[Poems by Hopkins in] The Echo :: :: University of Virginia Library

“The following impromptu was written on the report that the Electors of this State in consequence of their having unanimously voted for Governor Clinton as Vice-President, were contumeliously called Jacobins.

“Having remarked and admired the freedom of your press, I have submitted it through your medium to the public.

“If any one shall suppose it personal as to himself, with him you are at liberty to effect an interview with the author.

[_]

“Rejoice! Republicans rejoice! your inestimable privileges are secure. The genius of America is awake. The tutelary saint of Virginia is roused. The electors of this state have unanimously given their suffrages to Governor Clinton, as Vice-President. Governor Clinton is a republican both in principle and practice. The principles of Mr. Adams, the late Vice-President, are reprobated—his book—his writings—his sentiments— his late conduct—his love of, and his having recommended hereditary monarchy, and hereditary aristocracy, are all, all, reprobated. The monocrats, aristocrats, highflyers, mushrooms, all hang their heads; and while the friends of men sing psalms, hallelujahs, and anthems, to the tune of regenerating freedom, they who were conspiring to dethrone the sacred majesty of the people

may perform the last funeral obsequy and sing the last melancholy dirge to Adamitical principles.

“Yes! ye men of Belial, regeneration is at your heels, and ere long she will hold you up hated and avoided, as you are now suspected and despised. Your chariots, your pomp, your galadays, your court etiquette, your cries of sedition, and your reproaches against tried republican characters, will not avail. All eyes will be opened; the fatal issue of your abominable schemes will be developed; then you will hate and execrate each other, yourselves, as you now deserve it, from all the race of man.

“You call the electors Jacobins, as a mark of contumely; in that view they despise you and ask, that a man shall avow himself. But why say, Jacobins? Are they not the authors of the greatest and most glorious revolution of which the annals of history can boast? Have they not loosed the shackles of slavery from thirty millions of people? Have they not fanned the sacred blaze of liberty, in every region of the earth? Have they not dethroned tyranny, monarchy, aristocracy, priestcraft, and all their satellites? Have they not set up and crowned the mighty majesty of human kind over the punyism of individuals? Yes! the Jacobins of France have done all this. The French have no longer a king; they are no longer slaves; they are free; and therefore you despise them.

“But future ages when they trace the history of man, when they contemplate the catalogue of woes, which blacken the pages of antiquity, will at this eventful epoch make a complacent pause, and drop the tear of gratitude to the memory of those who so much contributed to emancipate the human race.

“The revolution has blasted your hopes; the kings or tyrants of Europe have leagued against them; and why do you not go? The duke of Brunswick will receive you; he will embrace you, and you will shew the ne plus ultra of human depravity; Americans aiding and abetting kings and tyrants to reduce to bondage thirty millions of people, whose blood and treasure were exhausted to purchase your country's freedom. Go hence and take with you

the last seed, the last shoot, the last scion of your stock; and let that bold essayist, as your crusading champion, whose head, heart, and hand have been employed to sap the imprescriptible and defined rights of his countrymen be announced to kings and their cut-throats, by his herald as a voluntary fugitive from a country where men will cease to be, or live free.

“Thanks to you, electors; all the friends of human liberty will thank you; future ages will revere and venerate your names: Heaven and your own consciences will reward you.

“HENRICO.”

HARTFORD, JANUARY 21st, 1793.

“Echo with transport turns her eyes
“Where Old Virginia's realms arise;
“Bright Pokahontas' noble name
“Shall consecrate the lay to fame.

With love of freedom, Mr. Carey! smitten,
In ancient realm was this Impromptu written,
Where Pokahontas left a noble breed
All other men in science to exceed;
On the report as Jacobins denoted,
Were our Electors who for Clinton voted.

Having oft seen the offspring of the brain
Drop from your press, with small parturient pain,
Through your pure medium I have thought it right
To let my strange ideas see the light.
If any one a personal meaning smell,
I'll pack him off, or he shall me, to hell.

Rejoice, ye Democrats! I say rejoice!
See fix'd secure your privileges choice!
Columbia's Genius has our cause espous'd,
Virginia's tutelary Saint is rous'd,

That Saint so mighty whose extended sway
Ancient Dominion's wide domains obey,
Who while War hover'd o'er our fertile coast,
Sent forth her reg'ments, an unnumber'd host,
Where fifty officers, in martial pride,
Strutted with five poor soldiers at their side.
That saint who marks, with clear sagacious ken,
Low in the scale the gen'ral race of men,
While high his vot'ries stand—by him decreed
The guides of worlds—to follow where they lead.
Lo! fill'd with joy, he staggers o'er the land,
His whisky bottle shaking in his hand:
To us he cries—“Behold this bottle big!
“Come on my boys, and take another swig!
“This magic juice will second-sight restore,
“And make you see things never seen before.”
Waked by his speech Virginia's sons arise,
His grateful liquor sparkling in their eyes;
And her Electors, with consenting voice,
Have made George Clinton their united choice.

Him for our head we mount o'er every bar,
His voice our compass, nod our polar star.
For, with severe and unremitted hate,
We urge illustrious Adams on to fate;
Condemn his principles, his book detest,
Misquote his sentiments, his conduct wrest,
Charge him with loving what ourselves we love,
Charge him with hate of what we disapprove,
And load with vilest terms of reprobation
The very phantom of our own creation.
The monocrats, aristocrats lie low,
High-flying mushrooms sink in deadliest woe,
The toad-stool too, with sympathy opprest,
Feels his soft heart lie heavy in his breast,
And, as he hangs his head, he oft applies
The handkerchief to dry his moisten'd eyes.
While joyous sing the people's friends and prance,
And treat the Negroes to a royal dance,

And loud to Anarchy their voices raise
In hallelujahs and in hymns of praise,
To the sweet Tune of Freedom born anew;
That Tune so charming, and so novel too,

That Tune by tinkers sung, by coblers lov'd,
Which to the Cow of old so fatal prov'd,
That from this world with joy she took her flight.
And bade her ancient friends a long Good Night;
Those who his Majesty of Mobs disown,
And seek that Holy Sovereign to dethrone,
When Grandsire Adam's principles shall fail,
And flesh and blood, from keeping long, grow stale,
May sing the funeral dirge in mournful stave.
And get old Burkitt too to dig the grave.

Rejoice! ye Pokahontian Tribes rejoice!
In loud Te Deums raise your clam'rous voice!
Proclaim from Anarchy what blessings spring!
“Shall Clinton reign and Henrico not sing?”

Yes, men of Belial! had ye sense to feel,
You'd find Regeneration at your heel,
And not far distant is the awful day
When your base clan a reckoning dire shall pay,
When old Virginia shall resume the reins,
And yield a rich reward for all your mighty pains.
Then shall your dress, your mimickry of state,
Your chariots, servants, equipage and plate,
Your brilliant levees, and your gala-days,
Your court-parade, your frankincense of praise,

Your cries seditious 'gainst Virginia's sway,
Which all the other states were made to obey;
Against her Statesmen too, who're born to show
A truth which first or last the world must know,
That the best way a Government to raise
Is to destroy its pillars and its base,
All these to aid your sinking cause shall fail,
Adams must fall, and Clinton shall prevail.
Soon, very soon, will every open'd eye
The fatal issue of your schemes espy;
While in equality our days shall flow,
And licence unrestrain'd its choicest gifts bestow.

Rejoice! ye Anti-fed'ral Clan rejoice!
'Gainst Bank and Funding-system raise your voice!
Declare from Ruin'd Faith what honours spring!
“Shall Clinton reign, and Henrico not sing?”

You call th' Electors Jacobins—what then?
Are not the Jacobins the first of men?
Most certainly they are, I do protest,
Of men the very first and very best;
With fist and stick this truth will I maintain;
For arguments I never rack my brain;
No—to poor drivelling souls I leave such things,
Whom right and reason hold in leading-strings.
The Jacobins, once more I say, are good,
Staunch, noble fellows, fond of letting blood—
The Jacobins—I dwell upon the name,
My admiration and my homage claim—
To wond'ring nations do they not display
A noble generous spirit every day?

With much politeness and with equal skill,
Do they not torture whom they mean to kill?
And fir'd with zeal to render man humane,
Bear high on pikes the heads of children slain?
Do they not curse that chosen man of God
Old David call'd, who shed Uriah's blood,
And swear, indignant, that they'll never sing
The psalms compos'd by that adult'rous king?
And shall not we, inspir'd with equal hate,
Reject the Psalms of Brady, Watts and Tate?
Have they not heav'd Oppression's iron yoke
From off the necks of thirty million folk?
With strength Sampsonian broke the chains of power,
And freed their legs, from long confinement sore?
Have they not fill'd Old Freedom so with fire
That the good Dame is ready to expire?
And e'en at length have worn her bellows out
In blowing Faction's flame the world about?
Have they not tumbled from his splendid throne
Our Ally, once so good, great Louis down,

And keep him closely in the Temple pent,
Like some fine stall-fed ox for slaughter meant?
Have they not plunder'd of their goods and cash
All those Aristocrats who cut a dash?
Have they not made the Priests renounce their vows,
And pluck'd the mitre from their hallow'd brows,
While their Satellites, the Monks and Friars,
Have furnish'd glorious fuel for their fires?
Have they not, fraught with sentiments refin'd,
Crown'd the big Majesty of Human Kind?
Set up, on high, that many-headed God,
And bade the world bow down before his nod?
So, wrought in gold, with dazzling jewels spread,
On Dura's plain the Image rear'd its head,
While awe-struck thousands at the King's decree,
Bow'd the proud head, and bent the stubborn knee.
All this the Jacobins have done and more,
And France no longer owns monarchic power;
Set loose from law, from moral shackles freed,
Her sons have gain'd fair freedom's fullest meed.

Rejoice! ye pious Jacobins, rejoice!
Ye graceful Fishwomen strain high your voice!
Proclaim from bloody heads what transports spring!
“Shall Clinton reign and Henrico not sing?”

But future ages when they come to trace
The varied history of the human race;
When they regard the list of woes so black,
That left such bloody weals on Time's old back;
Will at this epoch complaisantly pause,
And wet with tears their cheeks and drop their grateful jaws.

To those good souls, by charity inspir'd,
And meek-ey'd pity's soft enthusiasm fir'd,
Who kindly clubb'd their wits and eke their power,
To speed poor Frenchmen on their saintly tour,
And, with a world of pains, so hard have striven
To boost their brethren o'er the walls of heaven.
Sons of benevolence! my heart o'erflows,
When I but think from what a weight of woes,
From what dread injuries, what pain, what grief,
Your neighbours, through your cares, have gain'd relief;
In Mr. Giles's classic phrase, though they
Had rather manag'd matters their own way;
Had rather taken their own time to go;
Had rather staid a longer while below;
Had rather jogg'd more softly on their course;
And rather not have mounted Death's white horse.

Cold are those hopes which once your bosoms warm'd,
Those sanguine hopes that Order's sons had from'd,
O'er those bright scenes, which erst your fancies fed,
The Revolution's mildewing blast has spread.
Then why don't you to Europe's monarchs go,
And join those tyrants 'gainst your common foe?
The Duke of Brunswick will be glad, no doubt,
Of such strong aid the Jacobins to scout,
With tender Indian hugs he'll squeeze you to him,
For you can fully ne plus ultra show him.

Americans, abetting tyrants base
To bring in bonds the virtuous Gallic race,
Once more to make them wear their rusty chains,
And go to fiddling for their master's gains,
Those thirty million folk, whose sweat and blood,
Stream'd in such torrents for your country's good;
I—by my power almighty—bid you hence!
Go—and take that with which we can dispense!
Take the last seed, shoot, scion of your stock,
Nor leave the poor old stump our nerves to shock!
Take every virtue with you as you go,
Leave us our Clinton, Jefferson and Co;
These shall amuse us in the daily papers,
And Johnny Hancock give us Negro capers.

Thanks be to you most wise and great Electors!
Freedom's old Cronies hail you her protectors!
Bald Father time, with mouldy tooth and nail,
In vain your fame, so bulky, shall assail!
Gabriel shall crack his trumpet with hard blowing,
To tell the names of folks so mighty knowing;
While your own consciences shall need new cases,
Grown thin and thread-bare in so many places.

Rejoice! ye noble Levellers rejoice!
Ye democratic Tribes exalt your voice!
Declare what joys from prostrate morals spring!
“Shall Clinton reign, and Henrico not sing?”

Pokahontas, a celebrated Squaw, who married one of the first settlers of Virginia; and from whom the Virginians are proud to derive some of their most considerable families. It has not a little puzzled many American Politicians, in considering the political situation of Virginia, where the manners of the Planters are naturally and habitually Aristocratic, to account for the greatest number of our high-spirited Democrats having originated from that state. A very ingenious Civilian, of our times, has thrown much light on this subject, by deducing the origin of the Democratic part of the Ancient Dominion, from the famous Pokahontas; and he gives two very satisfactory reasons why her descendants should rather partake of the Levelling, than of the Aristocratic principle, although the offspring of royal ancestors. For, first, he remarks, that the Whites were inclined to treat the Natives as an inferior order of beings; which naturally created in them, and their descendants, a disposition to reduce all to one standard: and, secondly, which is a still more convincing argument, as being founded in the constitution of nature, he remarks, that the sovereignty among the Indians, was merely nominal; and that they, universally, preserved the most perfect Democracy in their Governments.

Saint Tammany

The following description of the celebrated Equality Ball given to the Negroes of Boston by Governor Hancock is extracted from the New-Year's Verses for the American Mercury, for 1793:—

“And lo! where o'er the Eastern shores,
Bostonia lifts her haughty towers,
What motley scenes salute our eyes!
What wonders upon wonders rise!
There each succeeding day still brings
A mixture strange of various things.
[OMITTED]
There plays their heathen names forsake,
And those of Moral Lectures take,
While, thus baptis'd, they hope to win
Indulgence for all future sin.
Now, Hancock, fir'd with patriot rage,
Proscribes these morals of the stage,
Claps Harper under civil durance,
For having dared, with vile assurance,
By Interludes and Plays profane
Pollute the glories of his reign.
Now, prompt to assert the rights of man,
On Nature's most extensive plan,
Behold him to his splendid hall
The noble sons of Afric call:
While as the sable bands advance,
With frolic mien, and sportive dance,
Refreshing clouds of rich perfume
Are wafted o'er the spacious room.
With keen delight the Sage surveys
Their graceful tricks, and winning ways;
Their tones enchanting raptur'd hears,
More sweet than music of the spheres;
And as he breathes the fragrant air,
He deems that Freedom's self dwells there.
While Cuffey near him takes his stand,
Hale-fellow met, and grasps his hand—
With pleasure glistening in his eyes,
“Ah! Massa Gubbernur!” he cries,
“Me grad to see you, for de peeple say
“You lub de Neegur better dan de play.”

There was a piper had a Cow—
He had no hay to give her—
He took his pipe and began to play—
“Consider, Cow, consider.”

A well known Sexton.

This curious fact, among the multifarious events of the French Revolution, may still exist in the recollection of some of our readers. A member of one of the French legislative bodies, it was said, about this time seriously proposed the rejection of the psalms of David from the service of their churches for the reason above assigned. This reminds us of the story of the Cape Cod man who had removed to a town in Connecticut; and on the introduction of the psalms of Dr. Watts in place of the former New-England Version into the Churches of that State, declared with much indignation to his clergyman, that he was determined never to attend Divine Service in his Church while he persisted in singing the psalms of that Isaac Watts, whom he had very well known at Cape Cod, and who was the greatest drunkard in the place.

For examples of this elegant phraseology, see the Debates in Congress—Article, Mr. Giles.