel, express!
With feelings not less strong than others born,
Affected sensibility I scorn.
Nor finds my breast benevolence or joy,
By generalising feeling, to destroy.
That teaches love for all things more than man;
To love all mortals save our friends alone,
To hold all countries dearer than our own;
To take no int'rest in the present age,
Rapt to th' unborn with philanthropic rage;
To make the tutor'd eyes with tears o'erflow,
More for fictitious than for real woe!
Then let my breast more pure sensations prove,
And on just objects fix appropriate love:
First on that God whose wond'rous works I scan,
Next on the noblest of his creatures, man.
A God, the soul of Being, still the same,
Through everlasting days, his deeds proclaim:
Whose arm created where no eye can pierce,
Systems on systems through the universe?
And who propell'd their orbs? in motion keeps?
Say, Atheist! say—whose eye-lid never sleeps?
Whose breath's existence? Omnipresence, space?
And who sustains thy life, blasphemer of his grace?
Say, live there mortals form'd with organs such,
They nature prize too little, art too much?
I love th' immortal marble's breathing form,
With life instinct, with animation warm;
Where pictur'd canvass glows with living dyes,
Charm'd, I behold a new creation rise:
Nor less I love of human skill the pride,
The tall bark bounding on the billowy tide:
Or art's consummate task, the city grac'd
With Grecian columns or with Tuscan taste.
If such delight art's curious works afford,
Shall I not rather love creation's Lord?
To me, oh nature! all thy music bring,
O'er all heav'n's other works of man to sing.
Thy varied voice in every breeze I hear,
Delightful nature! mingling in my ear.
Though sweet the sound of zephyr's whispering breath,
And leaves that rustle o'er the furzy heath;
Though sweet the babbling brook, the patt'ring show'r,
And echo mocking from the neighb'ring tow'r;
And sweet at morn or eve the charm of birds:
The song of nature's bard more transport yields
Than all the chorus of the warbling fields;
His soothing accent soft as dews of heav'n,
That slake the feverish flow'ret's thirst at ev'n.
Inspir'd, in meditation's sober hour,
I trace through all his works th' Almighty pow'r,
Whose ceaseless bounties round the seasons roll,
Till gratitude and gladness fill my soul.
While nature charms with annual changes bland,
I love the novel, beautiful and grand.
I love the children of parturient spring,
The plants that blossom, and the birds that sing;
When near my noon-tide bow'r, the genial gale
With life and love re-animates each vale.
I love the landscape fair with cultur'd farms,
When ruddy summer spreads his roseate charms;
When day's last glimm'rings fade along the skies,
Pleas'd I observe the paly crescent rise,
What time eve's gauzy veil the day-glare dims,
And vap'ry twilight o'er th' horizon swims.
With joy I view the morning mists appear,
When autumn's sceptre rules the ripen'd year;
Lo, where the reaper gathers Ceres' gifts,
And from the fields their yellow burden lifts!
Around, what prospects cheer the ravish'd eye?
Above, what glowing colours gild the sky?
Then oft the clouds from heav'n's bright loom unroll'd,
Display their silvery tissue wrought with gold,
Whose skirts transparent arrowy lustres tinge,
And lavish rainbows round th' ethereal fringe.
My soul exults to soar from earth at night,
When wintry skies are wrapp'd in boreal light;
When sanguine meteors streak with dismal stains
The lurid air, and shoot athwart the plains;
Or when each star is muffled, and a robe,
Dark as the pall of death, invests the globe;
While loud the whirlwind round the forest raves,
And rocks reverberate the roar of waves;
Or lessening surges leave the craggy shore,
As the tir'd tempest half forgets to roar,
And fire with frequent flash the mountain's side;
I love to hear the distant thunders roll,
That swell to dread sublimity the soul.
Though nature charm through all her varying forms,
And God be seen in sunshine as in storms;
Yet man a more congenial love inspires,
Wakes better transports and sublimer fires;
He, form'd for higher schemes, conceptions vast,
Surveys the future, and reviews the past,
And sees o'er scanty bounds of space and time,
Bosom'd in bliss his native home sublime.
Shall we to whom this loftier lot is giv'n,
With elevated eye to look on heav'n,
Not look contemptuous down on meaner things,
The pomp of conquest and the pride of kings!
Nor stung by mad ambition, count the cost
Of solid good in empty titles lost!
Perish the Roman pride a world that braves,
To make for one free state all nations slaves;
Their boasted patriotism at once exprest,
Love for themselves and hate for all the rest!
Can love, whose liberal pow'rs enlarge the mind,
By local plans thus basely be confin'd?
Then be such narrow policy accurst,
Of insults keenest as of wrongs the worst!
Live there whose minds, perverted, pleasure find
In forging fetters for subdu'd mankind!
From conquest think to gain a glorious name,
And raise on human wretchedness their fame!
'Tis time to call such monsters from their crimes,
Scourges of heav'n, and tyrants for their times.
My soul abhors injustice—and shall wrong
Escape the sting of my vindictive song?
Enrag'd, shall I capitulations make
With vaunting conqu'rors, for false pity's sake?
Men must I see, whom slaves as gods adore,
Wreath their proud brows with laurels dipt in gore?
Soon shall their laurels, pluck'd by force unjust,
Fall immature and wither in the dust.
Though prosp'rous still, shall pangs the tyrant pierce.
Behold the wretch to torment doom'd ere dead!
What nightly visions haunt his troubled bed?
Him pomp nor pleasure lulls, or riots din,
While conscience holds a holy court within:
Vain all that charm'd before, triumphal cars,
The wrecks of nations and the spoils of wars.
Mantled in blood, what spectres pale appear!
What moans and cries assail his startled ear!
Then at still midnight's hour, his murd'rous mind
To reason-racking agonies consign'd,
Shrinks as the shadowy shapes terrific rise—
Shivers his flesh, his hair stands stiff, his eyes
With frenzy staring from their sockets start,
While gnaws th' undying worm his anguish'd heart.
Is it for this, thy thirst for taxes drains
The sweat and tears that fertilize the plains?
Is it for this, vain pageant of an hour!
Thou mak'st the nations groan beneath thy pow'r?
Torn from their friends, to war thy vassals fly,
Live for thy pastime, at thy mandate die?
But say, insensate! when thy wheels no more
Shall roll in carnage or be clogg'd with gore,
Say, what the meed, when (all thy triumphs past)
Thou sink'st in black oblivion's gulf at last?
So that broad stream that sweeps unbounded plains,
Great Mississippi, wastes the wide domains,
When sudden swoln with congregated rills,
That rush and thunder from a thousand hills,
He hastes resistless to his ocean-grave,
The sire of rivers! —now a nameless wave!
At times, have righteous monarchs rul'd on earth;
Guides of their age, and guardians of their realm,
Whose names oblivion's wave shall ne'er o'erwhelm.
But when fell ign'rance wraps the world in shade,
Thy plagues, oh Despotism! each land pervade.
How freedom trembles at pretended friends!
While demagogues, to gain a boundless sway,
The people flatter first, and next betray;
With false professions real slavery bring,
The guileful regents of the people-king!
Rise then, ye patriots tried! who wear no mask,
Decline no danger, and refuse no task,
To save th' endanger'd state—unveil their guile!
Man's rights and obligations reconcile!
The demon-fury of the mob restrain,
And bind licentiousness in law's strong chain!
Though dire the desolation conqu'rors cause,
When death behind them opes insatiate jaws;
Though great the plagues, though horrible the curse
Of despotism! still anarchy is worse—
Undup'd by popular names, shall we not shun
The tyranny of MANY as of ONE?
Tell, ye who FREEDOM sought in martial strife,
What guards that greatest good of social life?
What constitutes the best defence of states?
Is it their floating tow'rs? their brazen gates?
Their troops innumerable? 'Tis one soul
That gives, by union, force beyond the whole.
Columbians! friends! in fields of battle brave!
Defend those rights the God of nature gave.
Heav'ns! what the price those rights, invaded, cost!
What wealth expended and what heroes lost!
Their shades still cry from many a battle-plain,
“Who bled for FREEDOM have not bled in vain.”
I see blest Warren rise—an awful shade—
And great Montgomery wave the crimson'd blade;
Mild Mercer, dreadful in the fields of war;
Athletic Brown, deform'd with many a scar;
Scammel, his country's boast, the Britons' shame;
De Hart, who fell when dawning into fame;
Laurens, the last who for his country died!
These cry for union—with ten thousand more,
Without a shroud who fester'd in their gore;
Swept from the field in undistinguish'd doom,
And thrown promiscuous in a common tomb—
Self-offered victims for their country's good,
Who ratified our charter'd rights with blood.
This excellent officer was killed by a dragoon, after having been taken prisoner, at the siege of York-Town.
Of patriots! chosen rulers of the land!
Each selfish thought exchang'd for patriot zeal,
With one accord promote the public weal:
Each party name, each harsh distinction drown'd
In concord's soft, conciliating sound!
Our land (for war each heart, each hand prepar'd)
A living strength impregnable shall guard.
Strong in our various regions' vast resource,
Strong in our own unconquerable force,
Strong in our best ally, th' Atlantic waves,
Who dares attempt to make Columbians slaves,
Sees on his head th' intended mischief driv'n,
For earth a monument of wrath from heav'n!
Still will our warlike sires their aid afford,
To guard that independence which their sword
Achiev'd—and still their sons, like Sparta's band,
The rushing millions in the strait withstand—
The nation calmly rise at freedom's call,
United flourish or united fall.
Hence far, oh Discord! be thy horrid crimes,
And hateful influence from our happy climes!
Thou, lust of domination! who has hurl'd
Plagues on all regions, spare the western world!
May curses dire from ages long to come,
Pursue the miscreant ev'n beyond the tomb,
Who, rul'd by mad ambition's murd'rous star,
In wantonness illumes the torch of war.
May the rais'd hand that wills for blood to vote
Without a cause, by God's red arm be smote!
Dumb struck the tongue that strives to call to arms,
Or lure to war with conquest's dazzling charms.
With bribes or threats our stedfast councils sway;
In vain they soothe, in vain their menace roars,
Like the dash'd billow on our rocky shores.
The spark of patriot fire, with earliest breath
Enkindled, fears no quenching damps of death.
Me love of country fir'd in early life,
To rush amidst the military strife:
Touch'd by that heat, no dangers daunt the brave,
Though foes unnumber'd hide the strand or wave.
Should russian war again insult our land,
Should civil discord shake her blazing brand;
Soon would my song, like songs of Tyrteus old,
Fire with new rage the bosoms of the bold;
Soon would our patriots march at music's sound,
And not a coward in the ranks be found!
The chill, slow blood of vet'rans soon would start,
And boil and eddy round the heated heart.
Though thou, old age! unlovely, dark, and cold,
Art prone to quell the spirits of the bold;
To freeze the veins, with palsy smite each limb,
And make the late keen-sighted eye-balls dim;
Though for my peers thy frosty fingers strow
The cheeks with paleness and the locks with snow;
Yet will those heroes venerable rise,
A spark unquench'd still flashing from their eyes,
In freedom's cause their bosoms beating high,
Prepar'd to conquer, or resolv'd to die;
Around their country's standard rallying soon,
In all the promptness of life's genial noon,
Form walls of aged breasts, to ward the ball
From younger, and avert their country's fall:
Or if it falls—none living leave to weep—
But rest all buried in the ruins deep.
From sires so brave descends one dastard son,
Would basely yield the prize his father won?
Their fathers' fame repels that foul disgrace,
And spurs to splendid deeds the rising race.
Now should our youths, the renovating age,
Hear from their fathers, ere we quit this stage,
For freedom firm, and built their fame in blood!—
Then learn, blest youths!—to independence born!—
What gloomy prospects usher'd in our morn!
To Britain long attach'd, from whence we sprung,
Whose praises dwelt on every infant tongue—
Sons of her sons, and sharers in their fame—
Our laws, religion, language, rights the same!
At last a right she claim'd, new, unconfin'd,
“In every case the colonists to bind.”
Thence rose resistance. Rebels then proclaim'd—
For weakness, discord, cowardice, defam'd—
Of preparation void—mid first alarms,
No ships, tow'rs, treasures, arsenals or arms,
To us belong'd. No league, nor army ours,
Till common danger call'd forth common pow'rs.
In vain the foe from states so feebly join'd,
With hopes of mean submission sooth'd his mind;
Proud stood the states by threat'nings undismay'd,
And with retorted scorn his threats repaid.
And didst thou hope, beyond th' Atlantic waves,
To bend unyielding freemen into slaves?
To make a continent that knows no end,
For ever on thy little isle depend?
Didst thou, presumptuous! dream the conquest won?
Did we, though weak, th' unequal combat shun?
And ye who witness'd sad, when, round our shore,
We heard from sea th' approaching cannon roar,
Skirting th' horizon saw (without one friend)
From dim-roll'd decks a redd'ning host impend,
A magazine of war each pregnant sail,
Say, what knee trembled or what face turn'd pale?
Nor sooner we beheld, in vengeance dire,
The shells high bursting cleave the clouds with fire,
Than union grew as danger came more near—
To daring deeds we rose!—while all that's dear,
While all that makes ev'n frozen bosoms melt,
Infus'd the feelings cowards never felt.
Haste forg'd us arms—th' ignoble rustic steel
A glorious weapon gleam'd—while our appeal
To heav'n's high throne we made, what crowds repair
To temples of the Lord in fervent pray'r?
Their fathers' God Omnipotent they nam'd,
While the great Congress solemn fasts proclaim'd.
Mock'd the heart-searcher in his holy rest:
But strong devotions, undispers'd in air,
Rose prevalent in agony of pray'r.
“From Britain's vet'ran bands, from hireling hosts,
From thund'ring ships that darken all our coasts,
From fire and sword save us, oh Lord!” they cried—
“Save us, oh Lord!” th' echoing aisles replied—
“Oh, grant success may crown a cause so good,
Or let us seal our principles in blood:
Before our leader's breast thy buckler spread,
In days of battle cover thou his head:
To conquest guide him, and, when war shall cease,
Make him thy delegate of good in peace.”
German auxiliaries, hired by the British government to serve in the war against the American colonies: it having been stipulated that a certain price should be paid for each man who should not return.
O'er earth, portentous, waves his fiery hair;
The blazing beacons seen from mountains far,
Portended the dire plagues of rushing war.
Then but one passion fill'd each throbbing breast,
Combin'd, attracted, or absorb'd the rest—
Collected in ourselves we stood, nor thought
That LIBERTY too dearly could be bought.
Inestimable prize! for that alone
Life was not counted dear, or ev'n our own.
How oft love's fires in female breasts that burn'd,
A kindling kiss to flames heroic turn'd
Then tim'rous virgins show'd no shameful fears,
Their lovers' hearts they harden'd ev'n by tears—
By patriot tears to glory lur'd, the swains
Now flam'd bold soldiers on th' embattled plains:
So glowing iron bath'd in limpid streams,
Its temper chang'd—the steel of battle beams.
How oft we saw beneath the cottage-roof,
Of purest patriotism no vulgar proof!
From martial exercise with village bands,
In arms a youth before a matron stands,
The double duty that disturb'd his breast:
The matron-mother ey'd with eager joy,
Clasp'd in embrace, and thus bespoke the boy:
“Thy comrades rush to glory's fields afar,
Lag not behind, but haste to join the war.
There reigns above, whose care delights to bless,
To feed the widow and the fatherless;
May he”—Th' unfinish'd accents fail'd her tongue,
Approv'd, not long in idle gaze he clung—
Strait beat the drum—the filial tear that fell,
A tear maternal met, in mute farewell.
By freedom rous'd, from populous cities swarms
Forsook their trades or arts and flew to arms.
“Fly, fly!” exclaim'd the recent married fair,
“To war my love! my heart attends thee there:
Though born a woman, not for slavery born,
I hate a tyrant and a coward scorn:
Fear not for all that's dear to change, in war,
Thy bloom for wounds and beauty for a scar—
Then brown with dust and blood from battles won,
Swift to my arms, my loveliest hero! run—
All ills forgotten—caught from breast to breast
The rapt'rous glow—caressing and carest—
Then shall we prove the joys of heav'n in store,
To meet in freedom and to part no more.”
Awful in age, with dignified applause,
Our sires imprest a reverence on our cause.
And shall I not remember words that fell,
As thus my father bade three sons farewell?
“In peace I liv'd (though stricken well with years).
To see your manhood—now a war appears—
Had not the chills of age these nerves unstrung,
Myself would go—but ye are strong and young—
Your country calls—my sons! to battle bear
An old man's blessing and a father's pray'r—
Our cause in just—to guard each sacred right,
Go, in heav'n's name, and dare the dreadful fight—
Go, act the man—from you I hope no less—
And may the Lord of Hosts protect and bless!”
The sight of land for many a dark day lost;
Borne on a thousand ships with fifes and drums,
And blood-red streamers, lo! where Britain comes.
Lo! where the ship-borne host from ocean speeds!
Hark, mingling sounds of men and neighing steeds,
The rattling cannon, ammunition car,
With arms of fire and magazines of war!
The steeds rejoice to snuff the land once more,
Leap in the wallowing wave, and swim to shore;
Amaz'd, a moment, shivering, shake away
The briny drops. Then form'd in war's array,
At first they reeling walk—but ere long bound,
And prance impatient at the trumpet's sound.
Nor yet the joints their supplest movement find,
Nor yet their wet manes wanton in the wind,
As squadrons wheel to take, for march, their place,
Some curvet in a long, some shorter pace;
Champing their curbs, the churned froth they shed,
And thick resounds of clattering hoofs the tread.
By fits the bright steel sparkling strikes the sight,
A misty ridge of mountain fire at night.
Emerg'd from fogs the infantry appears—
The gay light troops—the gloomy grenadiers—
The royal guards in glittering laces drest,
The white plume nodding o'er the frowning crest,
Move in the van. Ensigns and flags unfurl'd,
They seek new conquests in a new found world.
For these through distant climes in fields of fame,
Full oft had toil'd with chiefs of glorious name;
Chiefs old in war, who, in some better cause,
Had still acquir'd new claims to high applause.
Rob'd in vermilion dye, the files of war,
Unfolding, stretch'd their banner'd wings afar.
Tall in the flaming front, with martial rage,
Tow'r'd the bold chieftains, Clinton, Howe, and Gage.
With noble badges deck'd, in lordly guise,
Percy, Cornwallis, Moira, caught our eyes,
For dignity remark'd. There Burgoyne mov'd,
A book-learn'd Captain, by the muse belov'd:
And Carleton sage, whom regal favours grace,
Conferring peerage on th' ennobled race:
Display'd “their blushing honours” on their breast.
Near canvass walls, Vaughan, Leslie, Mathews, rang'd,
And Prescot captur'd twice, and twice exchang'd.
There march'd, on manag'd steeds, with harness gay,
O'Hara, Philips, Pigot, Garth and Grey.
There Lairds, whose car-borne sires to battle rode,
The Stuarts, Fraziers, Campbells, Erskines, strode:
M'Leods, M'Donalds, Gordons, Douglas, strove,
In southern sands, and many a northern grove.
There hoary Haldimand, long since who came
From poor Helvetia, rich in warlike fame,
Stood stately. Next, whom German climes afar,
Had nurs'd for blood fields in a former war,
De Heister, Knyphausen, Redheisel, brave,
And Donop destin'd to a foreign grave,
Stalk'd proudly on—and led the venal band—
Promis'd (miscall'd rebellion crush'd) the land
Should be their own. These men their princes sold,
And barter'd precious lives for paltry gold.
Yet haply some, when conquer'd, shall enjoy
That liberty they labour'd to destroy!
For he to whom war's destinies belong,
Decreed the weak should triumph o'er the strong:
What wonder, though the might of Britain fought,
And fam'd confederates works of valour wrought;
An infant nation, warm'd by freedom's flame,
Should win the prize, and gain immortal fame?
Ierne's pride, and Britain's proudest boast;
The Brunswick marksmen shooting deaths from far,
The Hessian yagers train'd to hunt in war;
Grim Anspach giants, grisly Hanau elves,
The people offer'd willingly themselves.
As rise in clouds the progeny of spring,
The nations wafted on aurelean wing,
Age, manhood, youth, with chosen leaders came,
Lur'd by the love of liberty and fame:
The laurel harvest reap'd in iron fields.
The two battallions of Anspachers, taken with Lord Cornwallis at York-Town, were some of the tallest men I have ever seen in any military service.
My heart is toward the governors of Israel, that offered themselves willingly among the people. Judges v. 9.
The lamps unquench'd in vaults where heroes sleep;
As round the quivering flame ye tuneful watch,
Their names from death and dumb oblivion snatch:
Then Time, who meets Eternity, shall find
What patriot-chiefs—examples for mankind—
Stood boldly foremost—Bards! the high song raise,
And with their names immortalize your lays!
There, Washington! thy form unrivall'd rose,
Thy country's bulwark! terror of the foes!
Supreme o'er all in stature, talents, grace,
The first in merit as the first in place.
There stood, in tactics skill'd, the vet'ran Gates,
A strenuous victor for the northern states:
He, too, at Braddock's field, in early life,
Had shar'd with Washington that dreadful strife.
Next Greene appear'd, with self-earn'd knowledge fraught,
The strongest judgment and intensest thought—
Experience small by genius great supplied,
His firmness growing as new perils tried—
Fertile in each resource—his piercing view
Intuitively look'd creation through—
Clear in his breast the whole campaign was plann'd,
Foredoom'd by heav'n to save our southern land.
His body rough with scars, near Gates and Greene,
Unletter'd Putnam's louring brow was seen;
Stern as he stood, none more for woe could feel,
His heart all softness, but his nerves all steel;
In peace a lamb, in fight a lion fierce,
And not a name more honour'd decks my verse.
In life's bleak winter Spencer ardent rose,
But faint the flesh, and soon to seek repose.
With silver'd locks the fiery Stirling came,
O'er old experience blaz'd still new a flame;
A furnace glow'd his eye—and grand his port,
Alike was fitted for a camp or court.
Then Sullivan, to rival pomp inclin'd,
Few equals knew for native pow'rs of mind.
Where Ward commanded first, Heath's second sway
Of Massachusetts led the long array;
Serene, decisive, and himself a host:
From midland meads here crowds of farmers join,
With Patterson's brigade, that lengthening line;
Two more brigades which yeomen stout compose,
Nixon and Greaton form in face of foes;
Where Glover's call conducts his docile tars,
Neptunean sons adopted now by Mars!
Like changing metals mingled bands convolve,
One solid corps that nothing can dissolve.
There Knox the mortars, fill'd with tempest, taught
To raise their roar. There Morgan's woodsmen fought,
Whose rifle-balls that urg'd the sylvan war,
In nobler chace now carry fate afar.
As from substantial night, magnific came,
And roll'd in light yon planetary frame,
Whose march, instinctive, men amaz'd behold:
So from a mass confus'd our army roll'd,
Harmonious movement! parts accordant link'd,
Wheel within wheel, with spirit all instinct!
With late night watchings wan, by him approv'd,
Whose godlike word the vast machinery mov'd,
Pickering the train prepar'd, th' encampment found,
The van preceded and design'd the ground.
There Wadsworth's bread sustain'd for stronger strife,
Erst fainting bands, with renovated life;
Oft he from distant states the viands brought,
Increas'd their strength, and fed them while they fought.
Where roar'd their cannon as the battle bled,
Lamb, Proctor, Harrison and Stephens sped.
From low Manhattan up the Highland steep,
M'Dougall pac'd in cogitation deep.
The Clintons there in toils fraternal vied,
(With York's battalions) void of fear and pride:
And Schuyler's chief command had led that force
Far to the north—but sickness check'd his course.
Though there o'er St. Clair fortune seem'd to frown,
Shall fortune blast the warrior's well-won crown?
Though dimm'd with blood—too liberal of their own!—
Like the large oak that many a winter stood,
The tallest glory of its native wood,
Wooster was seen to stand—and like that oak,
I saw him fall beneath the fatal stroke.
By ambush'd foes, courageous Scriven died,
Where Georgia's fatten'd crops the slaughter hide;
While Davidson, deep-wounded, gasp'd in gore,
Where shoal Catawba lav'd the troop-lin'd shore.
When Herkimer, sore maim'd, still fighting, fell,
Far o'er scant Mowhawk reach'd the Indian yell:
Where Warner, Gansevort, the savage brav'd,
And nigh Canadian lakes their starry standards wav'd.
Borne on the pinions of the sounding gale;
Or glides thin gossamer o'er rustling reeds,
Bland's, Sheldon's, Moylan's, Baylor's, battle steeds
So skimm'd the plain. Helms plum'd and broad-swords bright
Cast glimses o'er the ground like northern light.
There quick-ey'd Arnold, not a traitor then,
Vain, on his courser, soar'd mid mightiest men:
Now fall'n like Lucifier, the son of morn,
By Britain brib'd and doom'd to deathless scorn:
For falsehood mark'd, to infamy consign'd,
One grateful truth he left to glad mankind,
That in so long a war his lonely crime
Should stain the annals of recording Time.—
By this it is meant, that there was not any other person of eminence in the American army guilty of treachery during our revolution.
Bar'd his red blade and claim'd to drive the storm,
Death-doing hero! still that bloody blade,
(Long rusting in his hall) again display'd,
Through wildering woods will guide the daring troop,
For ever watchful of the savage whoop:—
Thence painted kings their broken faith shall rue,
Chas'd by the nimble horse in conflict new,
And gash'd with Bayonne's steel—those kings no more
Shall teach their tribes to thirst for captive gore;
And give the taste of civil arts with peace.
With Jersey-blues their diff'rent trophies won:
With these Cadwallader fresh levies brought,
And Dickenson, though Penn's disciple, fought.
Then Huger, Maxwell, Mifflin, Marshalls, Read,
Hasten'd, from States remote, to seize the meed:
Howell's and Davie's swords, 'mid thousand deaths,
The laurels cropt to twine with myrtle wreaths.
While Smallwood, Parsons, Shepherd, Irwin, Hand,
Guest, Weedon, Muhlenburg, leads each his band;
While Thompson, Hogan, Scott, whom adverse stars
Long captur'd held, return to toil in wars;
While Poor and Woodford yield in tents their breath,
Stark rode victorious in the field of death;
The mountains-green, that witness'd first his fame,
From rocks to rocks resounded far the name.
As the tough horn-beam (peering o'er those rocks),
With gnarled grain the riving thunder mocks;
Indignant Allen, manacled in vain,
With soul revolting, bit the British chain.
Not last, though smallest, Del'ware's dauntless throng,
With Bedford, Hall, and Kirkwood grace the song:
Nor less the song of southern chiefs shall tell,
How Sumner bled, and Campbell conquering fell;
Moultrie, and M'Intosh, and Elbert stood,
Though foil'd, invincible, in streams of blood;
What time resistless Albion's torrent force
Swept round the south its wide and wasting course.
Her dreadless horsemen, high with conquest flush'd,
Through States subdued, like winds impetuous rush'd!
From them militia bands were seen to fly,
Light as the rack that scuds along the sky:
And oft, our leaders, with a gallant few,
(Names dear to fame!) the noble strife renew.
Moore, Gadsden, Caswell, Rutherford, and Ash,
With Bryant, bade the flint of battle flash;
While Gregory, Butler, Williamson, and Clark,
Bull, Lawson, Stephens, fed the growing spark,
And from King's-mountain back on Britain turn;
'Till, rous'd by Cleveland's, Shelby's fanning breath,
It ran, like lightning, o'er the pitch-pine heath.
To turn its havoc headlong on his foes,
A whirlwind from the north, then Greene arose;
His brandish'd steel a burning meteor glar'd,
'Mid blackness bickering fire his way prepar'd;
While Marion, Pickens, Sumpter, thund'ring loud,
Roll'd down their dark'ning cliffs a living cloud;
Like spirits of the storm, beside great Greene,
Young rivals, Lee and Washington, were seen,—
Wheeling their squadron'd horse. There Howard came,
And shot through Tarleton's ranks pernicious flame.
Two Pinckneys came, in war, in peace both great,
And both conspicuous for a wreath of State:
Two Williams, diff'rent though their place of birth,
Alike their prowess, and alike their worth.
This alludes to the signal defeat of Colonel Ferguson, at King's-mountain, by a gallant body of mountaineers, under the command of the officers here mentioned.
And hail'd at Hudson's forts our rising pride!
There what brave youths for arms relinquish'd books,
Cobb, Varnum, Ogdens, Huntingtons, and Brooks.
There Swift, Hull, Sherburn, Olney, Smiths were found,
And Hamilton, “by both Minervas crown'd.”
Nor shall my numbers pass unheeded by
The Wyllys brothers—one beneath the sky
Sleeps in the western wild—his bosom gor'd
With barb'rous wounds—in many song deplor'd.
Nor shall the Trumbulls not my lay inspire,
Distinguish'd offspring of a glorious sire!
Nor shall my lay withhold the just applause
From foreign chiefs who came to aid our cause:
Their various garbs and arms, and language strange,
To lend more service, straight the warriors change.
Steuben, mature in years, from Prussia's plains,
The peerless Frederick's art of war explains.
Fayette's light corps its well-earn'd fame supports,
And Armand's legion rash adventures courts.
With Poland's suff'rings rankling in his mind,
Our levied forces Kosciusko join'd,
And judge of ground with military glance:
While strong Pulaske's troops for battle rave,
Intrepid swordsmen! bravest of the brave!
These chiefs illustrious led, in part, the host;
But who can name Columbia's countless boast?
Who count the sands by eddying whirlblasts driv'n,
Or number all the stars that rise in heav'n?
Leads kindred myriads with a magic chain;
While all the shapes to mem'ry that belong,
In shadowy cohorts swell the subject throng.
When night and solitude o'er earth and skies
Extend their gloom, what forms of heroes rise
Full on my view! what feats, that grac'd each band,
Till peace, with independence bless'd our land!
And oft in recollections sad, but dear,
I soothe long absence with a secret tear—
Where'er I wander, or where'er I rest,
The love of country warms my lab'ring breast;
And as the flame within my bosom burns,
Each trembling feeling tow'rds Columbia turns.
'Tis like the steel whose magnet-instinct guides
O'er unknown oceans and bewild'ring tides,
And though the lone bark, wrapp'd in darkness, roll,
Still points its path and vibrates to the pole.
Speak, ye who youthful felt the big tear start,
As first your home ye left with heavy heart,
The bliss (long years elaps'd) to see that spot!
Alike the marble dome and mud-wall'd cot
Restore to mind the sports and joys of youth,
Each heartfelt proof of innocence and truth!
How each remember'd toy the scene endears,
And home the loveliest place on earth appears!
Thou humble spot beneath Columbia's skies,
Where dawn'd the day-star on my opening eyes,
Can I forget thee in this distant scene,
Though ocean rolls a world of waves between?
With dreams of thee to charm my sleeping hours!
Thoughts not my own, still whisper'd soft and clear,
As songs of seraphs to th' unsensual ear,
With kind delusion cur'd my waking pains,
Whether 'mid deaths I slept on tented plains;
Or tir'd with travel on some desert steep,
Or rock'd in cradles of the roaring deep;
Or when my sails at crafty courts were furl'd,
In many a region of this restless world.
While yet detain'd beneath Iberian skies,
Still for my native land new longings rise:
Me keen remembrance goads, by seas confin'd,
While all my country rushes on my mind.
Fir'd at the name, I feel the patriot heat
Throb in my bosom, in my pulses beat,
And on my visage glow. Though what I feel
No words can tell—unutterable zeal!—
Yet thou, Omniscient! whose all-searching eyes
Behold the hidden thoughts that in us rise,
Accept the silent pray'r—“increase, secure,
My country's bliss, while nature's self endure;
'Till pass'd the race of man, like fleeting wind,
Whose viewless current leaves no trace behind,
Th' irrevocable voice from Heav'n absorb
In smould'ring flames, the annihilated orb!”
A POEM ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
Dear and respected Madam,
Too long was I an inmate of your hospitable family, and too intimately connected with the late illustrious head of it, not to share in the poignancy of your distress for the death of the best of husbands. The loss of the most distinguished man of the age is an event which has produced an extensive mourning in Europe as well as in America. On the return of this day, which was signalized by his birth, and which was accustomed to be celebrated with heartfelt festivity throughout the United States, what mingled ideas crowd upon the recollection! Grief more genuine or more universal was never manifested in any age or in any nation. While a grateful country offers to you the joint tribute of sympathetic tears, I am encouraged to hope that the solitary condolences of an absent friend will not be unseasonable or unacceptable. Accept, then, that pledge of my sincere affection and respect for you. In the season of severe afflictions, I know you were ever disposed to listen to the voice of friendship, reason, and religion. When, nearly nineteen years ago, you were bereaved by death of a dear, an only son, after having mentioned the superior motives for resignation to the dispensations of the Deity, I attempted to administer some consolation, by showing that the lenient hand of time might mitigate the severity of grief, and that you had still the prospect of enjoying many good days on earth in the society of the best of friends, as well as in beholding your grand-children happily established in life, as a comfort for your more advanced years. Highly favoured have you been by Providence, in the uninterrupted fruition of those felicities, until the late fatal stroke, which has removed all you held most dear for ever from this world. Having lived long enough for himself, and long enough for glory, he has gone before us from these mutable scenes of trouble to the mansions of eternal rest.
We, too, are hastening to follow him “to that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns.” The only difference is, whether we shall commence our journey a few days sooner or later. In either case the idea of meeting our dear departed friends will serve, in some degree, to cheer the gloomy passage. To those who have already passed into the vale of declining life, it is true every thing here below ought to appear too transitory and too short-lived to allow them to calculate on permanent enjoyments. If the consolation which was once naturally drawn from the expectation of still seeing many good days on this earth, be diminished, the resources of reason and religion are everlasting as they are inexhaustible. The noble sentiments and principles of your departed husband remain for your support. Your long alliance with that exalted character cannot fail to elevate your mind above the pressure of immoderate and unreasonable sorrow: we are apt to assimilate ourselves, as far as we are able, to the character, and, as it were, to identify our own with the destinies of those we love. Your hope of happiness is with him on high. But without suffering your intellectual view to be diverted from that higher contemplation, may you not experience some soothing sensations in contemplating a whole people weeping over the tomb of your beloved; in seeing them strive to bestow unequalled honours on his memory, and in knowing that they wish to alleviate your sorrow by a participation of it? And may you not derive some rational comfort from the recollection that the great and good man whom we now mourn as having been subject to the lot of mortality, has faithfully discharged every duty in life; from a belief that he has now entered upon a glorious immortality; and from a conviction that, after having rendered to his country more important services than any other human character ever performed, his example will continue to be a blessing to mankind so long as this globe shall exist as a theatre for human action? Since the fatal news reached me, I have found my heart so much oppressed as not to be able to give vent to those effusions which can alone afford me some relief. I wished to express my sensations, but felt myself incapable of the effort: so true is the observation of the author of the pathetic elegy on Mr. Addison:
“What mourner ever felt poetic fires!Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires;
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with bleeding heart.”
When my own grief shall become a little moderated, I propose to indulge my melancholy meditations in endeavouring to delineate such features of the character of the deceased father of his country, and such events of his interesting life, as have left the most indelible impressions on my mind. I shall thus procure the double advantage, first, for myself, of holding a kind of spiritual intercourse with him; and, next, of exhibiting for others an admirable model for imitation. Could I flatter myself with the expectation of being able to express (in any adequate proportion) what I know and what I feel on a subject which will employ the pens of innumerable writers, I might then hope to do not less justice to his public and private virtues than others. For, conscious I am that few have had opportunities of knowing him better, and that none could appreciate more justly his morals and his merits. If the task which gratitude, affection and duty impose shall not be executed in a manner too unworthy of the subject, even in my own judgment, I shall ask your acceptance of the production when finished. In the mean time, may you receive, while here on earth, every species of consolation of which an afflicted and virtuous mind is susceptible: and may the choicest of heaven's benedictions attend you through the whole period of your existence. Such is the fervent prayer of
Your most affectionate And most obliged friend and servant, D. HUMPHREYS.P. S. I request you will present my most affectionate regards to Mrs. Stuart and family, to all your amiable grand-children, to Mr. Lear, Dr. Craig and family, and, in general, all my ancient friends in your neighbourhood. Mrs. Humphreys, although she has not the honour of being personally known to you, cannot but take a deep interest in your afflictions. She requests me to tender the homage of her best respects to you.
TO Mrs. WASHINGTON, At Mount-Vernon.
Dear and respected Madam,
In conformity to the intimation given in my letter, dated the 22d of February last, I now dedicate to you a Poem, on the death of your late husband, delivered yesterday, at the house of the American legation in this city, in presence of a respectable number of persons belonging to different nations. Their partiality to the subject led them to listen to it with peculiar indulgence. And from you, I flatter myself, it will meet with no unfavourable reception, even if it should not have the desired effect of diminishing the source of your sorrow, as it contains a representation (though but an imperfect one) of my melancholy sensations—and as it is rather the production of the heart than of the head. When I wrote to you on the 22d of February last, I was ignorant that day had been set apart as sacred to the memory of General Washington. I was unconscious that the voice of mourning was raised at that moment throughout every district in the United States for your and their irreparable loss. Yet, on a day which had been rendered for ever memorable by his birth, it was so natural for the feelings of the whole nation to be in sympathy, that I could not fail of participating in the mournful solemnity which I afterwards found had been recommended by the President to the people of the union.
The anniversary of Independence produces, in some sort, a renovation of the same sentiments. For who can separate the idea of our Washington from that of our Independence? Who can avoid renewing their lamentations, that he, who contributed so largely to the establishment of it, is now no more? That he was raised up by Heaven to be more instrumental than any other mortal in obtaining the acknowledgment of our right to be an independent nation, and in securing the enjoyment of our civil liberty under a good form of government, no one has ever pretended to deny. For the accomplishment of this glorious destiny, it was indispensably necessary that he should have been born just so long before the
In either extremity of life so immediately does the lot of General Washington appear to have been the charge of heaven! Since the mortal as well as the natal hour is unchangeably fixed, it
Happy is it that the seal of immortality is set on the character of him, whose counsels as well as actions were calculated to increase the sum of human happiness. Those counsels are now the more likely to be spontaneously obeyed, since his career has been successfully finished, and since it is every where fashionable to speak of his talents and services in terms of the highest applause. In fine, the world is disposed, in this instance, to do justice to the most unsullied worth it has perhaps ever witnessed. While heroes, and statesmen, and nations contemplate with complacency his public life as a perfect model for a public character, it remains for those who knew him in the calm station of retirement to demonstrate how dearly they prized his amiable dispositions and domestic virtues, by imitating his conduct in private life. To be great is the lot of few—to be good is within the power of all. What are the inestimable consolations of a good conscience in the hour of afflictions, no one knows better than yourself; and it ought not to be indifferent to you that posterity too will know, that, in all your social relations, and in discharging all the duties of your sex, the whole tenour of your behaviour has been highly exemplary, and worthy of the most unreserved approbation: indeed, that it has been worthy of the wife of General Washington.
With such consolatory reflections I bid you an affectionate adieu, in renewing the assurances of the great regard and esteem with which
ADVERTISEMENT.
Since the following Poem will probably be perused by some foreigners who have not much acquaintance with the United States, it was presumed that it might not be improper to furnish some illustrations of it in the notes.
As the life of General Washington excited so much admiration, and his death such universal sorrow, it was imagined no communications could be unwelcome to the public which might tend to give a just idea of the purity, disinterestedness and friendship of that distinguished character. Such is the tendency of his letters to the author, written in the confidence of friendship, and, consequently, not meant for the public eye. But now that the curtain is drawn by death, it was conceived that the publication would not only reflect credit upon the man who composed them, but even be of some utility to his country. And now that he is for ever removed from us, it will not be superfluous to remark, that what might have been considered by certain persons as flattery, if published during his life, cannot at present be subject to that imputation.
The author thinks proper here to offer some apology for the disproportion which may perhaps be noticed between the different parts of the poem. Since several writers have concurred in expressing more admiration for the civil than for the military talents of General Washington; and since the splendour of the late warlike achievements in Europe has, in a manner, eclipsed all the martial glory that had preceded, so that the events of our revolutionary war are in danger of being unknown to posterity; it was deemed not improper to describe at large the principal battle which was fought between the two main armies, and which was rendered the more remarkable from the scenery, season, and vicissitudes that designated the engagement.
These are the chief reasons why the author has thought himself justified in dwelling so long on that part of his subject, while he has been obliged to pass over many other topics of importance with so much rapidity. Nothing has been more admired among mankind than the description of ancient battles, on which the fate of empires depended, and which have been immortalized in
If a coincidence of thought should be found in this composition with that which has been introduced into any other on the same subject, it ought to be known that the author had not seen any publication, except the eulogy of Judge Minot, of Boston, at the time when he composed the following poem.
ARGUMENT.
This Anniversary of Independence overcast with unusual glooms—symptoms of extreme and universal affliction for the death of Washington—my unutterable feelings of distress— his friends who were present, how affected—apostrophe to melancholy —motives for endeavouring to overcome the oppression of silent grief, in order to celebrate his glorious achievements —different classes of people called upon to sympathise in the general sorrow for his death—sketch of the extraordinary qualities of body and mind, which distinguished him in youth, and fitted him for future public employments—his early mission —first military exploits—subsequent occupation in civil and agricultural life until middle age—election as a Delegate to the first Congress—Great-Britain forces us into the revolationary war—that war different in character and weapons from the wars of the Indians or ancients—Washington is appointed Commander in Chief of the American armies—his wise and successful procrastinating system—battle of Monmouth, as being the principal action fought between the two main armies, described in detail—siege of York-Town—difficult and distressing situations—invincible firmness of the American hero—a mutiny suppressed—peace—resignation of his commission as Commander in Chief—troubles that succeeded in the United States for want of a good government—Washington, with the Federal Convention, formed a new Constitution—he is unanimously chosen first President of the United States, at a very tempestuous period—his just system of policy in general, and particularly with respect to foreign nations—an insurrection quelled without bloodshed—his humane conduct on all occasions toward our enemies, and especially towards the aborigines of America when conquered—treatment of Africans— his journey through the United States—their gratitude to him—unparalleled prosperity of his administration—his reward —the benefits resulting from his enlightened policy not limited to his own country, but extended to mankind—his retirement from public life—he is again named Commander in Chief a short time before his death—that event lamented with the tenderest sensibility by all our troops—though he was so extensively respected and beloved, he did not entirely escape slander—its impotency—his last advice—his important services in life, and heroic contempt of death, cited as examples—consolations for his widow—view of a happy immortality—spirits of the brave and supernatural beings invoked to protect our orphaned land—address to the supreme Disposer of all things to preserve our freedom—vision of Washington concludes the poem.
Beneath whose banner broad in war unfurl'd,
With Washington I toil'd! beneath whose shade
With him beheld thy fruits in peace display'd!—
Say why such deep'ning glooms this day o'erspread,
Thy annual feast, as for some dearest dead?
After having served through the war with General Washington, the author accompanied him to Mount-Vernon, and was the last officer belonging to the army of the United States who parted from the Commander in Chief. He afterwards returned and resided at that seat during the whole time which elapsed between the publication of the present Constitution and the election of General Washington as first President: And when Mr. Charles Thompson came there, by direction of Congress, to notify that event, the author was the only person (their domestics excepted) who attended the President to New-York, then the temporary residence of the government.
Why paleness gathers on each alter'd cheek?
Why round the shore and o'er each inland heath,
Tolls from each village tow'r the bell of death?
Why stops the dance? Why cease the sounds of mirth?
What unknown sorrow saddens half the earth?
What means yon sable train in shadowy ranks,
That dimly moves along Potowmac's banks?
Why on my view ascends yon phantom bier?
I fear'd—ah, woe to me! too true that fear!—
Our day to darkness turn'd—our glory fled—
Yes, that lov'd form lies lifeless, dark in dust—
Of patriots purest as of heroes first!
Upon the news of the death of General Washington being communicated to the American people, public deliberations ceased, business was suspended, places of amusement were shut, funeral solemnities were performed in many churches, and every possible demonstration of sincere mourning was manifested throughout the United States.
The reader may be referred to the printed relation of the affecting manner in which the burial was conducted at the family vault, on the bank of the Potowmac.—See the general order for celebrating the funeral obsequies. Also the interesting description of the military proceedings, on this occasion, in the cantonment of the Union Brigade, at the Scotch-Plains, in New-Jersey, commanded by Colonel William S. Smith, formerly Aid-de-Camp of General Washington.
Unutterable feelings choak my voice—
For sensibilities I bring, not less,
And greater grief than others, to express.
Then ask your breast, each feeling patriot, ask,
How dread the duty and how great the task?
Yet who can tell what sorrow fills my breast?
Can all the sighs that will not be supprest,
The struggling voice and eyes that overflow,
Effuse such deep, immeasurable woe?
Then view the scene of death, where keener pain
Palsies each nerve, and thrills through every vein.
Ye sorrowing inmates of his mournful dome,
Ye sad domestics, kindred, neighbours, come!
Take a last gaze—in ruins where he lies!—
Pale your mute lips—and red your failing eyes—
But, dumbly eloquent, despair shall tell,
How long ye lov'd him, and, ev'n more, how well!
Come, thou! whose voice alone my country hears,
To woe abandon'd, and dissolv'd in tears;
Come, Melancholy! come—in sorrow steep
The dirge of death, and teach my words to weep?
Thee will I woo in every haunted place,
And give my bosom to thy cold embrace.
Adieu, ye gayer scenes—a long farewell
To festal domes where mirth and music dwell;
I seek the house of mourning—there, my soul,
Thy daring flights, 'mid damps of death, controul!
Or let me rove where spectres haunt the glooms,
In meditations lost among the tombs;
Hold visionary converse with my chief,
And long indulge the luxury of grief.
Can stoic precepts grief like this assuage,
Grief not confin'd to nation, sex, or age!
Could apathy our sense of grief benumb,
Matter inanimate, no longer dumb,
Our path to Independence first explor'd,
Sleep unremember'd? him will none adorn,
Whose wreaths of fame shall deck our sons unborn,
Whose independent soul, untaught to yield,
Shall fill their breasts and fire them to the field?
Shall not the western world bewail the blow
That laid our chief, the first of mortals, low?
And shall not he (th' example plac'd in view
For endless generations to pursue)
Who for his country spent his every breath,
Speak from the tomb and serve it after death?
Then weep thou orphan'd world! thy poignant grief
From nat'ral tears shall find a faint relief.
Ye choirs of children!—Washington is dead—
Have ye no sobs to heave, no tears to shed?
Unknowing your great loss, with chaplets come,
In robes of white, and strow with flow'rs his tomb!
Ye lovely virgins left to long despair,
With soften'd features and disorder'd hair,
The slow procession join! Ye matrons grave,
Who boast an offspring resolute and brave,
Swell with your moan the symphony of woe;
While youth and manhood teach their tears to flow!
Orphans!—your benefactor is no more—
A second parent lost, with pangs deplore!
Ye desolated widows, weep him dead,
Whose fleeces cloath'd you and whose harvests fed!
Ye his co-evals, whose dim west'ring sun
Nigh to that bourne, whence none returns, has run;
With parsimonious drops bedew his urn;
Ye go to him, but he will not return.
Stern-visag'd vet'rans, scorning threats and fears,
With death familiar, but unus'd to tears;
Ye who with him for independence fought,
And the rough work of revolution wrought;
Ye brave companions of his martial cares,
Inur'd to hardships, in his fame co-heirs;
Let sharper sorrow sting your manly breast!
To worlds unknown what friends have gone before!
The place that knew them, knows them now no more;
Your seats at annual feasts must be more bare,
Ev'n ye must be the wrecks of what ye were;
Till late, supported on his staff, appears
(Like some lone arch that braves a length of years)
One hoary MAN, all helpless, pale, unnerv'd,
The last alive with Washington who serv'd!
And ye, who oft his public counsels heard,
Admir'd his wisdom and his words rever'd;
Ye senators! let mourning's voice succeed,
And join the cry, “the mighty's fall'n indeed.”
Many solemn processions, in celebration of the funeral obsequies of General Washington, were made in divers cities, towns, and villages of the United States.
Mr. Lear, the confidential friend of General Washington, can disclose better than any other person what an amount of property was annually distributed by him in secret charities.
The society of the Cincinnati is composed of the officers of the army who served their country during the revolutionary war. Their annual meetings are held on the fourth day of July in every State.
“Fall'n is the mighty,” shore to shore replies,
Of him the tearful traveller will speak—
The tear will wet the wandering sailor's cheek,
Who, hearing 'mid the storm his country's cry,
Furls the white canvass in a foreign sky.
Of him, at home, will speak each aged sire,
As his young offspring crowd the wintry fire,
Their list'ning ears with tales of wonder strike,
And say, “alas! when shall we see his like?”
The citizens of the United States travelling or residing in foreign countries, universally wore badges of mourning.
Upon the news of the death of General Washington being received in Europe, the colours on board of American vessels were hoisted half mast high, and minute guns were fired. The sailors belonging to American vessels in the Thames assisted at the church in Wapping at a service adapted to the occasion.
To him, the glory of his age, were giv'n?
What force of body, majesty of mind,
To make one perfect whole in him combin'd?
O'er his fine figure and distinguish'd face,
Life's rosy morn suffus'd cherubic grace;
While toils his sinews brace, his limbs dilate,
And arm his breast to brave the bolts of fate.
What peerless portion of th' Almighty's might
Nerv'd the new chief, magnanimous for fight?
He look'd and mov'd conspicuous as a god?
Him young a model for our youth behold!
No dupe to pleasure and no slave to gold;
Above low pride, nor smit with love of pow'r,
Nor idly changing with the changing hour:
Each headstrong passion curb'd, each sense refin'd,
Devote to virtue all his mighty mind!—
That mighty mind, correct, capacious, strong,
Discriminating clearly right from wrong;
By Meditation's lamp soon learn'd to scan
The dark recesses of the heart of man—
Modest, not bashful, ev'n in timid youth,
Nor obstinate, but nobly firm for truth;
Of others' counsels, his own judgment such,
He priz'd them nor too little nor too much;
And chief, that happiest skill to him was known,
When others' to prefer and when his own.
General Washington constantly declined receiving any thing from the public, but merely for the purpose of defraying his expenses. At the close of the war he rendered an account to government, in his own hand-writing, of all the public money which had been expended by or for him.
Ere manhood's earliest honours deck'd his chin;
What time, a legate through the gloomy grove,
To quench the first-seen spark of war, he strove:
To him so young the task sublime consign'd,
Involv'd the peace or war of half mankind.
But vain his task. The spark that there began,
A fiery deluge through the nations ran.
Who has not heard, when round our borders far
Encroachments wak'd the colonies to war;
He led a band where band ne'er march'd before,
And dyed his maiden steel in savage gore?
Or how, by perils press'd, his growing fame
(When captur'd at the fort that drew its name
Or how, when Braddock fell (though hedg'd by foes,
Though weak with sickness, watching, want of food,
And midnight wand'ring in the howling wood)
He hew'd a glorious passage, bold, discreet,
And sav'd an army by a sage retreat?
So through Misfortune's path the stripling far'd,
For other fields, by early feats, prepar'd.
So rose the youthful hero's glory—soon
To blaze and brighten in perennial noon—
High o'er each earth-born mist, that frequent shrouds
Meridian glory in a night of clouds.
The American hero was sent, when very young, by the government of Virginia, to confer with the French commander on the frontiers, and to endeavour, by checking encroachments, to prevent hostilities. These, however, shortly afterwards commenced in that quarter, and extended to all parts of the world.
Fort Necessity, which was commanded by Colonel Washington, after a gallant defence, was surrendered by capitulation. The garrison was allowed to retire to the settlements.
On the day of Braddock's defeat, young Washington, who was so weak from a fever as to be supported by a cushion on his horse, performed the most arduous and meritorious services. After having conducted the shattered remains of the army across the Monongahels, into a place of safety, he proceeded through the dark and bowling wilderness all night, in order to reach the camp of Colonel Dunbar, and obtain the necessary succour as soon as possible. On his arrival he fainted, and suffered a relapse, which lasted for a considerable time.
Then happier days began to shine serene.
'Twas then he honour'd many a civil trust,
A judge and legislator wise and just.
In rural cares he plac'd his chief delight,
By day his pleasure and his dream by night—
How sweetly smil'd his eye to view his farms,
In produce rich, display unnumber'd charms;
While joys domestic sweeten'd every toil,
And his fond partner paid him smile for smile!
General Washington was, for many years before the revolution, a magistrate of Fairfax county, and a member of the Legislature of the dominion of Virginia.
What time the fathers of the western clime
In congress first assembled—there his name
Stood midst the foremost on the list of fame.
Nor since this sublunary scene began,
Have names more glorious grac'd the race of man.
At first they hop'd redress, their wrongs made known
In mild remonstrance with a manly tone:
In vain they hop'd the parent pow'r would hear;—
On them she scornful turn'd a deafen'd ear.
And in our country's cause all dangers dare.
Then Britain's legions (in whose van he strove
In former fight, and seiz'd amid the grove
That fort where fair Ohio takes its name)
In hostile terrors, like a torrent came.
To us how strange that hateful strife appear'd,
To meet as foes whom kindred names endear'd!
No more in woods and swamps the war was wag'd,
As when our sires the native race engag'd;
When painted savages from mountains far
Made vallies howl with hollow whoops of war;
Or when, in ambush hid, the bow they drew,
And arrowy deaths on silent pinions flew;
Or when from captive heads the scalps they tore,
And wav'd the trophies reeking warm with gore.
But now on broader plains, with banners gay,
And burnish'd steel that flashes back the day,
In fiercer hosting meet, with mutual fires,
Two armies sprung from the same warlike sires.
What though nor ancient arms or armour shed
A floating splendour round each hero's head;
What though our eyes no single chief behold,
Come tow'ring arm'd in panoply of gold;
What though no beamy mail, no sun-bright shields
Shoot their long lightnings o'er th' astonish'd fields;
Nor flies the twink'ling steel nor thund'ring car,
Its wheels whirl redd'ning o'er the ranks of war;—
New arms more fatal give man's rage new force,
Where modern tactics turn the battle's course;
Where discipline through thousands breathes one soul,
Combines their strength and animates the whole;
A moving world obeys the leader's nod,
In pomp and prowess likest to a god!
One spark of martial fire an army warms,
One breath inspires it and one soul informs.
As wing'd by wintry winds the horsemen move,
A running flame that wastes the crackling grove:
The phalanx firm in uniform attire,
Indissolubly stands a wall of fire:
Singe the red air and rock the solid world.
Fort Pitt, formerly called Fort Du Quesne, is situated at the confluence of the rivers Allegany and Monongabela, where the waters assume the name of the Ohio. General Washington commanded the Virginia troops when this fort was taken in a former war.
A mighty angel arm'd with God's own might!
To Washington the wise, prepar'd by heav'n
To lead our host, the high command was giv'n.
He came obsequious to the sacred call,
Survey'd the dangers and despis'd them all.
Though in his mind he found no mean resource,
He felt the task too great for human force;
And plac'd, reluctant, of our leaders first,
He in the God of battles put his trust.
(Nor foes nor friends confest but half his fame)
From beauteous Boston drove the royal ranks,
Their inroads check'd on Hudson's rocky banks,
Resolv'd the state to save by wise delay,
Nor risk our fortunes on one fatal day.
But, when by duty urg'd, with dread delight
(Like heav'n's red vengeance rous'd at dead of night)
He rush'd to battle. Witness, wide domains!
Ye Jersey hills and Pennsylvania plains!
Witness, ye war-graves, rising round our coast,
Where rest the bones of half the British host!
Thou, Monmouth, witness through thy waste of sand,
The battle bravely fought as wisely plann'd!
As General Washington was, at one period, erroneously considered by many of his countrymen, as being too much disposed to pursue the Fabian system of war, it was thought the more necessary to attempt to impress the public mind with an idea of his active and enterprizing character whenever the circumstances would justify such conduct. The battle of Monmouth, and the siege of York-Town, are particularly selected for that purpose.
The gaping ground for lack of moisture dried;
The foliage scorch'd, the grass untimely sear'd,
And dry and dun the late green-swerd appear'd;
When now from Schuylkill's shore in strong array,
The royal host through Jersey wind their way;
Full many a league with weary steps retreat,
Through suffocating dust, and drought, and heat:
Hangs on their rear-guard like the storm of night.
The dubious dawn o'er Monmouth's plain that shone,
Crimson'd the clouds before the rising sun;
Where Britain's cavalry, in dreadful length,
Stood, sword in hand, a living wall of strength!
Simcoe's videttes by glimm'ring embers move,
Like gliding shapes in some enchanted grove:
While scatter'd far, at first approach of morn,
Tarleton's light scouts now blew the bugle-horn.
Mean while our troops, observant of their plan,
Sounded the matin trump along the van:
Straight at the sound, up springs, with nimble speed,
The ready rider on the ready steed;
No loath'd delay, no hateful halt occurs,
Wheel'd to the charge with all the speed of spurs.
Red rose the sun; the sabres bluely bright
Leap'd from their scabbards on his sanguine light.
Fairer than beauteous forms young fancy feigns,
Pour'd Britain's squadrons o'er th' embattled plains,
From Arab sires commenc'd the lofty breed,
Their strength the thunder and the wind their speed:
In Britain's fields they fed, there learn'd to prance
In gorgeous ranks, and meet the lifted lance—
No more in Britain's fields to feed at large,
Prance in proud ranks and meet in mimic charge—
Unconscious of their fate! to fall in gore,
Or toil inglorious on a foreign shore.
In flank the Chasseur troops less gay were seen,
And false Columbians cloath'd like them in green:
Ingrates! to play a patricidal part,
And strive to stab their country to the heart!
To meet that mingled force, Columbia's steeds,
Long pamper'd high amid her flow'ry meads,
With speed electric rush'd—the rapid band,
With horny hoofs, uphurl'd th' eddying sand.
Then wrapp'd in dust and smoke the fight began,
Steed furious springs on steed, and man on man:
As fire-balls burst with startling flash at night,
So clash Columbian sabres sparkling bright;
Makes horrid circles, hissing high in air.
From steely helms incessant lightnings flash,
And death sits frequent in the ghastly gash.
With inextinguishable rage, so rush'd
Both hostile lines, by mutual fury push'd:
So toil'd in blood, till drain'd of wonted force,
Promiscuous fell the rider and the horse.
Though squadrons hew'd down squadrons, none would yield,
Till signals gave to wider war the field.
And dusky wreaths of smoke to shrowd the skies:
First silent gloom prevails—'mid clouds of fire,
Then deathful engines sound the onset dire.
Now iron balls through less'ning legions bound,
Whiz red in air and rock the gory ground:
So swells the sound when torrent waters pour
On the stunn'd ear th' intolerable roar;
Or when tornadoes black the world assail,
And burst th' eternal magazines of hail.
Here leads great Washington Columbia's band,
The brand of battle blazing in his hand;
Darts his experienc'd eye along the files,
And o'er the subject-scene superior smiles.
In front of Britain Clinton's vet'ran form
Rides dark as night and louring as a storm;
With glory gain'd in former wars elate,
His voice the tempest's and his falchion fate.
All those who have seen General Washington on horse-back, at the head of his army, will doubtless bear testimony with the author, that they never saw a more graceful or dignified person.
Some lightly arm'd—with deadly rifles some—
These from cerulean mountains hurried down,
In fringed vest succinct, tawney or brown:
Beneath their aim the hostile leaders fall,
For death rides swift th' unseen, unerring ball.
Militia bands, who fought to save their farms,
All multiformly march in garb and arms.
Equipp'd alike, to martial music tread.
Now rang'd, the host in grand divisions stands,
Brigades, battalions, squadrons, troops and bands:
On either wing the horse (new form'd) appear'd—
In front the Gen'rals ordering loud are heard,
(While chiefs of corps to pass the order press)—
“To right display the columns—march! halt! dress!”
From solid columns lengthening lines now wheel,
Front form'd to front, and steel oppos'd to steel.
The hosts stretch opposite in equal length,
The same their order and the same their strength.
Two lines had each and corps of strong reserve,
To stay the lines where'er the battle swerve;
To turn the hostile flank, the charge sustain,
To guard the baggage and the batt'ring train.
A cloud they move—a ridge of fire they stand—
And waving banners guide each silent band.
Here shine the silvery stars in mystic trains,
Fair as their sisters on th' ethereal plains;
Above our eagle's hoary head they shine,
And shed blest influence on each battling line.
There other ensigns point the British course.
With various emblems, but united force.
There frowns the lion's port, conspicuous far!
Here harps and thistles lead th' unnatural war:
O'er hireling troops the German eagles cow'r,
Intent to lure them to the feast of gore.
Britons with Germans form'd, apart, for fight,
The left wing rob'd in blue, in red the right;
On adverse lines their march tremendous bend,
Where young Columbia's sons their steel protend;
With seried files receive the rushing foe,
Deal wounds for wounds and parry blow with blow.
As ocean's billows beat a jutting rock,
Which unimpair'd receives, repels the shock:
So Britain's force on firm Columbia broke,
Which unimpair'd receiv'd, repell'd the stroke.
These IN and FOR their native country fought.
The companies of Riflemen from the western mountains were generally dressed in hunting-shirts and trowsers, of fawn colour or brown, adorned with fringe.
Foreigners may not, perhaps, know, without being here informed, that in the armorial bearings of the United States, under the emblematical stars, is the bald eagle—a bird peculiar to America.
The British regimental colours are ornamented with a lion, the Scotch with a thistle, and the Irish with a harp—the German auxiliary troops bore eagles in their banners.—Some of the standards of each of these nations were taken with the army of Lord Cornwallis, at York-Town.
Diffus'd a flood of heat, a flood of light;
O'er either battle hung with fearful glare,
Shot burning beams and fir'd the angry air.
From both the hosts as some faint soldiers stray,
They meet unnerv'd, beneath the scorching day;
Victors or Vanquish'd, blighted by his beams,
Together sought and drank the scanty streams—
Of war unmindful—mingled on the heath,
They fell—but guiltless of each other's death.
The 28th of June, 1778, the day on which the battle of Monmouth was fought, was one of the hottest ever known in America. Many soldiers expired from the heat alone.
Form'd on the second as the ranks recoil'd;
Between the hosts a space now open'd large,
Instant our chief bade sound the general charge.
No blythesome lark that chaunts the birth of light,
Nor soothing Philomela's notes at night,
Nor virgin-voice responsive to her lyre,
Can like the battle-sound the soul inspire:
Each milder thought in martial transport drown'd,
Than music more, there's magic in the sound;
Through tingling veins a tide tumultuous rolls
Advent'rous valour to heroic souls.
Swift to the sound he bade the battle move;
Of Bayonne's bristly pikes an iron grove!
Bade livid lightning nearer bosoms singe,
The scorch'd skin blacken and the red wound twinge:
Bade bick'ring blades in British gore be dyed,
And vital crimson flow in many a tide:
Bade leaden hail its vollied vengeance pour,
And all the thunder of the battle roar.
The battle's fate long undecided lay,
And deeds immortal grac'd the doubtful day.
Some future bard, with rapture-rolling eyes,
His numbers rising as his raptures rise,
Sublim'd, proportion'd to his theme, shall tell
What glorious heroes for their country fell;
The trophies gain'd, the cannon lost and won:
Where Lee in front our light-arm'd legion led,
How from the giant-grenadiers they fled;
From dark oblivion snatch that soldier's wife,
Who saw him for his country sell his life;
Saw every gunner round the cannon die,
And covering bands, o'erpow'r'd, compell'd to fly;
Then as the foe to seize that cannon came,
She touch'd the pregnant brass with quick'ning flame,
And cried “confusion on your heads be hurl'd,
Here comes our Chief, the glory of the world!”
Him midst his chiefs a bounding courser bore,
Snorting thick clouds and scatt'ring foam and gore;
With placid smile and animating voice,
That made the wearied warrior's souls rejoice,
He came—conspicuous to his own side far,
And breath'd fresh vigour through the broken war.
Columbia, rallying round the godlike form,
Swept o'er the dry sand like a mountain storm;
The chief of chiefs, our foremost band before,
Bade the dry sand be drunk with hostile gore.
Then mean desires to reach the shelt'ring coast,
Resistless, seiz'd the faint Britannic host;
Not captains brave could wonted strength inspire,
Nor Clinton, fearless 'mid a flood of fire;
Who flew from rank to rank their souls to raise,
With thoughts of former deeds and former praise.
The foe with palpitations pass'd the heath:
The squadron'd steeds that headlong sought the strand,
Successive fail'd and bit the gory sand—
The foot battalions, wedg'd in firm array,
Indissoluble long, pursued their way:
But nought that day great Washington withstood,
Who sway'd the battle where he rode in blood.
As when th' Almighty's messenger of wrath,
Rides in the whirlwind's desolating path,
Such flames convulsive shoots his wrathful eye,
Th' uprooted groves one broad red ruin lie;
Wing'd in his crimson way the battle storm;
Such prowess shedding through his new-rais'd host,
As not the foe's long discipline could boast.
From Britain's rout the sun withdrew his eye—
The pale moon setting saw the legions fly—
Now foul disorder, flight and shameful fear,
From the scar'd van-guard gain'd the victim rear.
Now many a Briton's last campaign was made,
His eye-lids clos'd in death's oblivious shade:
Ierne's sons, who lov'd our sacred cause,
There fought as foes and fell without applause:
There many a German, whom his prince had sold,
Sunk on the sand and black in carnage roll'd:
None knew the bodies though well known before,
Deform'd with gashes and besmear'd with gore.
Now corses, cannon, cars bestrew'd the soil,
With shatter'd arms and former ill-won spoil:
Till Albion's remnants, where the billows roar,
Reach'd their tall ships beside the Shrewsb'ry shore.
What eagle flight can trace through regions far,
Th' immortal march of Washington in war?
Who sing his conq'ring arms o'er York that shone,
And deeds surviving monumental stone?
How cloud-hid batt'ries rain'd red bullets dire,
Volcanic mortars belch'd infernal fire,
While baleful bombs that buoy'd in ether rode,
Emblaze the skies, and, fill'd with fate, explode!
Till great Cornwallis, hopeless of relief,
Resign'd whole armies to a greater chief?
Then solemn thanks by blest Columbia giv'n,
With songs of gratitude, rose sweet to heav'n.
What though my lips no common fervour warm'd
To sing th' achievements that his arm perform'd;
Though strong as when I follow'd where he led,
Toil'd in his sight, or with his mandates sped,
Or bore his trophies to our pow'r supreme,
I sink beneath th' immensity of theme.
So vast an argument divinely sing;
Then should the numbers rise as heav'n sublime,
Defy the ravage of corroding time,
Make late posterity his deeds admire,
And raptur'd bosoms burn with more than mortal fire.
A monument was ordered to be erected by Congress, at York-Town, to perpetuate the remembrance of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis's army.
And who the palm of independence gain'd.
'Twas that blest meed, to Washington so dear,
Sustain'd his efforts through the dread career.
Shall I, who knew the secrets of his soul,
His smother'd anguish ere he reach'd the goal;
When faint, with sickness visited by heav'n,
His feeble band before the foe was driv'n—
(Their snow-tracks stain'd with blood—their limbs by frost
Benumb'd) defeated—all but honour lost;—
When scarcely hope surviv'd the chilling blast—
And every hour of freedom seem'd the last—
Shall I not tell how firm he met the shock,
Impassable his breast, a diamond rock?
This alludes, in a particular manner, to the forlorn condition of the American army during the winter campaign of 1777.
(If forc'd to combat) on one desp'rate day;
Though for his country's cause so wrapp'd in gloom,
The patriot felt—the hero brav'd his doom—
If vanquish'd, conscious of their destin'd state,
Slavery the country's—his a rebel's fate!—
Yet, not the threats of death to slavery join'd,
Could shake one settled purpose of his mind.
Stern independence steel'd his stubborn breast—
Unmov'd, by more than mountains weight opprest,
Remain'd the matchless soul—unmov'd alone
Th' unconquerable soul of Washington.
Nor were his feelings tortur'd but by foes,
He keenly felt his army's wants and woes.
What time, unpaid, ill-clothed for years entire,
Our war-worn legions felt distresses dire;
Taught black revolt and bade the tumult rise:
To meet the malice of his secret pen,
Mild in the midst uprose the first of men.
The storm was hush'd. The patriot legions prov'd
How much their country and their chief they lov'd:
Still could his country in each crisis boast
His word her treasure and his name a host.
The transaction here alluded to occurred at the cantonment of the army, near Newburgh, State of New-York, in the winter 1782–3. For the particulars of this extraordinary event, a reference must be made to the anonymous letters which were intended to excite a mutiny, for the purpose of forcing Congress to pay the arrearages due to the troops—to the address of General Washington, and to the resolutions passed by the delegates of the army on the occasion. When General Washington rose from bed on the morning of the meeting, he told the writer his anxiety had prevented him from sleeping one moment the preceding night.
Our cause triumphant and our rights secur'd;
Then peace, returning from her native heav'n,
Saw ruthless war and red destruction driv'n
Far from our coast; and view'd reviving arts
With promis'd blessings glad our grateful hearts.
Soon show'd our chief, retiring to his farms,
The pomp of pow'r for him display'd no charms;
He show'd th' ambitious, who would mount a throne,
Greatness is seated in the mind alone.
With what delight his homeward course he sped,
With all his country's blessings on his head!
Our revolution to conclusion brought,
His public toils complete he vainly thought;
But heav'n reserv'd him for more glorious deeds,
Whose height the scope of human praise exceeds.
In peace, our perils drew not to a close,
While 'midst ourselves we found more dang'rous foes.
Remember ye, the storm of battle o'er,
What other tempests lour'd along the shore!
By gusts of faction how the States were tost,
The feeble links of federation lost!
How round the land despondency prevail'd,
And bosoms bold in battle then first fail'd!
And heaves on high his multitude of waves,
What time the storm, by angry spirits hurl'd,
Rocks the foundations of the watery world:—
So rag'd the storm of anarchy—the crowd
By demagogues excited, mad and loud,
Their Pandemonium held—no more was seen
The calm debate—till Washington serene
From every State conven'd the chosen sires,
Where Penn's fair city lifts her gilded spires.
In every breast the patriot-passion glow'd,
While strains of eloquence unequall'd flow'd;
While on each brow deliberation sate,
'Twas he presided in the grand debate.
Thence, form'd by sages, sanction'd by his name,
To save us from ourselves a compact came.
A Constitution fram'd on Freedom's plan,
Now guards with balanc'd pow'rs the rights of man,
Alike from monarchy and mobs remov'd,
Its checks well-plann'd, and by each State approv'd:
The people (soon to gladness chang'd their grief)
Turn'd every eye upon their ancient chief.
General Washington was President of the Convention which formed the present Constitution of the United States.
His will submissive to his country's choice;
By reason's force reluctance overcome,
Behold him meekly leave his darling home;
Again resign the calm of rural life,
Again embarking on a sea of strife!
Since deeds so recent in your breasts are grav'd,
Why should I tell our country how he sav'd!
How 'midst still rising storms he persever'd,
And through a sea of troubles safely steer'd!
The tricks of state his soul indignant scorn'd,
Thence candid policy his sway adorn'd:
Faith, honour, justice, honesty his aim,
And truth and Washington were but one name.
When war arose in many a foreign land,
A firm neutrality his wisdom plann'd;
At length they own'd the system just and sage.
While insurrection's imps were seen to fly
The flashing terrors of his angry eye;
O'er them humanity triumphant smil'd,
For not the stain of blood the triumph soil'd.
None but strangers to the history of the United States will require to be informed, that an allusion is here made to the happy suppression of the insurrection on account of the excise law.
Nor worlds could make him from his duty swerve;
Yet mercy, loveliest attribute divine,
And mild compassion, Washington! were thine.
Thy voice, humanity! he still rever'd,
Thy small voice 'mid the roar of battle heard.
To him his fellows, ev'n though foes, were dear,
And vict'ry's joy was chasten'd with a tear.
Beneath his tent in war the wretched found
Ease from each woe, and balm for every wound.
The conquer'd savage, prowling through the wild,
A foe no more—he foster'd as a child—
He bade constructed mills abridge the toil
For wond'ring tribes; new harvests deck the soil;
And taught, to wean them from the scalping-knife,
The works of peace and arts of civil life.
Authentic documents, respecting the case of Captain Asgill, in proof of this, have been long since published—others might be produced. Too much praise cannot be bestowed on the system adopted, during the first Presidency, of furnishing gratuitously to the Indians, instruments of agriculture, and utensils for domestic use, with the design of introducing husbandry, arts, and civilization among them, after they had been reduced, by force of arms, to the necessity of accepting terms of peace from us. This was effected by the forces under the command of General Wayne.
Through Afric's sons transmitted in the blood;
Hereditary slaves his kindness shar'd,
For manumission by degrees prepar'd:
Return'd from war, I saw them round him press,
And all their speechless glee by artless signs express.
General Washington, by his will, liberated all his negroes, making an ample provision for the support of the old, and the education of the young. The interesting scene of his return home, at which the author was present, is described exactly as it existed.
He through the States his pleasing progress made;
What gratulations pure the patriot met!
What cheeks with tears of gratitude were wet!
While useful knowledge from each State be gain'd,
Prais'd their improvements and their bliss explain'd;
While bridges, roads, canals, in every State,
And growing fabrics own'd his influence great;
Such goodness mark'd each act, in every place
He left impressions time can ne'er efface.
Then rose the favour'd States beneath his smile,
Adorn'd, enrich'd, and strengthen'd by his toil;
Then millions felt what happiness ensued,
And hail'd their country's father great and good!
The storied medal and the laurell'd bust:
But now he saw his fame in peace expand,
Grow with his years and reach each farthest land.
The medal voted by Congress to General Washington, in consequence of the evacuation of Boston by the British army, as well as that to General Gates, for the Convention of Saratoga, and that to General Greene, for the battle of Eutaw-Springs, were executed by the first artists at Paris, under the direction of the author of this Poem, who availed himself of the talents of the celebrated Abbe Barthelemy, and the Academy of Belles Lettres and Inscriptions, to assist in furnishing the devices and inscriptions.
The statue voted by Congress to the Commander in Chief of the American armies, at the close of the war, is to be placed at the seat of government. The State society of the Cincinnati in New-York, in concurrence with their fellow citizens, are engaged in procuring an equestrian statue of General Washington, in Bronze, to be erected in the Park of that city; an example which will probably be followed by many of the principal towns in the United States.
Our luminary rose to bless the earth.
His mind by human frailties scarcely stain'd,
One spotless course of rectitude maintain'd:
His mind, a moral sun, with cheering ray,
Rejoic'd to scatter intellectual day,
A light among the nations shining clear,
To gild the darkness in each hemisphere!
Say, dazzling conq'rors! who as comets glar'd,
How mean your splendour when to his compar'd!
Nor cold his mind. When cold his count'nance seem'd,
Within, concent'ring rays still brighter beam'd.
Just in the golden mean his conduct fix'd;
Alike with feeling, as with patience, blest,
The proud oppressor and the poor opprest
He taught, that man full oft by man betray'd,
By heav'n for social happiness was made—
He taught, how long a nation wrongs may bear,
And when th' unknown of innovation dare—
He taught mankind (if truth can make them wise)
That for self-government their pow'rs suffice.
Then duty's task and glory's toils complete,
He sought fair Vernon's shades, his fond retreat!
From stormy care to calm content retir'd,
Consol'd by conscience and by men admir'd;
He, like the sun whose broader orb at ev'n
Sheds brighter glories from the verge of heav'n,
The clouds his heat had rais'd in rainbows drest,
Descended great and glorious to the west.
Ev'n then his country heard o'er ocean far,
The coming sounds of predatory war:
Again her voice his martial service claims,
Oh! best of heroes! best of patriot names!
Thy last obedience crowns thy precious life.
“But who shall lead us to the glorious strife?”
Exclaim our mourning bands, as o'er thy bier
They bend, and bathe it with a frequent tear.
Fear not—his spirit, still the soldier's friend,
Shall in your front on some brave chief descend;
And 'mid the thunder of the war inspire
In every breast a spark of heav'n's own fire.
Thus pass'd his useful life, by foes approv'd,
By nations honour'd, and by heav'n belov'd.
Yet blushing truth must tell with deep regret,
What opposition from a few he met;
While conscious virtue, on his visage laught
At slander's quiver, and defied the shaft.
No vulgar mark appear'd his brilliant fame—
O'er him fell slander hung with foulest aim.
No more the monster lifts briarean hands,
Shakes all his shafts, and, steep'd in venom, flings
At him invulnerable, poison'd stings—
Since virtue's sons have dash'd those shafts accurst,
And spurn'd the monster foaming in the dust.
Supernal visions opening on his view;
Ye heard the last advice your guardian gave,
Ye heard his words when bord'ring on the grave:—
What truths experience taught you from his tongue,
When in your ears such awful warnings rung?
“To follow virtue never, never cease,
Her path is pleasant, and its end is peace:
Oh, cultivate blest union, but on this
Relies your freedom, independence, bliss.
Who sees a foreign policy prevail,
Must see thy promis'd bliss, Columbia! fail;
Must see thy goodly heritage, that day,
The prize of factions or of war the prey.”
What MORTAL truths more sacred spake of old,
Inspir'd by heav'n!—The words are grav'd in gold.
Then say what chief has nobler trophies won?
What godlike patriot deeds more glorious done?
Who more the secret foes of union foil'd?
For independence more successful toil'd?
To love our country more the mind prepar'd?
'Gainst foreign influence plac'd a stronger guard?
In education form'd a wiser plan,
To guard inviolate the rights of man?
Who better could our path to bliss explore?
And whose whole life has honour'd virtue more?
What other sage, by equal ardour warm'd,
Such signal service for mankind perform'd?—
Wide as the world shall spread his deathless fame,
While boundless generations bless the name,
In bright example shown. Ye good! ye brave!
Come learn with him to triumph o'er the grave.
That lore divine beyond our reason's reach;
Bid comfort come (ere grief prevail too long)
And exultation join the seraph song,
While spirits of the just made perfect sing,
“Where is thy vict'ry, grave! where, death! thy sting?”
See General Washington's will, in which he treats of a national university and a national education.
Or in the battle-field or sickness-bed:
For there I saw him far too great for fear,
Still greater grow as danger drew more near.
How fond and vain th' anticipation sweet,
Beneath thy friendly shades once more to meet!
Oh, best of friends! still had I hop'd to view
Thy face once more, and all my joys renew.
But heav'n those joys, too perfect, turn'd to pains,
And one sad duty only now remains,
That I, while yet thy widow'd mate survive,
That comfort which I want, should strive to give.
Wife of his youth! his joy twice twenty years!
Though all this empty world can give or take,
On thy lorn heart can small sensation make;
Though not the trophied tomb can sooth thy grief,
Or well-earn'd praise can give thy pangs relief:
Yet see whence higher consolations flow,
And dry at length th' unceasing tear of woe.
Where his freed spirit tastes the bliss above,
Unfailing feast, beatitude and love!
Soon shalt thou meet him on th' immortal coast,
And all thy grief in ecstacy be lost.
A few more times th' expanded moon shall rise,
And walk in brightness up the eastern skies;
With varying face diffuse her waning beams,
And cast on earth her chill and watery gleams;
A few more times the ruddy sun shall lave,
And dip his dim orb in the western wave;
Ere yet our spirits try their heav'n-ward flight,
From these dull regions of surrounding night;
Death sweep the stage and time shall be no more.
What though ere yet a few short years revolve,
This earthly tabernacle must dissolve—
What though the flesh, abandon'd, rest in dust—
Sweet is the memory of the good and just.
Then shall (unfetter'd from the pris'ning tomb)
This mortal immortality assume;
The better part to brighter mansions fly,
Mansions, not made with hands, eternal in the sky!
Then shall we rest forlorn beyond relief,
Dumb in despair and stupified with grief?
To drear forgetfulness consign our friends,
And lose the hope “that being never ends?”
That prop imperishable prone on earth,
The spring of action and reward of worth!
What! shall we faint? nor give to faith its scope?
Shall we remain as mourners without hope?
And shall not hope celestial sooth these sighs?
Are there not crowns and triumphs in the skies?
Think ye, now fate has cut the vital thread,
Th' immortal Washington is wholly dead?
Though cold in clay the mortal members lie,
Mounts not th' immortal mind to worlds on high?
Ev'n that lost form shall rise from kindred dust,
Fair in the renovation of the just.
From conflagrated orbs in atoms hurl'd,
Anon shall spring a renovated world—
That world, for suff'ring man, of bright rewards,
Thus fir'd the song of heav'n-illumin'd bards.
“Let all creation fail,” the prophets sung,
While holy rapture trembled on their tongue;
“Let rocks dissolve, seas roar, and mountains nod,
And all things tremble to the throne of God—
Matter and motion cease from nature's course,
Her laws controul'd by some superior force—
To final ruin, stars and comets rush,
Suns suns consume and systems systems crush—
These heav'ns stretch'd visible, together roll
Inflam'd, and vanish like a burning scroll—
Though nature's self decay—the soul, o'er all,
Survives the wrecks of matter and of time,
Shrin'd in immortal youth and beauty's prime;
High o'er the bounds of this diurnal sphere,
To bloom and bask in heav'n's eternal year.”
Where uncreated light no sun requires,
And other splendours beam unborrow'd fires;
On our lov'd chief, long tried in virtue's toils,
With bliss ineffable the Godhead smiles—
In the full blaze of day, his angel-frame
For ever shines another and the same.
Heroic chiefs! who, fighting by his side,
Liv'd for your country, for your country died—
If ye behold us from the holy place,
“Angels and spirits, ministers of grace,”
And sainted forms, who, erst incarnate strove,
Through thorny paths to reach the bliss above!
Protect our orphan'd land, propitious still,
To virtue guide us and avert from ill!
Ancient of days! unutterable name!
At whose command all worlds from nothing came;
Beneath whose frown the nations cease to be—
Preserve, as thou hast made, our nation free!
To guard from harms send forth thy hallow'd band!
Be thou a wall of fire around our land,
Above the frail assaults of flesh and sense!
And in the midst our glory and defence!
Open, ye gates, instinct with vital force,
That earth with heaven may hold high intercourse!
Open, ye portals of eternal day!
Through worlds of light prepare the glorious way!
Come, sons of bliss, in bright'ning clouds reveal'd,
Myriads of angels throng th' aërial field!
Come, sainted hosts! and from thy happier home,
Thou, Washington! our better angel! come.
And, lo! what vision bursts upon my sight,
Rob'd in th' unclouded majesty of light?
'Tis he—and hark! I hear, or seem to hear,
A more than mortal voice invade my ear;
Mortals! attend the warning voice of heav'n:
Your likeness love! adore the pow'r divine!
So shall your days be blest, your end like mine!
So will Omnipotence your freedom guard,
And bliss unbounded be your great reward!”
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |