The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq

'Mid the deep murmur of luxuriant groves,
Waving o'er Lehigh's sylvan painted stream,
All fancy-sir'd, the muse retiring loves
Lonely to rove, wrapt in poetic theme.
Serpentine waters with majestic flow,
Now lost—now shining, lead th' astonish'd eye,
To distant scenes where endless forests grow,
And dusky mountains melt into the sky.
Gushing abruptly from between the hills
Far off is heard the plunging torrent's roar;
From massy rocks here the cool stream distills,
And gentle dashings sound along the shore.
The gay musicians of the groves around,
In cadence sweet attune their warbling song;
Their warbling song the darksome caves resound,
And light-wing'd breezes bear the strains along.

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Here never bard hath swell'd th' harmonic lay,
Then let me eager to the bliss aspire
The first, ye rocks! to hear your echoes play,
Your virgin echoes to the dulcet lyre.

For thee, illustrious Penn! my song I raise,
Oh! let the muse thy wonted favour claim:
For thee I lonely tread the rustling maze,
And bid thy woods resound their master's name.

With rigid sway too long hath ign'rance reign'd,
And spread her gloom o'er this benighted land:
These solemn groves too oft with blood been stain'd,
Shed by barbarian's unrelenting hand.
Witness, ye ghosts! that to the waining moon,
Join, with the owl, shrill shrieks and plaintive moan;
Witness ye innocents, by fate too soon
Condemn'd beneath a savage yoke to groan
—Here pause a-while!—these grass-grown ruins view,
They call attention; they implore a tear!
These once the sound of social converse knew,
And peace, content, and jollity were here.
Alas! how chang'd! the hospitable hearth
No more shall blaze to cheer the ev'ning friend:
No more inspire the roar of rustic mirth,
When, with the setting day, its labours end.—
Alas! how chang'd! what a confused mass,
The scatter'd ruins of the cottage lie!
Here hissing serpents slide along the grass,
And here the owl lifts her distressful cry.
As calm and still the peaceful household lay,
At dead of night a savage yell was heard;

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Affright'd sleep wing'd her aerial way,
And death in horror's darkest robe appear'd.
Warm from the father's wound the reeking blade
With mortal point hangs o'er the mother's breast:
Vain are her cries, her loudest cries for aid;
She groans in agony and sinks to rest.
A fate more hard the little offspring know;
Thro' breaks and thorns they tread their weary way,
Their guides, upitying, urge their steps, too slow;
And chide them oft as thro' the wild they stray.

How shall the muse, oh! thou ill-fated fair!
In numbers equal to thy weight of woe,
Thy sad distress, thy lot severe declare,
And bid for thee the tears of pity flow!

Rosetta, fairest maid that grac'd the plains,
Of all the village long remain'd the boast,
Struck with her lovely form contending swains,
Were daily striving who should please her most:
But happy Doris, with his gentle mien,
Had won her heart, the soft relenting fair,
Oft met her faithful shepherd on the green,
And Doris breath'd his tender passion there.
One eve, Rosetta from the cottage stray'd,
To seek a wand'ring lambkin of her fold,
A merciless troop seiz'd the unwary maid,
And grasp'd her, trembling, in their savage hold.
Full of fond hopes as Doris passing by,
Pursued his way, contemplative and slow,
Amaz'd he heard his fair one's well known cry,
And, fearless, rush'd upon the num'rous foe;

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Long did the youth th' unequal fight maintain;
But what, alas! could valour then avail?
An Alexander must have strove in vain,
Superior force and numbers will prevail.
The captive lovers lock'd in close embrace,
With silent tears their mutual grief express:
The tawny victors haste to leave the place,
Unmov'd, unpitying of their sad distress.
Two parties form'd, one takes the weeping fair,
The other Doris for their easy prize;
A silent gloom shuts in his dark despair;
The woods re-echo to her mournful cries.

Six times the moon her fullest orb had shown,
Since sad Rosetta with incessant grief,
Had mourn'd her liberty and lover gone,
Without one cheering prospect of relief,
Forc'd from her hospitable home to stray,
O'r craggy rocks her tender feet must go;
Thro' the sharp thorns she makes her gloomy way
And bears about a constant load of woe.
Oft times when shiv'ring in th' inclement air,
On the damp ground she fought for lost repose;
Her mother's fondness and her father's care,
And Doris's love to sad remembrance rose.

At length the chiefs a solemn feast prepare,
And gather num'rous from the nations round;
Each brings his spoils of war, and pris'ners there,
And thro' the woods triumphant echoes sound.

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A horrid tragedy must now succeed,
My swelling heart beats quick within my breast,
How shall the sympathising muse proceed
To dip her hand in blood, and paint the rest?
Six tawny heroes in their battles slain,
Sully the lustre of their festive day;
For them six captives with tormenting pain,
Must yield their lives the fatal debt to pay.

Absorb'd in sorrow on a turf reclin'd!
Rosetta lay, all wan with wasting grief;
Her lot severe, she ponder'd in her mind,
And look'd from death alone to find relief—
She starts alarmed at a sudden cry,
The well known voice of Doris strikes her ear,
Half-rais'd she looks around with tearful eye,
To see if much lov'd Doris was not near:
Oh! mournful object for a soul distrest!
Fast to a tree she sees her shepherd bound:
A mortal arrow planted at his breast,
And his life bubbling from the recent wound!
Struck with an instant frenzy of despair,
Thro' all her frame she feels the chill of death;
Flies to her just expiring love, and there
Sinks at his feet with closing eyes, and sighs her latest breath.

But cease my muse, such tragic scenes no more,
From pity's eye shall draw the tender tear;
Heav'n shall our interrupted peace restore,
And with the danger banish all the fear.

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All hail! the dawn of more enlighten'd days!
Accept, great Penn, the praise to merit due;
The angel peace, her olive wreath displays,
And smiling, as she rises, points to you.

When the fam'd Cortes to his monarch gave
Another empire in a distant land,
He bore his thunders thro' the foaming wave,
And fatal steel gleam'd dreadful in his hand.
Nor pity mov'd, nor justice sway'd his breast;
To fraud or force the injur'd natives yield;
Low in the dust he treads the warrior's crest,
And stands triumphant in a bloody field.

Not so the gentler patron of distress,
By lawless force would large possessions gain:
Illustrious Penn! still be it thine to bless,
Not to inflict unnecessary pain.
Thine is the skill in soft encircling chains
Of justice, truth, and charity to bind
The hand that spreads destruction round the plains,
And quell the fierceness of th'untutor'd mind:
From lofty mountains, and from valleys low,
From the broad lakes, and plains, that wide extend,
From ev'ry quarter whence the winds can blow,
Some of their tribes the various nations send.
But most from where Ohio's waters roll
To Lehigh's lucid stream, the chiefs repair;
Led by the glitt'ring centre of the pole,
To meet in love their Christian brethren there.
In yonder bow'r behold the council meet,

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Solemn and grand, without the help of art;
Of justice, commerce, peace, and love, they treat,
Whilst eloquence unlabour'd speaks the heart.
See from the throng a painted warrior rise,
A savage Cicero, erect he stands,
Awful, he throws around his piercing eyes,
Whilst native dignity respect commands.
High o'er his brow wantons a plumed crest,
The deep vermilion on his visage glows,
A silver moon beams placid round his breast,
And a loose garment from his shoulders flows.
One nervous arm he holds to naked view,
The chequer'd wampum glitt'ring in his hand;
His speech doth all the attic fire renew,
And nature dictates the sublime and grand.
Untouch'd by art, e'en in the savage breast,
With native lustre, how doth reason shine!
Science ne'er taught him how to argue best,
The schools ne'er strove his language to refine.
What noble thoughts, what noble actions rise
From in-born genius, unrestrain'd and free?
A tinctur'd medium oft deceives our eyes,
And art should prune, but not distort the tree.
E'en those who much their tutor'd reason boast,
And in the sacred seats of learning dwell;
Too oft obscure the paths of virtue most,
And only study how to puzzle well.
Why let the stream thro' levell'd parterres glide
Its lazy course to marble bounds confin'd;
Give me the bubbling fountain's mossy side,
In contemplation sweet to lull my mind.

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From nature's store the warrior's speech is drest,
More pure the council fire begins to glow:
He bids the brighten'd chain of friendship last,
Long as the sun shall burn or waters flow.
Their mutual faith by firm assurance bound,
The chiefs, well pleas'd from solemn treaty rise,
Their brethren's bounty richly spreads the ground
And they with grateful joy divide the prize.
How fair is charity, celestial maid!
And this is charity sincere indeed,
To see our foes with tend'rest care repaid,
To cloth the naked and the hungry feed.

Now o'er the plain the swarthy heroes bring
A num'rous tribe, devising pastimes gay:
With sportive shouts they make the mountains ring,
And with athletic seats conclude the day.
Some with loose tresses floating in the wind,
In the swift race for victory contend;
A fierce ambition fires each youthful mind:
They strain each sinew, ev'ry limb extend
To smite the ball, some wield the massy oak,
And send it hissing, bounding o'er the plain;
Till counter-check'd by repercussive stroke,
Swift the elastic ball returns again.
Their nicer skill the dext'rous archers try,
And eager strive for victory and fame;
From the tough bow the feather'd arrows fly,
And pierce the centre of their distant aim.
No keener joy the youths of Greece inspir'd,
No brighter glories kindled in their eyes;

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When they press'd forward with ambition fir'd
To win and claim the fair Olympic prize.

Now palid vesper mourns departing day,
The frequent tears that trickle from her eye,
Fall brilliant stars, and mark her spangled way,
O'er the vast concave of the dusky sky:
And now the chiefs for awful rites prepare,
And hand in hand in horrid sounds unite,
Where curling blazes lash the misty air,
And pierce their radiance thro' the gloom of night.
—The dance of war begins, their eye-balls roll,
And dart their fierce enraged glances round;
More than infernal madness fills the soul,
And distant rocks their fearful yells resound.

No greater frenzy e'er the priestess shook,
When on the sacred tripod mounted high,
Her tender, shiv'ring, panting frame was struck
With the rough presence of the deity.
Each visage now convulsed looks aghast,
Their limbs are all in rude contortions thrown,
Their wild enthusiasm heightens fast,
And they for devils, not for men are known:
Till wasted nature can no more sustain,
And down in sleep their wearied bodies fall;
Silence profound resumes her awful reign,
And midnight's thickest mantle covers all.

This poem was written upon the banks of the river Lehigh, in the year 1761, when the author served as secretary in a solemn conference held between the government of Pennsylvania and the chiefs of several Indian nations.

University of Virginia Library

THE TREATY; A POEM ,

Humbly inscribed to the honourable Thomas and Richard Penn, proprietors of the province of Pennsylvania.