The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Poems of Philip Freneau (Volume III).

She, at the soul enlivening, ball,
And in the lamp illumined hall
But small amusement found;
She shunn'd the cards' bewitching play,
She shunn'd the noisy and the gay,
Nor cared for music's sound.

No nymph discover'd so much spleen,
Was so reserved as Julia, seen
On that enchanting night:
And yet she had her part to say
When young Almagro shared the play,
Then cards were her delight.

But he retired, amid the dance;
He heard, he said, of news from France,
And of a serious cast:
He wish'd to know beyond all doubt,
What Bonaparte was now about,
How long his sway would last.

Then, Julia made a good retreat,
But left the assembly incomplete;
She was with sleep oppress'd.—
Who shall the midnight dance prolong
Who lead the minuet, raise the song
Where Julia is no guest?

Yet, love declared her judgment right,
And whisper'd, when she bade good night
And feign'd an aching head,
"While some retreat and some advance,
Let them enjoy the festive dance,
You, Julia, go to bed."

LINES ON SENIORA JULIA

Adorn'd with every charm that beauty gives,
That nature lends, or female kind receives,
Good sense and virtue on each feature shine;
She is—she is not—yes, she is divine.
She speaks, she moves with all attracting grace,
And smiles display the angel on the face;
Her aspect all, what female would not share?
What youth but worship, with a mind so fair?

In this famed isle, the cloud-capp'd Teneriffe,
Where health abounds and languor finds relief;
In this bright isle, where Julia treads the plain,
What rapture fires the bosom of the swain!
At her approach, the breast untaught to glow,
Like the vast peak, retains eternal snow.
Feels not the first, best ardors of the mind;
Respect and awe, to love and friendship join'd.

When to Laguna's [A] heights she deigns to stray,
To myrtle bowers, and gardens ever gay,
Where spring eternal on the fragrant grove
Breathes the bright scenes of harmony and love;
All eyes, attracted, by her graceful mein
View her, the unrivall'd favorite of the green,
And when, too soon, she would the garden leave,
See Paradise forsaken by its Eve.

Return bright nymph, attractive as admired,
And be what Plato from your sex required;
Mild as your clime, that rarely knows a storm,
The angelic nature in a female form.
Canary's [B] towns their splendid halls prepare,
But all is dark, when Julia is not there.
Not Oratava, on the sea-beat shore,
In her gay circles finds one Julia more,
Not high Lavelia [C] boasts so sweet a face;
Not Garrachica could yourself replace;
Not old Laguna can supply your loss,
Nor yet the city of the holy-cross.[D]

Where love and passion, from the world conceal'd:
Devotion's winter has to frost congeal'd;
Yet beauty, there, adorns the brilliant dome,
Invites her loves, and bids her votaries come;
Fair Santa-Cruz her beauty, too, commands,
And, was but Julia there, unrivall'd stands.

Flush'd with the blessings of the generous vine,
The island bards, to honor you, combine;
The stranger guest, all tongues, when you appear,
Confess you, lovely, charming, all things dear;
Among the rest, accept my homely lay:
The last respect I can to Julia pay:
A different subject soon my verse awaits,
Contending powers, or disunited states;
Yet shall remembrance renovate the past,
And, when you die, your name unfading last:
Though mists obscure, or oceans round me swell,
To the deep seas I go, the world to tell
That Julia, foremost, does this isle engage,
And moves the first, bright Venus of my page.

ON A RURAL NYMPH

Six miles, and more, with nimble foot
She came from some sequestered spot,
A handsome, swarthy, rustic maid
With furze and fern, upon her head:
The burthen hid a bonnet blue,
The only hat, perhaps, she knew,
No slippers on her feet were seen;
Yet every step display'd a mein
As if she might in courts appear,
Though placed by wayward fortune here.

An english man, who saw her, said,
Your burthen is too heavy laid,
Dear girl your lot is rather hard,
And, after all, a poor reward:
This is not labor suiting you,
Come with me home to England go,
And you shall have a coach and four,
A silken gown—and something more.

'Disturb me not (the girl replied)
'I choose to walk—let others ride:
'I would not leave yond' rugged hill
'To have your London at my will—
'You are too great for such as I:—'
When thus the briton made reply:

'Had I but thirty years to spare,
'And you precisely what you are,
'Had seen you thirty years ago
'In style of living, high or low,
'You should have been a lady gay,
'And dizzen'd out as fine as May:
'Why stay you here, to face the sun,
'And drudging till the day is done,
'While little to the purse it brings
'But little store of little things?'

She said, 'before the sun was up
'I finish'd with my chocolate cup:
'A hank of yarn I fairly spun,
'And, when the hank of yarn was done,
'To have a fire, and cook our mess
'I travell'd yonder wilderness;
'I climb'd a mountain very tall,
'Unwearied, and without a fall,
'And gather'd up this little pack
'Which now you see me carrying back;—
'Your northern girls at this might laugh,
'But such a jaunt would kill them half—
'Disturb me not, I must go on;
'Ten minutes, while I talk, are gone.'—

If she grew rich by hanks of yarn,
Is more than we shall ever learn;
If thrive she did by climbing hills,
No history or tradition tells;
But this we know, and this we say,
That where a despot holds the sway,
To pay the tax of king and queen
The common herd are poor and mean.
The slaves of lords the slaves of priests,
And nearly saddled, like the beasts.—
Where liberty erects her reign
Dulcina would have had her swain,
With horse and cow—which she had not,
Nor ever to possess them thought:
She would have had, to save her feet,
A pair of shoes and suit complete.
A decent dress, and not of rags,
A state above the rank of hags;
A language if not over fine,
At least above the beggar's whine.
Yet such attend on fortune's frowns,
And such support the pride of crowns.

ON GENERAL MIRANDA'S EXPEDITION

To execute a vast design,
The soul, Miranda, was not thine:
With you the fates did not combine
To make an empire free.
We saw you spread Leander's sail,
We saw the adverse winds prevail,
Sad omen that the cause would fail
That led you to the sea.

By feeble winds the sail was fill'd
By feebler hands the helm was held—
We saw you from the port repell'd [A]
You might have made your own.
We saw you leave a manly crew
To the base spaniard, to imbrue
His hands in blood—and not a few
Were on his mercy thrown:

In dungeons vile they pass'd the day,
Far from their country, far away
From pitying friends, from liberty!
That years could scarce retrieve!
Twas thus Miranda play'd his game;
But who with him should share the blame?
Perhaps if we the men did name,
Credulity would not believe!

ON THE ABUSE OF HUMAN POWER

What human power shall dare to bind
The mere opinions of the mind?
Must man at that tribunal bow
Which will no range to thought allow,
But his best powers would sway or sink,
And idly tells him what to Think?

Yes! there are such, and such are taught
To fetter every power of thought;
To chain the mind, or bend it down
To some mean system of their own,
And make religion's sacred cause
Amenable to human laws.

Has human power the simplest claim
Our hearts to sway, our thoughts to tame;
Shall she the rights of heaven assert,
Can she to falsehood truth convert,
Or truth again to falsehood turn,
And at the test of reason spurn?

All human sense, all craft must fail
And all its strength will nought avail,
When it attempts with efforts blind
To sway the independent mind,
Its spring to break, its pride to awe,
Or give to private judgment, law.

Oh impotent! and vile as vain,
They, who would native thought restrain!
As soon might they arrest the storm
Or take from fire the power to warm,
As man compel, by dint of might,
Old darkness to prefer to light.

No! leave the mind unchain'd and free,
And what they ought, mankind will be,
No hypocrite, no lurking fiend,
No artist to some evil end,
But good and great, benign and just,
As God and nature made them first.

OCTOBER'S ADDRESS [190]

"The lengthening nights and shortening days
Have brought the year towards a close,
The oak a leafless bough displays
And all is hastening to repose;
To make the most of what remains
Is now to take the greater pains.

"An orange hue the grove assumes,
The indian-summer-days appear;
When that deceitful summer comes
Be sure to hail the winter near:
If autumn wears a mourning coat
Be sure, to keep the mind afloat.

"The flowers have dropt, their blooms are gone,
The herbage is no longer green;
The birds are to their haunts withdrawn,
The leaves are scatter'd through the plain;
The sun approaches Capricorn,
And man and creature looks forlorn.

"Amidst a scene of such a cast,
The driving sleet, or falling snow,
The sullen cloud, the northern blast,
What have you left for comfort now,
When all is dead, or seems to die
That cheer'd the heart or charm'd the eye?

"To meet the scene, and it arrives,
(A scene that will in time retire)
Enjoy the pine—while that remains
You need not want the winter fire.
It rose unask'd for, from the plain,
And when consumed, will rise again.

"Enjoy the glass, enjoy the board,
Nor discontent with fate betray,
Enjoy what reason will afford,
Nor disregard what females say;
Their chat will pass away the time,
When out of cash or out of rhyme.

"The cottage warm and cheerful heart
Will cheat the stormy winter night,
Will bid the glooms of care depart
And to December give delight."—
Thus spoke October—rather gay,
Then seized his staff, and walk'd away.

TO A CATY-DID [A][191]

In a branch of willow hid
Sings the evening Caty-did:
From the lofty locust bough
Feeding on a drop of dew,
In her suit of green array'd
Hear her singing in the shade
Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did!

While upon a leaf you tread,
Or repose your little head,
On your sheet of shadows laid,
All the day you nothing said:
Half the night your cheery tongue
Revell'd out its little song,
Nothing else but Caty-did.

From your lodgings on the leaf
Did you utter joy or grief—?
Did you only mean to say,
I have had my summer's day,
And am passing, soon, away
To the grave of Caty-did:—
Poor, unhappy Caty-did!

But you would have utter'd more
Had you known of nature's power—
From the world when you retreat,
And a leaf's your winding sheet,
Long before your spirit fled,
Who can tell but nature said,
Live again, my Caty-did!
Live, and chatter Caty-did.

Tell me, what did Caty do?
Did she mean to trouble you?—
Why was Caty not forbid
To trouble little Caty-did?—
Wrong, indeed at you to fling,
Hurting no one while you sing
Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!

Why continue to complain?
Caty tells me, she again
Will not give you plague or pain:—
Caty says you may be hid
Caty will not go to bed
While you sing us Caty-did.
Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!

But, while singing, you forgot
To tell us what did Caty not:
Caty-did not think of cold,
Flocks retiring to the fold,
Winter, with his wrinkles old,
Winter, that yourself foretold
When you gave us Caty-did.

Stay securely in your nest;
Caty now, will do her best,
All she can, to make you blest;
But, you want no human aid—
Nature, when she form'd you, said,
"Independent you are made,
My dear little Caty-did:
Soon yourself must disappear
With the verdure of the year,"—
And to go, we know not where,
With your song of Caty-did.

ON PASSING BY AN OLD CHURCHYARD [192]

Pensive, on this green turf I cast my eye,
And almost feel inclined to muse and sigh:
Such tokens of mortality so nigh.

But hold,—who knows if these who soundly sleep,
Would not, alive, have made some orphan weep,
Or plunged some slumbering victim in the deep.

There may be here, who once were virtue's foes,
A curse through life, the cause of many woes,
Who wrong'd the widow, and disturb'd repose.

There may be here, who with malicious aim
Did all they could to wound another's fame,
Steal character, and filch away good name.

Perhaps yond' solitary turf invests
Some who, when living, were the social pests,
Patrons of ribands, titles, crowns and crests.

Can we on such a kindred tear bestow?
They, who, in life, were every just man's foe,
A plague to all about them!—oh, no, no.

What though sepultured with the funeral whine;
Why, sorrowing on such tombs should we recline,
Where truth, perhaps, has hardly penn'd a line.

—Yet, what if here some honest man is laid
Whom nature of her best materials made,
Who all respect to sacred honor paid.

Gentle, humane, benevolent, and just,
(Though now forgot and mingled with the dust,
There may be such, and such there are we trust.)

Yes—for the sake of that one honest man
We would on knaves themselves bestow a tear,
Think nature form'd them on some crooked plan,
And say, peace rest on all that slumber here.

STANZAS OCCASIONED BY A MELANCHOLY

SURVEY OF AN OLD ENGLISH TOBACCO BOX INSCRIBED 1708 [193]

Had I but what this box contained
Since good Queen Anne in Britain reigned,
My happiness would be increased
To more, perhaps, than she possessed.

This box, in many a pocket worn
(And to be used by some unborn)
Has been unfilled a week or more,
And curses the tobacco store,

Which now has had its turn to fail;
The door shut up, the man in jail
Who late behind the counter stood
And vended what was pretty good.

("And are you here?—the turnkey said,
"I rather would have seen you dead!"—
—Yes! I am here—the man replied—
And better so than to have died!)

This box again, in spite of that,
Shall be repackt with—I know what—
Again I'll fill its empty chest
With old Virginia's very best.

The fragrance of that mild perfume
Again shall cheer the reading room,
Again delight your men of wit
Who have the taste to relish it.

This box I deem a small estate
Where all my prospects are complete,
Whose oval round, and clasp, confines
The riches of Potosi's mines.

My best ideas here are sown,
(And best expressed when most alone)
Here, every muse can find a place
Yet take no atom of its space.

Tobacco! what to thee we owe,
Is what alone true smokers know:
To thee they owe the lively thought,
And joys without repentance bought.

To thee they owe the moral song,
The night that never seems too long,
The pleasant dream, refreshing sleep,
And sense that all should strive to keep.

It cures the pride of self-debate,
And pensive care, and deadly hate;
And love itself would nearer bring,
Did females love this coaxing thing.—

But they, the slaves of custom's rule,
Are ever to the smoker cool,
And hate the plant, whose gentle sway
Bids us their noisy tongues obey.

The happy days I would recall
When Jane to me was all in all!
The firm we to the town did show
Was, Salem, Jane, Segar, and Co.

The sanded box was near us placed
Which held the dregs we chose to waste;
Thus pleased to pass the winter's eve,
And thus the lingering hours deceive.

No wrangling was permitted there—
'Twas friendship all, and love sincere;
And they received affronts enough
Who entered with the Cloven Hoof.

The social whiff went cheerly on!—
But Jane is to that people gone
Where dear tobacco!—strong and sound—
Is not upon their invoice found!—

It sheds a magic on my pen
To deaden all despotic men,
A charm that can the soul command,
Nor kings, nor courtiers shall withstand:

Such, vested with imperial sway,
O'er bodies reign, dull, stupid, blind;
But us the nobler powers obey,
We reign, despotic, o'er the mind!

It aids us in the tuneful art
To catch the ear, or move the heart;
An hour with Nancy can beguile,
But meets not her approving smile.

Of northern pine her floors were made,
A carpet on the boards was spread;
And who shall dare this floor prophane,
Which Nancy keeps without a stain?

The watchful demon in her eye
The smallest speck can there espy;
And he shall curse his natal hour
Who spits upon this velvet floor:

I saw her anger waxing hot,
I heard her threaten, Do it not,
Or, instant, quit these doors of mine,
And be converted into swine.—

This powerful plant, if fortune frown,
Can make the bitter draught go down;
It keeps me warm in Greenland's frost,
And gives me more than all I lost.

The joys of wine, without its bane,
That kindles frenzy in the brain;
All these are here—and more than these
In this tobacco box I'll squeeze.

It holds a part of all I prize
Within this world that bounded lies;
And when the ashes only shows,
The spirit into aether goes.

Dismissed to that Serene Abode,
Where no tobacco is allowed!——
The comfort is, that free from care,
We neither wish, nor want it There.

ON THE DEATH OF A MASTER BUILDER

Assembled this day on occasion of grief,
We mourn the occasion, the loss of our chief;
A Mason, our master, that built up a pile
By the compass and square in the masonic style.

At the word of the Builder, who built All at first,
Turned chaos to order, and darkness dispersed,
Our architect leaves us, that mason so skilled,
The fabric of virtue and freedom to build.

As far as this nature, called human, can go,
A pattern he was of perfection below;
By the line and the plummet he built up a wall,
As firm as old time, and, we trust, not to fall.

By science enlightened, a friend to mankind,
He came, for the purpose exactly designed;
Like the Baptist of old, in the annals of fate,
Precursor of all that is noble and great.

He thought it an honour the trowel to hold,
And to be with the craft, as a brother enrolled:
To the practice of virtue he knew they were bound
Wherever a lodge or a mason is found.

Designed as he was, to excel and transcend,
Yet he courted the titles of brother and friend,
And these in the fabric of masons are more
Than monarchs can give,—and which tyrants abhor.

With a patron like this, we are proud to prepare
The stone and the mortar, our building to rear,
And copy, from Him, who can make it endure,
Who raised the first building, and keeps all secure.

In such a grand master all masons were blessed;
The world and all masons his merits confessed;
But now he is gone in new orbits to move
And join the first builder of all things above.

ON THE DEATH OF A MASONIC GRAND SACHEM [195]

This day we unite
And all Brethren invite
To honour a man of our nation;
Who, honest as brave,
Is gone to his grave
And takes an unchangeable station.

In our subject we view
(To Liberty true)
The officer firm in all danger;
Who stood to his post
At the head of a host
His country to save, and avenge her.

By compass and square
This artisan rare
Defeated all foreign invasion,
Then returned to his farm
When no longer alarm
Distracted the mind of the nation.

In all that he did,
In all that he said
The bliss of mankind was intended;—
He rose for their good,
To support them he stood,
And Liberty ever defended.

The foundation he laid,
And the fabric he made
No mason but he could pretend to;
It will stand, we foresee,
'Till that era shall be
When the globe of the world there's an end to.

So, fame to the man
Who the building began,
Whose model all nations will take
When kingdoms are fled,
Standing armies are dead,
And monarchs—no longer awake.