University of Virginia Library

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

of the action for a long time so doubtful, as to produce distressing apprehensions respecting its termination. The Americans, whose exertions and sufferings had been rewarded by the acquisition of Independence, were, however, at the end of the war, surrounded with threatening prospects. In these circumstances the writer endeavoured to show his countrymen the superior advantages for happiness which they possessed; to dissipate their gloomy apprehensions, by the exhibition of consolatory anticipations; and to make them think favourably of their own situation when compared with that of other nations. Many circumstances conspired to give facility to the execution of the task he had imposed on himself. The ideas were principally suggested by the peculiarity of our condition. We began our political career, in a great measure, free from the prejudice, and favoured with the knowledge of former ages and other nations. The amiable innocence and simplicity of manners which resulted from the present state of society in America, offered a curious subject for philosophical contemplation. Our minds, imperceptibly impressed with the novelty, beauty, or sublimity of surrounding objects, gave energy to the language which expressed our sensations. While the shades of changing nature, which diversified the scenery through all the intermediate stages of settlement and population, from the rude grandeur of a wilderness to the pleasant landscapes of cultivation, afforded an extensive field for variegated description. To an assemblage of such magnificent images, so proper for poetry, were added, a multitude of incidents derived from the delights of agricultural life, the blessings of enlightened society, and the progress of human improvements. The author, by thus availing himself of circumstances, was enabled to gratify an early and decided propensity for contemplating the beauties of creation, especially under that point of view in which they are most conspicuously beneficial to his fellow men.

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.

Oh happy people, ye to whom is giv'n
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:
“To guard your sacred rights—be just! be wise!
“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:
“'Tis our's for ever, from this hour to part,
“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.
“Adieu,” I cried, “to Vernon's shades, adieu!
“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.”
All former empires rose, the work of guilt,
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.
Their fanning wings the zephyrs gently play,
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,
With patt'ring rain and snow, or driving sleet,
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,
There some old warrior, grown a village sage,
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;
In mute amazement hold the list'ning swains;
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;
Now fost'ring freedom all her bliss bestows,
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,
Feels from the heart life's quicken'd currents glide,
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.
What though not form'd in affectation's school,
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.
What though no splendid spoils of other times
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:
What untry'd pleasure fills each raptur'd sense,
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:
Ye who, uniting realms in leagues of peace,
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.
Thou Spirit of the West, assert our fame,
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:
So shall mankind, through endless years, admire
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:
Thy rising stars in unknown skies display,
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:
The panting crew a solemn silence keep,
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!