 | Muscipula sive Cambromyomachia : the mouse-trap, or the battle of the Welsh and the mice |  |
TO THE PRESIDENTS, PROFESSORS AND STUDENTS OF UNIVERSITIES AND COLLEGES, AND TO THE PRINCIPALS, INSTRUCTERS AND PUPILS OF ACADEMIES AND CLASSICAL SCHOOLS, IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED; WITH THE HOPE, THAT IT MAY FURNISH A MOTIVE, TO EXCITE THE YOUTH OF THIS COUNTRY, NOT ONLY TO THE DILIGENT AND ACCURATE STUDY, BUT ALSO TO THE THOROUGH ACQUISITION OF THE DEAD LANGUAGES; THE ATTAINMENT OF WHICH HAS, OF LATE YEARS, BECOME UNPOPULAR WITH A LARGE PORTION OF OUR COUNTRYMEN, TO THE GREAT LOSS OF MENTAL DISCIPLINE; AND THE SERIOUS INJURY OF THE INTERESTS OF LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.
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MEDITATION
OVER A DYING PATIENT.
I.
Well! I have done, I can no more,But must my baffled aim deplore;
I'll lay my drugs and cordials by,
For art is vain and he must die.
II.
When heaven demands a mortal's breath,And fainting nature yields to death,
Nor love nor art avails to save
The tott'ring fabrick from the grave.
III.
But may I in this mirror seeWhat I ere long must also be!
And while a pitied patient dies,
Receive instruction and be wise.
IV.
Fix'd is th' unalterable date,Fix'd as the firm decrees of fate;
(And, O my soul! it may be nigh,)
When heaven will call and I must die.
V.
In vain physicians may be near;In vain my friends may drop a tear;
For medicines will not relieve,
Nor love procure an hour's reprieve.
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VI.
Then will death's mighty arm arrestThis throbbing movement in my breast,
And spite of nature's feeble strife,
Victorious storm the seat of life.
VII.
Then must thou, O my soul! obeyHeaven's high command to quit thy clay:
Then must thou breathe thy final groan,
And take thy flight to worlds unknown.
VIII.
But where, O where! thy last abode?In glory near the throne of God?
Or must thou (O! forever) dwell,
In the dark dismal shades of hell?
IX.
Lord make me to myself a friend,To meditate my latter end!
Teach me the number of my days,
And guide my feet in wisdom's ways;
X.
That when this tenement of clayMust sink to ruin and decay,
I may to some blest mansion rise,
A house eternal in the skies.
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PRAISE TO GOD FOR RESTORING GOODNESS.
A PINDARICK ODE.
A. D. 1757.
I.
Bless, O my soul! the God of love;With awe profound adore
The wonders of his healing pow'r,
With grateful joy let thy warm passions move;
Then to HIS name in lofty numbers raise
A sacred song of solemn praise;
Who in a dangerous hour
Preserv'd of late thy life and lengthen'd out thy days.
II.
Oft has He sav'd my soul from death;Borne up my sinking frame;
Restrain'd my flying breath,
And calm'd the tumults of the vital stream;
When I've lain wasted by some dire disease,
While burden'd nature found no ease,
And I drew near the dead;
Oft has his hand sustain'd my head,
Sooth'd all the sorrows of my bed,
And made my anguish cease.
His word pronounc'd the high command,
And his preserving hand,
His hand omnipotent to save,
Restor'd me from the gloomy borders of the grave.
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III.
But chief, my soul reviewThe memorable night;
When death, grim tyrant, rose to view,
Shook in his hand a dreadful dart,
(Challeng'd me to th' unequal fight,)
And aim'd it at my heart:
How trembling and aghast I stood,
And felt past crimes my vitals gnaw,
While all before mine eyes I saw
The terrours of a broken law;
A slighted Saviour's blood:
And oh! amazing sight!
Array'd in piercing light,
Insufferably bright,
The dread tribunal of an angry God!
IV.
And ah! what tongue can tell,What agonizing pain my bosom tore;
While, as I thought the day of patience o'er,
I saw heaven shut! a yawning hell!
A frowning Judge! a frowning Saviour too!
And in the pit below,
Astonish'd heard a fiery storm,
Of wrath almighty roar;
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And in the horrid gloom,
With dire amazement, read my doom
To never—never—never-ending woe.
V.
But oh! while thus a criminal I stood,By law condemn'd to die,
The prisoner of almighty wrath,
And thought the execution nigh;
My pitying Judge, my often injur'd God,
Repuls'd the bold demands of death,
And gave a kind reprieve:
Bade me avoid the sinner's road,
His offer'd grace receive,
And spend my future life for him who spar'd my breath.
VI.
And though the grisly foe,With all his gloomy terrours arm'd,
Has often since my trembling soul alarm'd,
Yet God has still his rage disarm'd;
Nor would he give
The tyrant leave,
To strike the fatal blow:
And while half victor in the strife,
Of late, he almost triumph'd o'er my life,
And unrelenting, saw my kindred mourn;
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The bands of my confinement burst,
Redeem'd my body from the dust,
And bade my soul return:
Untir'd, his patience knows no bound,
Amazing is his grace!
While three long years
Have roll'd their circles round,
I've stood a cumberer of the ground;
Have oft provok'd him to his face,
And yet his mercy calls, and yet his wrath forbears.
VII.
Great God! on such a stupid creature, whyDost show'r thy blessings down;
Who not deserves the notice of thine eye,
And yet provokes thy frown?
I would review
The kindness thou hast shown,
With wonder and confusion too,
How good art thou, O God! but, how unthankful I!
Vast is the debt of gratitude I owe,
For mercies great beyond the bounds of thought;
How should my bosom glow,
With sacred flames, and bless the gentle blow
Of thy chastising rod!
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Still acts a treacherous part,
Forgets the wonders thou hast wrought,
And wanders from my God.
VIII.
My God, subdue this heart of stone;Melt all my stubborn passions down;
Each rebel-wish control;
By the chastisements thou hast giv'n,
Embitter sin, and teach my soul
Entire submission to the will of heav'n.
To heavenly things exalt my cares,
And from this world's bewitching snares,
O! set my spirit free:
And by thy mercies, Lord, inspire
My breast, and set my heart on fire,
With love and zeal and warm desire,
To dedicate my life, and all my powers to THEE.
66
AN ELEGY,
On the death of Doct. Nathaniel Scudder, who was slain in a skirmish with a party of refugees, at Shrewsbury, New Jersey, October 16th, 1781.
“Quis desiderio sit pudor nut modus
“Tam cari capitis?”—
Horace.
“Tam cari capitis?”—
Horace.
I.
Scudder, my friend, art thou, dear man, no more?Sad victim fall'n on Shrewsbury's fatal plain!
Must I thy end so tragical deplore,
In virtue's cause by murd'rous traitors slain?
II.
More splendid titles did thy name adorn,When thou, erewhile, with unremitting zeal,
Didst losses, toils and dangers nobly scorn,
A strenuous champion for the public weal.
III.
But oh! the tender title Friend aloneCan speak what language most expressive needs;
How my fond heart, while I thy fate bemoan,
Smarts with keen anguish and deep-wounded bleeds.
IV.
Let those who knew thy publick merits most,With wreaths of honour decorate thy urn;
With me, the patriot in the man is lost,
And less my country, than my friend, I mourn.
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V.
Friendship's pure flame did in thy bosom glow,And a kind fervour to thy words impart;
While gentle manners shew'd, thou well didst know,
All the fine feelings of the social heart.
VI.
Thou dear companion of my early years!I'm taught, when I our former lives review,
By heart-felt pangs and daily flowing tears,
I ne'er before, how much I lov'd thee, knew.
VII.
The paths of science we together trod,Ambitious rivals; yet so kindly strove,
That competition but endear'd the road,
And emulation fann'd the fire of love.
VIII.
How did our souls a mutual passion prove,My brother Scudder, wonderful and rare!
If not less ardent, less sublime the love,
That warms th' enraptur'd lover and the fair.
IX.
How art thou fall'n, Scudder, highly priz'd;By what vile hands depriv'd of vital breath!
A crew, of whom, whole hundreds sacrific'd,
Were not sufficient to avenge thy death.
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X.
How art thou fall'n into death's cruel jaws!At an untimely date, a sudden prey:
Just in the crisis of thy Country's cause,
Just at the dawn of her triumphant day.
XI.
High were thy hopes of our late conquest rais'd,(But thou, to see the great event, denied,)
When Washington's meridian glory blaz'd
Eclipsing splendour on Cornwallis' pride.
XII.
So, erst the giver of the Jewish law,To enter Canaan earnestly desir'd;
But the good land from Nebo only saw,
And on the top of Pisgah's mount expir'd.
XIII.
But the Supreme saw fit to call thee hence,Where thou, for freedom, hast so nobly striv'n;
And doubtless, swift wing'd messengers from thence
Oft bear glad tidings to the court of heav'n.
XIV.
There, Scudder, thou, we trust, dost glorious reign,By trials, well for that bright world prepared;
Sharing from liberality divine,
A faithful servant's exquisite reward.
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XV.
There, this great victory by thy country won,Well known ev'n there, shall thy glad songs employ;
And all the wonders God, for us, has done,
Add still new raptures to celestial joy.
XVI.
There, O my Scudder, may I meet thee there,Where discord, war and desolation cease;
Where reigns complete tranquillity, and where
All the blest world is harmony and peace—
XVII.
Where rules no tyrant; from the common cause,Apostate spirits draw no trait'rous sword:
But all unite t' obey the righteous laws
Of an Almighty and all-gracious LORD.
XVIII.
Where selfish aims, each gen'rous temper spurns,In concert sweet, the social passions move:
Each heart with an exalted friendship burns,
And every breast breathes universal love.
PALINODY.
I.
Thus sung thy friend, by fond affection mov'd,To drop the tears of sorrow o'er thy urn:
But soon, by conscious sentiment reprov'd,
Saw greater reason for himself to mourn.
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II.
So bright, bless'd shade! thy deeds of virtue shine;So rich, no doubt, thy recompense on high:
My lot's far more lamentable than thine,
Thou liv'st in death, while I in living die.
III.
With great applause hast thou perform'd thy part,Since thy first entrance on the stage of life;
Or in the labours of the healing art,
Or in fair Liberty's important strife.
IV.
In med'cine skilful, and in warfare brave,In council steady, uncorrupt and wise;
To thee, the happy lot thy Maker gave,
To no small rank, in each of these to rise.
V.
Employ'd in constant usefulness thy time,And thy fine talents in exertion strong;
Thou died'st advanc'd in life, though in thy prime,
For, living useful thou hast lived long.
VI.
But I, alas! like some unfruitful tree,That useless stands, a cumberer of the plain;
My faculties unprofitable see,
And five long years have liv'd almost in vain.
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VII.
While all around me, like the busy swarms,That ply the servent labours of the hive;
Or guide the state, with ardour rush to arms,
Or some less great, but needful business drive.
VIII.
I see my time inglorious glide away,Obscure and useless like an idle drone;
And unconducive each revolving day,
Or to my country's int'rest or my own.
IX.
Great hast thou liv'd and glorious hast thou died;Though trait'rous villains have cut short thy days;
Virtue must shine, whatever fate betide,
Be theirs the scandal, and be thine the praise.
X.
Then, to my soul thy memory shall be,From glory bright, as from affection, dear;
And while I live to pour my grief for thee,
Glad joy shall sparkle in each trickling tear.
XI.
Thy great example too shall fire my breast;If heav'n permit, with thee, again I'll vie:
And all thy conduct well in mine express'd,
Like thee I'll live, though I like thee should die.
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THE DESPERATE WISH,
OR MELANCHOLY EXTRAVAGANCE.
A. D. 1760.
I.
Tell me, ye Furies, where to findSome subterranean cave,
Dark as the horrour of my mind,
And silent as the grave.
II.
Where none but melancholy thingsPossess the dreary plains;
Where darkness spreads her raven-wings,
And night perpetual reigns.
III.
Near some vast heap of ruins beThe desolate abode;
Like those astonish'd trav'lers see,
Where ancient Babylon stood.
IV.
Rubbish should all deform the ground,And make a rueful show;
Wild brambles all the place surround,
And nettles rampant grow.
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V.
Dragons should there their stations keep,And wave their ragged wings;
There vipers hiss, foul lizards creep,
And scorpions dart their stings.
VI.
Voracious monsters there should stray,In quest of human gore;
There savage tigers howl for prey,
And hungry lions roar.
VII.
There, perch'd on each dry blasted oak,Should nest each rav'nous fowl;
There should the om'nous raven croak,
There scream the odious owl.
VIII.
No arbours drest in living green,No groves should there be found!
Without a leaf each tree be seen,
Without a flow'r the ground.
IX.
The yew alone and cypress there,In melancholy state,
Should flourish sacred to despair,
The emblems of my fate.
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X.
No gentle zephyrs there should yieldThe calm refreshing breeze;
With silky pinions fan the field,
Or gently curl the seas.
XI.
But winds with warring winds engage,And angry tempests roar;
While the tumultuous ocean's rage
Lashes the groaning shore.
XII.
No trickling rill should soothe mine ear,Or sparkle in mine eyes;
But putrid lakes lie stagnant there,
And noxious vapours rise.
XIII.
Hard by a spot with hillocks spread,And monumental stones,
Should lie devoted to the dead,
And guard their mould'ring bones.
XIV.
There mystick groans should pierce my ear,Prophetick of my doom;
There frowning spectres should appear
And stalk amid the gloom.
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XV.
No place should such fair objects gainAs suit a jovial taste;
But ghastly desolation reign,
Through all the dismal waste.
XVI.
In these sad regions, I'd employMy life's remaining span;
There live exil'd from social joy,
And shun the face of man.
XVII.
No sprightly, gay idea thereShould e'er admittance find;
No pleasing scene, with smiling air,
Should entertain my mind.
XVIII.
But gloomy thoughts should break my rest,And through my fancy roll;
Despair should swell my anxious breast,
And overwhelm my soul.
XIX.
There would I make my doleful moan,There solitary sigh;
There spend my days, unseen, unknown,
And unlamented DIE.
76
A SONG
FOR THE SONS OF LIBERTY IN NEW-YORK.
COMPOSED AT THE TIME OF THE STAMP-ACT.
1.
In story we're told,How our fathers of old
Brav'd the rage of the wind and the waves;
And cross'd the deep o'er,
To this desolate shore,
All because they were loath to be slaves;—Brave boys,
All because they were loath to be slaves.
2
Yet a strange scheme of late,Has been form'd in the state,
By a knot of political knaves;
Who in secret rejoice,
That the Parliament's voice,
Has resolv'd that we all shall be slaves;—Brave boys,
3
But if we should obeyThis vile statute, the way
To more base future slavery paves;
Nor in spite of our pain,
Must we ever complain,
If we tamely submit to be slaves;—Brave boys,
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4
Counteract, then, we must,A decree so unjust,
Which our wise constitution depraves;
And all nature conspires,
To approve our desires,
For she cautions us not to be slaves;—Brave boys,
5
As the sun's lucid ray,To all nations gives day,
And a world from obscurity saves;
So all happy and free,
George's subjects should be,
Then Americans must not be slaves;—Brave boys,
6
Heav'n only controlsThe great deep as it rolls,
And the tide which our continent laves,
Emphatical roars
This advice to our shores,
O Americans, never be slaves;—Brave boys,
7
Hark! the wind, as it flies,Though o'errul'd by the skies,
While it each meaner obstacle braves,
Seems to say, “Be like me,
“Always loyally free,
“But ah! never consent to be slaves;”—Brave boys,
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8
To our monarch, we know,Due allegiance we owe,
Who the sceptre so rightfully waves;
But no sov'reign we own,
But the king on the throne,
And cannot, to subjects, be slaves;—Brave boys,
9
Though fools stupidly tell,That we mean to rebel;
Yet all each American craves,
Is but to be free,
As we surely must be,
For we never were born to be slaves;—Brave boys,
10
But whoever, in spite,At American right,
Like insolent Haman behaves;
Or would wish to grow great,
On the spoils of the state,
May he and his children be slaves;—Brave boys,
11
Though against the repeal,With intemperate zeal,
Proud Granville so brutishly raves;
Yet our conduct shall show,
And our enemies know,
That Americans scorn to be slaves;—Brave boys,
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12
With the beasts of the wood,We will ramble for food,
We will lodge in wild deserts and caves;
And live poor as Job,
On the skirts of the globe,
Before we'll submit to be slaves;—Brave boys,
13
The birth-right we hold,Shall never be sold,
But sacred maintain'd to our graves;
And before we'll comply,
We will gallantly die,
For we must not,we will not be slaves;—Brave boys,
For we must not, we will not be slaves.
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TO A CERTAIN BRAVE OFFICER JUST RETURNED FROM THE CAMPAIGN, 1759.
(EXTEMPORE.)
[_]
N. B.—The individual addressed was a notorious braggadocio, and withal, a finished dandy; wearing his hair highly dressed adn tucked up with a comb. His better half was a perfect contrast to her spouse.
1
Hah! Captain Queue!—what, is it you?And may I squeeze your thumb, sir?
Yes, on my word—I see your sword,
Well, you are welcome home, sir.
2
From summer's heat—from toil and sweat,Borne for a trifling sum, sir;
To peaceful rest—in your own nest,
You're very welcome home, sir.
3
From Northern snows—which Boreas blows,That makes one's fingers numb, sir;
To the bright spires—of winter fires,
You're very welcome home, sir.
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4
From tents in camp—so cold and damp,To your convenient dome, sir,
Safe from the storm—so dry and warm,
You're very welcome home, sir.
5
From the bleak coasts—where Northern gustsMake wild Ontario foam, sir;
To Nassau's shores—where ocean roars,
You're very welcome home, sir.
6
From war's dread noise—the cannon's voice,And daily beat of drums, sir;
To the shrill notes—of female throats,
You're very welcome home, sir.
7
From savage blades—whose painted headsAppear so dreadful glum, sir;
To the soft looks—of civil folks,
You're very welcome home, sir.
8
From war's alarms—from fatal harms,From powder, bullets, bombs, sir;
To Sylvia's charms—in Sylvia's arms,
You're very welcome home, sir.
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9
From Mohawk squaws—against the laws,Converted into strums, sir;
T' a sober life—with your own wife,
You're very welcome home, sir.
10
At your return—through spite and scorn,Your enemies are dumb, sir;
But for my part—with all my heart,
I bid you welcome home, sir.
11
Alive again—from the campaignI'm glad to see you come, sir;
Safe from the war—without a scar,
You're very welcome home, sir.
12
The rapid flight—of balls in fightHas proved the death of some, sir;
Your life you chose—not to expose,
Lest you should ne'er come home, sir.
13
You've struck no blows—subdu'd no foes,Nor were you overcome, sir;
You scal'd no Alps—'tis true, for scalps,
Yet you have safe got home, sir.
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14
If you can't fight—with such delightAs you can wear a comb, sir;
Yet well I know—that you can crow,
Come, then, you're welcome home, sir.
15
Others aspire—to ranks still higher,And greater men become, sir;
But you content—plain Captain went,
And such you are come home, sir.
16
You went to quell—that imp of hell,I mean the Pope of Rome, sir;
And now you may—at leisure slay
The Man of Sin at home, sir.
17
My joyful tongue—has run so long'Tis almost tir'd; but mum! sir:
I cannot stay—but must away—so once for aye,
You're very welcome home, sir.
THE END.
| Muscipula sive Cambromyomachia : the mouse-trap, or the battle of the Welsh and the mice | |